I treat my heart like my favorite book
thumbing through the happy memories from time to time
retelling those stories with a smile
but like my favorite book
I’m both incredibly cautious
and amazingly careless with my heart
I might dog-ear the pages of my favorite moments
but I’m so nervous to let anyone borrow this love
who knows what kind of condition they’ll return it in
or if they’ll return it at all
right?
Tag: Wordcraft
poetry and prose that’s about being a writer (but not about how to write)
writing a book [poem]
it’s hard to write a book
the kind that’s supposed to teach a stranger things
without ever looking them in the eye
you’d think it the ideal way for an introvert to share her knowledge
but instead it’s a struggle
to spell out important concepts
in self-contained lessons
with no interaction
or discussion
or signal that anybody’s getting it
three [poem]
there have been three nights this year
where I forgot about my poetry
while lying in your arms
it’s no surprise though
that loving you takes up all of the words in me
and makes me silent
I’m an open book [poem]
do you like to read Love?
I always wanted to find a man who
enjoyed a good story
the kind of audience that could
swallow the angst in the middle there
someone who wouldn’t
put me down to get away from the scene
painted across my pages
when your muse takes a holiday [poem]
try random word association
make a list of your favorite adjectives
and leave it in your back pocket
then wash it in the laundry
the bits of paper might attract your muse
or they might just attract weird looks
going through the motions [poem]
when I started writing these poems
Love
I admit I was just
going through the motions of prayer
without really expecting an answer
call these love letters catharsis
a way to lessen the ache when loneliness
knots up my back until I can’t sleep at night
you are the sheep I count to find a way to sleep at night
you are a dream
the kind that always leaves me
wide awake at dawn
dissected [poem]
it makes my stomach twist to see you like this
so open and exposed across the page
desire dissected and labeled
piece by piece
I never did master the art of the scalpel or the stitch
couldn’t take you apart for study
without damaging everything inside of you
with these two trembling hands
impossible futures [poem]
have you ever had a
pie in the sky
pretend we’ve won the lotto
dream? the kind of plans that
are attached to impossible futures?
I used to think I did
have those kind of dreams I mean
but then one came true
and another
and another
suddenly I’m living in the town
I swore I’d call home as a millionaire
but without all that money
suddenly I’m sinking time into my love of words
buying books enough to overflow my shelves
and writing down the world inside my head
until I can almost taste it
suddenly I’m allowed to be me
as soft or sharp or simple as I please
and no one bats an eye
maybe impossible dreams just need
impossible people to reach for them anyway?
never as planned [poem]
I’m terrified of these lists
the ones that take a daydream and
mold it into reality
it’s not the lists themselves
or the act of listing
I love creating bullet points of action
my mouth curving into a grin with every
crossed out line
half of my poems are lists
hidden in clever metaphors
the problem
is in opening the door between
a wistful thought
and a proper plan
stanzas [poem]
you asked me if I’ve written poems about you
as if there were any answer but
yes
of course love
my nails have scraped stanzas down your spine
where only I can read them
the same poem [poem]
when you write poetry every day
the words
they start to blur
the thoughts circle my moments like
hungry ants around a cookie on the ground
and I end up writing the same poem
twice
confusing splendor [poem]
I hope my words bring you the best of things
and the worst
I hope you feel hurt
feel a reflective guilt in the places where
you can see your own sins
I hope you feel empty
feel the hollow echo resonating
between our two souls
I hope you feel cracked open and raw
exposed to the core
and then
I hope you feel the scabbing over
of those wounded places inside of you
I hope you feel a healing itch to live a little harder
feel the desire to embrace forgiveness
without forgetting why it’s necessary in the first place
I hope you feel happiness
feel the glow left behind by a good long laugh
feel love again
for yourself
for someone else
for living
I hope my words bring you life
in all its confusing splendor
see you somedays [poem]
this is it
the last poem in a long line of see you somedays
scribbled across scrap paper
from here
there is only the wait
the hush of a centered soul finding itself
in the hustle and bustle of everyday living
my life is not on hold
love
you’ll notice that right away
I’ve been pursuing my dreams
while you worked your way toward me
our paths couldn’t cross unless I kept walking forward
and so I did
every step is worth it
to reach the day you read this poem
from the book I wrote
before I knew
your name
Larissa Lee 