Forgotten Search

Today it was,
the first time ever.
I forgot to look for him,
down by his locker,
three down from the
English class door.
I forgot to look for him.

It took me
two years to notice him,
ten minutes to meet him,
one hour to like him,
three months to trust him,
and seven months to tell him.
And today was the first day
that I forgot to look for him. 

I smiled at her,
his girl, his love,
pride and joy,
I hoped.
The one I trusted to make him happy
and to make me happy
and distract me from the other him,
and distract me from
the loss of him,
and she did.
Because I didn’t look for him
today. 

I find myself feeling guilty
as if he was never there
a memory,
lost
forever.
Never in my life,
trusted him once,
never coming back,
and I may never see
him again.
Because I forgot to look.

Left Unsaid

You said it’s better left unsaid,
you said you’d better keep it in your head
you said that I don’t need to know
because you’re scared.

You said you wouldn’t tell me that
as if I knew the darkened fact,
you told me if I knew why you were scared
I’d know the truth as well.

But baby,
I know the truth.
I know what you are hiding.
Baby,
I know the truth,
and I know that you’ve been lying.

You love me don’t you?
At least, you think you do,
Baby, you love me don’t you,
and I always knew.
You can’t hide that love from me,
darling baby.

Baby, I’m glad you didn’t say it,
I’m scared of what I’d say,
I’m scared that I’d be happy,
or that you’d sweep me away.
I’m scared that I’d say it back
and I’m scared that….
What if I meant it?

You were going to tell me you loved me,
you were going to say you cared,
that you wished I was the girl beside you,
that you wished I’d always be there.

You love me, don’t you?

And what could I say to that?
Baby, you know I love him.
You know he’s my life.
Baby, I can’t love you.

But I just might.

Thing is, Baby,
I love you sure, that’s the truth,
but I don’t feel right in loving you,
and I left unsaid that I need you.

I didn’t say I need you, that I love you too,
that everything I know is mixed up in you,
because you’re so much like him.

Baby, I love you too.
But it doesn’t matter,
because that will remain unsaid

Missing You

I’m kind of sitting here wondering
where I’ll be tomorrow.
Loving you, or him?

I’m kind of sitting here remeniscing,
with the you’s that I’ve been missing,
the both of you.

I’m kind of sitting here hoping
that you’re thinking of me too,
that he doesn’t know about you,
because that would destroy me.

I’m kind of wondering,
where are you now?

And when I kind of wonder a little about you
I have to kind of wonder about him too
because he holds such resemblance to you,
a flame of candle
holding up a flame to you.
But I hope that you miss me too.

And I’m kind of hoping he’s missing me,
and remembering those little things
that you and I never did together.

Because you and I can share everything,
but really we are nothing,
because we both kind of love each other
without surpassing “that thought.”

Love? I’m kind of wishing I wasn’t confused,
kind of thinking about only you,
but I’d feel terrible if I wasn’t missing him too.

Your Thoughts Remain on Me

They flaunt themselves,
those blondes,
brunettes,
auburn-haired beauties,
bat their eyelashes,
smile for you
act as if
they’d die for you,
but at the end of the day,
they’ve found somebody else.

They wear those clothes
that show off their chests,
wear those jeans, cut to the thigh
and leave bare all the rest.

They sit at your side,
they talk and they talk,
but all the while they watch your eyes
as you switch your thoughts.

I stand here with too many books,
jeans down to the floor,
blondish-brownish-auburn hair
just like the day before.
I wear that which covers it all
hide all that you see,
peek out behind frightened eyes
and your thoughts are still on me.

My Audience

I expected you to be my audience
my sea of clapping hands
and the chirping crickets in the silence.

My wings to my arms
the gills to my breath
my everything, my anything,
my voice.

I expected you to be my saving grace
the one thing about myself
that I could never ever change.

My hope in such a darkness,
the candle to my flame,
my smile, my laugh, my present, my past,
my future.

I expected you to steal my heart,
didn’t guess that you would then rip it apart
had no clue that trying to mend your mistake
would change me in a better, innocent way.
I expected you to be my audience,
my loud clapping and eerie silences.
Didn’t know you had the power to change my mind,
or that this love for you would forever change my life.

Woke up at about midnight with this poem running through my mind. Usually, I can remember these poems, but I liked this one so much, I had to write it down the moment the words crossed my mind, so here I am. Hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Write off the Ending

Someday,

I know that you’ll let me
finish our story
in the pages of another book
dedicated to you.

