The Poetry Marathon

If you happen to find me,

I’ll be crocheted in a blanket of red, white, and yellow,

Woven in a basket of wicker,

Amidst a pile of elephant figurines,

That’s where you may find me.

Scavenging through the things of the past,

Looking for the things that made shit last,

Made it surpass all the aftermath of eviction notices.

A soul under siege,

Sold to a storage locker,

Floating the seven seas in bits and pieces,

Wearing the world on her faces in wrinkles and creases.

Suffering can be a beautiful things,

What strength circumstance brings,

Beauty: a thing called courage: a renaissance,

Basking in the museum of memories,

Reminiscing trinkets and treasures sold to the highest bidder,

Home is where the heart finds it fit to survive such loss:

At all of the greatest costs.

Home: a no man’s land to me,

Where roots have no foundation,

And the foundation is made up of broken dreams.

You may find me, you may lose me all the same,

The price of home: an expensive, unattainable gain.

Rising to the occasion,

Making me go crazy

because of your cold, hard gaze,

It’s not so loving tonight: merciless mirror.

Swollen and full of temptations,

Yet, I am drawn to follow your every move,

Never leave your shine,

not like the sun,

There is no warmth in your light.

Follow: you lead,

I get caught in your veil,

Tonight I marry myself to you.

Swaddled in the back of my throat,

The heat simmers,

My insides feel the sinister burn.

Caught in your gaze,

Yes, like a fish, I’m on a hook.

In your gaze, sinking,

I’ll wake after you go down,

Not until it is time to open my eyes,

Right down to my soul,

you glow: you go.

Show me your face,

your saving grace,

White lightning train ride,

Floating on your high,

In the bottom of the glass goes my pride,

Nothing left but the chandeliers of my tears,

Bellowing from all the years,

Fixed upon you fixed upon me,

Hooked to the high school highs,

Loaded on the old school lows,

Blowing the blues to air,

Smothered in my own smoke,

Feeding on my fire,

On my hunger, you taste,

Forget-me-not: wake me up not,

Living to see the sunrise,

Dying from the moonshine.

All I want to do is make love with my eyes,

to the pages of dictionaries.

Cum off of words with newfound meanings.

Slowly rise and climb climaxes as I lick the tip of my finger to turn the page.

The world stops spinning,

I’m lost in the translation,

caught in the rapture of finding the right words to fuck myself with.

The pretty ones,

the sweet nothings I chase after,

When I should be looking for the raw and real ones,

the ones that don’t hide themselves in multiple definitions,

they are what they mean, and nothing else.

And all along,

I’ve been steady looking for you,

For your native tongue,

that speaks the same language as me.

Reading the same page,

hoping for a different ending,

Yet, you never cease to surprise me.

Evermore sorely disappointed,

by your lack of clarification when you said all that you meant.

So here I sit, with the phonograph of remembrance,

replaying all the words you fucked me over with.

I found her roughened, buried among the coals.

Like a newborn escaping the mouth of Life,

Nestled among the sands of the ocean floor,

Using a thread of hope to find her,

Among the mountainous haystack,

Seek and you shall find:

The obelisk of your affections,

The very map of discovery is a labyrinth,

With a broken compass: a one way,

No forks to divide the undivided, indivisible path.

A divination: a divine right to love the obscure and overlooked,

Such creatures are made up of unconditional affinity,

The universe’s tribute to you and me.

You’ve seen me without my face,

Without my lipstick and my mistakes,

Blemish rests upon these bones,

Wearing nothingness:

I relish upon my throne.

You accept my get-up,

But would much rather do without it,

Experiencing my shield,

The one of foundation and powder.

Clear judgment exudes through,

What would I do without them?

Without you?

I could not stand the sight of my own face,

Without wearing my shield,

I could not amount to the myriad of beauty I desired.

You are my make-up,

Your words I wear upon my skin,

Your truth complements the beauty within.

How you treasure the way my eyes gleam:

No shadow to hide them from the sun,

How my lips pout candidly like candied caramel apple slices:

Wearing nothing for fun.

You love the way I look,

You love me natural and nude.

To whom can I be compared: “No one.” You soothe.

I fall prey to your elixir,

This potion: your sweet speech,

Compliments: cunning, leaving me in complacency.

Ultimately leave me feeling un-kissed of your approval until tomorrow’s morn,

Seeing something out of place upon my face: wearing my favorite shade of scorn.

There’s something I feel you see,

Something I kvetch over endlessly,

Embarrassed to show me,

But, bare is what you want me to be.

Choked up on broken tears,

Making empty promises on half-hidden smiles,

Waiting for my departure.

I didn’t have enough words for “a while,”

Not prepared for heartfelt goodbyes,

Trying not to appear through my crocodile disguise,

“Promise me you’ll work with me when you get back…”

“You’re probably gonna leave me and not come back.”

The boldness of your bride-to-be at dinner the night fall before,

Making her snide remarks,

Beyond her usual, obsequious metaphor,

“Are you really coming back?”

“Do you like girls? If so, it’s okay…”

Leaving her with no inclination of what’s what,

Or what’s real:

Bride farewell,

“I’m coming back. I’m here to stay.”

He tugs at my heartstrings,

Curling them between his grasp,

Wrenching me with fear,

Poisoning my ability to laugh.

The tightening grows,

As I flutter for a seemingly, meaningless good-bye,

Dying to be out of this moment,

Out of his stare,

Away from his eyes,

His line of sight.

Turning my back,

Hoping to never look back,

Walking the runway,

Ready to runaway.

As the coal in my throat grows,

The crystallized waterfalls begin to overflow,

This diamond starts to slit my throat,

As I look for one last glance,

He wilts away like a rose.

It seems good-byes are all we know,

Farewell to the Daddy’s Girl we both used to know.

The bridge from my heart to yours,

seems bruised and worn,

painted with our tears,

engraved with our years.

Under a passageway,

where I lie covered,

unseen by the world,

emerging from rushing rivers,

unveiling ourselves to the world.

Our bones, mere ashes,

our blood, the sweetest wine,

holes carved in our bodies,

where each wishes to reside.

Resign to the  meadows of goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace.

Follow me if you you are willing,

leave only a trace of our secluded repose,

a window to that memory,

a clandestine place and time,

long ago,

when wishing was having,

and we became true.

Suspending our love in bridges over troubled waters.

Our souls frolicked, in the fields of the first shades of purple,

the thousands of years seemingly flew,

nothing short of the whisper of a butterfly’s wing,

to the thundering pulse of the hummingbird’s fleeting flight.

We grew old together,

before we grew up,

before we were born.

We hid sunrises in window sills,

sacred stories sewn in the beams.

Every morning became a dream,

every night lasted forever and a century.

You became my favorite color,

in the star-studded sky and cloud-filled day,

I find you in a new shade: soul-mate.

Hello All:

This is my first marathon, and I’m a bit nervous. I’ve been rather dormant in my serious writing, but I try to write something everyday nonetheless. I’m a Creative Writing and English major and a freelance writer. I really want to challenge my creativity at the moment and wake myself up from this writing coma I’ve been in. I imagine we all can relate to the usual everyday circumstances getting in the way: break-ups, bills, children, day-jobs, significant others and such…I’m just a small-town girl trying to write my way in this big world of words. Happy Writing and best wishes to all.