Posts tagged poems
elasticity

elasticity isn't a thing

i paid attention to when i was four

maybe in Play-Doh

but in my face? who wants a stretchy face?

my wounds don't heal as quickly as they used to

and i have a nervous habit of picking

that i think i'm going to have to quit

because concealer isn't cutting it

and bleeding in public is far less acceptible

when you're almost thirty

i think i'll try to moisturize

some buoyancy back into my brow--

mom always said that was important

that i'd "understand one day"--

what i understand at this point is that

in the battle between sky and land,

the ground surely has the upper hand

and is all this lotion really a match for gravity?

no degree of hyaluronic acid is going to change the fact that

i am a person stuck inside of a skin

dependent on this body to draw a picture of who i am

each decade spent circling the sun

will likely pencil a few lines across

this degenerating canvas

to be human

To feel the heartbreak in the longing

To hope when you're a fool believing

To try when nothing will be easy


To trust the dreams found deep inside you

To sing the melodies that move you

To love the life that's running through you

To love the life that's running through you

A love letter to physical books.

so I sat and diddled— 

distracted— 

until my devices died

and I, overdosed, had no choice

but to dive

into my book  

the poetry, the pen

all sitting patiently

beside racing screens

 

i know what it feels like

to share my words and wait for

them to be read, to be “liked” 

or “swiped”

the anticipation of which has become

no doubt

like a drug—

two taps on a screen,

digital endorphins—

but i have no clue what it feels like

for these inked words

to find themselves tapping their fingers

waiting

on pages on shelves in arms and bags

waiting

for eyes to dance

for mouths to let out sighs like

”wow”

for their paper-thin skin  

to jump right off the page

and into the brain

of someone who, for a moment,

remembers 

we are not machines. 

this ground

this ground

feels like shifting sands

like shaky hands

like a scribbly line drawn

on a piece of paper

like when they measure

an earthquake

i hope i have a way

of seeing the magnitude of

the lessons I’m learning


this ground

feels like farmer's land

like rich soil

like it's letting my soul

breathe

through the soles of my feet

and i know that it's teaching

me something

--that I'm growing

Life is Hard

When--with eyes that had a story to tell--
they spoke those vague words,
they might as well have been speaking Chinese.
You had no idea, wrapped in your eager youth,
what they had just said.

But don't worry, child.
You will get the chance to wear them
in your own way.
You'll have your moment.

And you just might sum up the most painful of life experiences to a youth--who could not possibly understand yet--with
three
vague
words.

Train cars of memories might flash by as you stumble to catch a quick description of the lessons they taught you
and finally land, discontented, 
on the phrase you've heard for far too long. But out of your mouth they spill like oil from a tired engine:

 

Life is hard.