No babe. I won’t be letting go
that, by now you should know,
I always hold on until the very close end.

And Someday,

You’ll let me on my own,
pretend it was my fault
and read our story in the pages
of the dusty books on your shelves.

Because Someday,

You’ll be caught thinking of me,
far after our ending,
far after what’s done is
forever done.

Oh yes, Dear,

I’ve been thinking of you,
and I know what you could do
to tear me apart on the floor.
I think you know too.

But Darling,

I’m not writing our ending,
I’m not yet finished mending,
And I’m waiting for that chance to say
that I’ll never say goodbye.

Darling,

I’ll be finishing someday,
and I know that in some ways,
you don’t want our end
to tear you apart.
Yes, Dear, I know,
I’m still in your heart.

Just buried.

So No Dear,

You can’t finish that quickly,
let me finish our story,
before I write out the ending.

May I not just write it off entirely?

This poem is about letting go, or rather, the refusal to do so. I was brushing my teeth before school and listening to my iPod on full blast when “Beautiful Ending” by Barlowgirl came on (you might notice, I am for the most part inspired whenever I’m listening to music). I kind of starting thinking about things, and this is what appeared, so here I am, standing with my laptop on the dresser, frantically typing to get this out, and the bus will be here in seconds!

So, adieu for now, and hope you enjoyed!

Purity

Purity

Can I?
May I really
call this thing
purity
even if shadows
and broken dreams
that never quite
haunted me
the way they did
everyone else.
Can I call this pure?

Can I?
Dare I say
that after only
sixteen years
I know
what this purity
is, without taintation
without temptation,
without understanding
or reason,
may I say I know what love is?

This is a teen’s representation of both confusion and certainty. When you’re a kid, they say you don’t know what love is. Problem is, that’s false. You know what love is. Did you not love your mother? Your father? Of course, some have special cases with broken families, but no matter how young you were, I am certain you have loved someone once in your life.

For all of those out there that tell kids or teenagers that they don’t know what love is (and the one that told me that? You know who you are), I’d like you to tell me why you know so much about love. Because you’re older? Wrong. We know as much as you do. Sometimes, more. Love is human nature, and therefore, instinct from birth.

Sharing the Rain

Sharing the Rain

With the sky in its gravest of days, 
and my heart fallen into foggy haze. 
Must I become what fate yet has sealed, 
with the kiss that has yet to be yield? 

Who am I, who are you, 
and what do we think we’re doing? 
This is wrong, and we know it, 
what do we think we’re doing? 
And why are we doing it? 
Why? 

You, you have a girl, my friend, 
one to follow suit. 
You, you have tied up loose ends 
but you still pull up the roots. 

And I, oh how shameful I must feel, 
because I still love another, 
so please understand, I won’t love you, 
not under any blunder. 

Who am I, who are you, 
and what do we think we’re doing? 

I love him, yes I love him, 
more than I say for you. 
I need him more than breath to my lungs, 
or a heartbeat left to ensue. 
Please don’t make me do this. 

No, you can’t make me do this, 
however he has hurt me, 
I cannot return any favor of mine 
to hurt him back. 
You can’t make me do this. 

Oh, how I do love you, 
but not in such a way 
that makes any of this travesty 
even slightly okay. 

Friends forever, I’ll admit, 
but nothing more in turn, 
because though I’m versed in what love is, 
you’ve still a lot to learn. 

So listen close, and listen well, 
just try to understand, 
nothing is as it has seemed 
when I hold out my hand. 
The rain will pour, as it has for days 
and we’ll be caught up in the storm. 
Nobody may understand 
what this rain has brought to mourn. 
Tears that hide in fallen skies 
and clouds that eventually fade, 
and love—as crush—as it has been 
will quickly go away. 
And yes, we can share this moment. 
Yes you can smile at me. 
But only in this moment, 
will you see what I can see. 

You say you love this girl, 
I know I love this boy, 
so, rain or not, moment or not, 
our love is only ploy. 

When I ended up showing this poem to a couple of my friends, they all said the same thing: “So… who are you cheating with Mattie?!” I hesitated and it took a couple seconds for it to hit me what they meant. I want to go ahead and make this clarification: this poem is not about cheating. Not in the literal sense at least. It’s about emotionally cheating. About a boy who has a girlfriend and yet still feels something for another. About a girl who, though she is truly in love, she feels a tiny piece of lust for another. It is about the guilt felt towards emotional cheating, and the purity of true love that should be treated as a newborn. After all, love is the purest of all emotions.