this is hard
this turning of the wheel
this filling of blank pages with a mess of feelings and ink
this is being alive but not living
this hovering just out of reach
this do not touch me aura mixed with kindness and warmth
this is the struggle
this wiping away of a decade of growth
to start a new garden in its place
this is being the seed
before the soil and sun can crack your shell
and set you free
Tag: Wordcraft
poetry and prose that’s about being a writer (but not about how to write)
listmaker [poem]
I make lists like blinking
a constant and necessary process of
what and how and then
I’ve always been the kind to
jot down big ideas into tiny tasks
forever looking for the easy way
to work smart not hard
it’s in the moments between bullet points
that I flail without direction
those are the only times I feel truly
unready and unfettered
fairy tale choices [poem]
I read a fairy tale once
one with courts of creatures vying for
the biggest slice of mortal pie
trying to outdo each other left and right
at how best to use a human being for play
there was a queen and her sister
opposites in every way
she was the birthplace of order
of straight lines and rules
and her sister was a hot mess personified
sometimes I feel like the sister
reveling in the chaos birthed by my mere presence
but usually I just want peace and quiet
and calm seas
most days
I’m the queen with all her inherent control
almost inflexible with it
if I were a fairy
I’d be the one granting wishes
exactly
as they’re worded
twisting dreams into nightmares for fun
dusty bones [poem]
tonight is another poemless night
the kind where my words are hollow
ghosts of long dead ideas
I can’t help but write their dusty bones onto paper
as if that single act of remembrance
could undo the deaths
unnecessary words [poem]
I like unnecessary words
sentences that linger on the page
with too much detail
I like hearing a voice that isn’t my own
as my eyes skim the page
being possessed by an unfamiliar narrator
I like uncomfortable descriptions
the kind that twist you up inside
until you set down the book
and step away to recover
forget the rules
I like writers who create something
anything
out of thin air
the rest changes on a case by case basis
a thousand untold stories [poem]
there are a thousand untold stories in my chest
pulsing with every breath
like they might escape up my esophagus into reality
but they’re stuck
trapped behind scabbed over hurts
that have only now started to heal
I feel the words in my blood
every heartbeat a promise that my stories aren’t dead
they’re just waiting for the next big breath
the exquisite exhale of release
of letting go
words are magic [poem]
words hold a special kind of magic in their letters
a power you can use for good or evil
or just for fun
when we choose our own labels
we empower ourselves
I call myself polyamorous
and it’s me proclaiming that love is infinite
and my heart is a renewable resource
I tell you I’m demisexual
and it’s me explaining why the friendzone is heaven
and how I struggle with the casual approach to sex
so many people have
I say I’m a writer
and it’s me letting you know
by virtue of being too close to the inkwell
you will be exposed and my words will spill secrets
you didn’t even know you had
scabs [poem]
when I promised myself
a poem every day for the new year
it seemed easy
I mean
I wrote a new piece almost daily the year before
how hard could it be
but words come slower when you order them around
they act like molasses in winter
uncooperative and hard to get to
the hardest part is finding things to write about
that don’t include broken hearts and bleeding wounds
I know I can’t heal if I keep picking at the scabs
but poetry about hurt is as easy as blinking
You are my story [poem]
You are my story
one I love watching unfurl
chapter by chapter
page by page
line by line
until the letters fade
and all I see is You
bottles of spilled ink [poem]
My heart is a cabinet full
of ink bottles.
The warm reds,
the bright yellows,
the listless greys,
the giddy greens.
Life fills them,
the gentle drops of laughter and
the heartbroken tears of defeat
slowly refilling me.
Sometimes
a bottle spills over across a page,
words forming in the smudges of
life’s colors.
Beautiful words,
sad words and glad words,
words so full they fall from my pen
before it touches paper.
I write my story with the ink life gives me,
the lessons learned in pink,
the journeys walked with blue,
the stillness of wintry white.
Life is a rainbow,
light shot through the prism of experience
to bend and twist and form
the colors of a poet’s ink.
rewriting myself [poem]
I am forever rewriting myself
revising the details of my story
until the plot makes sense
to everyone else
I don’t want my readers confused
just intrigued enough
to keep reading me into existence
one word at a time
a brightly colored pile of disorganized post-it notes [poem]
I was born to be a researcher
my mind cooperating in the strangest way
after learning a fact or function
I can recall the details if given context
it made fill in the blank and multiple choice tests easy
but in between I became a pattern seeker
my memory regurgitating random facts
in relation to whatever situation I find myself in
creating weird little thought trains
it makes me sound smart
like I’m a collection of encyclopedias
when my brain is more like
a brightly colored pile of disorganized post-it notes
the greatest skill I’ve developed
is the ability to do a search based on a tangent
a string of words I think might be a quote
and find the source within minutes
I was born to never stop learning
and I’m pretty sure I never will
in every story [poem]
there will be people whose lives you leave
that will never miss you
they will move on like it’s a good thing
for some of them it will be
this is life
however hurtful and unfair it may be
you are not meant to be
a blessing
upon everyone you meet
to some you will be a poison
and someone else will be the antidote
sometimes you’ll be an addiction to overcome
a bad habit they will eventually grow out of
I’m sorry if hearing this stings
but I won’t let the world lie to you
in every story
there are the good guys and the bad guys
probability dictates
you can’t always fall into one side
sometimes
you will have to be the bad guy by default
and that’s okay
you’ll still be okay
Larissa Lee 