Decluttering

The only polaroids of you
are in my mind,
appearing and reappearing;

flashbacks of memories
not stored in any album
or box on the top shelf
of the closet.

Some chapters
are better left unread,
some books, closed

and placed in the bin

with other items
we wish to forget.

.

DAy 29 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month) I fell behind due to family events but still wanted to finish!

Post-a-Notes

Words caught up in a cocoon
form a knot in my stomach,
hardened,

yellowed with time,

They say, let it go,
so I cover my ears
hoping every syllable
from your lips
disappears,

but the fragments
affix themselves
to post-a-notes
and stick inside my head
where my unspoken words
lie dormant

in a place
they can’t do damage

to any psyche but my own.

.

.
Day 27 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)

Bow Out

She recognized the smile,
the high cheekbones,
his blue eyes looking back,

but that is where the similarities
ended,

brief was the elation,
the joy in something found,
then lost,

but when one door slams,
another opens,
this time, wide enough

to let the light in.

.
.
Day 20 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)

The Kiss

The canvas cries in red paint
as flowers come to a theatrical ending,
waving a breathtaking goodbye
after the last petal is plucked,
wishes still unfulfilled

clouds hover;
dance like a swaying oak,
lovelier, as time passes,
but, less noticeable
amidst the chaos below.

Betrayal comes in many forms:
whispers turn toxic,
backs turned from the sun,

but the kiss, of all things
brings us to our knees.

.

.Day 15 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)

Milk Run

It used to be difficult
to make eye contact with anyone
afraid they may catch a glimpse
of the sadness, the tension
that lay behind the smile,
beneath the surface

where everything seemed normal,
but wasn’t.

If I had let them close enough,
they may have seen the emotion
I tried hard to suppress
except in the shower
or on that drive to get milk
when the music was so loud,
I could finally scream;

empty everything I had bottled up
to make room for more.

Little Black Dress of a Poem

Searching through the closet
for something to impress,
I decided you deserve more
than that little black dress of a poem
we take out on special occasions,
always playing it safe.

Thoughts flow
like the river you always write about
but never dare to swim in;
words tugging, pinching
prying up all the moments
you want to forget;
the people who weren’t
what you built them up to be.

Sometimes, the story we create
is the one they want to hear
until the characters fall away
one. by. one

when the lights go out

and the narrator
has left the building.

Wake Up Call

Something felt off;
your eyes, shifting,
hands fidgeting.

I never questioned you
or your motives
as you stood high
upon that pedestal

I never should have
placed you on

Suddenly,
all the pieces
started to come together,
like a jigsaw puzzle.

When the last piece
was finished,

so were we.

.
I am writing a poem a day from November 23- December 25 to celebrate Jesus birth. this is day 16. This is the 8th year I have done this and it is such a blessing ❤

This Thorn

Winter hasn’t shown its face yet,
but the cold lies with me
in dreams
they say I need to let go of;

a shiver of yesterday
that rears its ugly head
because sleep
is the only time

it can catch me
off guard.

The wind blows
unexpectedly;
breaks the silence
between discomfort

and peace.

Oh, this thorn, this thorn
I keep praying to lose,
continues to creep in
without an invitation
blocking my view
impeding my steps
with incessant breaths
of the past.

To Turn the Cheek

I can still feel the slap of your words-
feel the stiff neck from reluctantly turning
when the syllables didn’t sit right in my ear.

Silence can be deafening, but necessary
when peace is the reverberation.

Hands move slowly, inevitably
mine are clean, like my conscience
when all my attempts to honor you
were thrown back in my face
with words that still sting

and this silence
still tugging at my heart.

Clocked

We are all punching a time clock,
pushing back tears, filing troubles away
into a locked cabinet,
brushing makeup over scars
waiting for the dark
to hide the mess.

In the chill; the uninhabited spaces
where frowns replace smiles-
singled out, exploited
just because we don’t agree.

Whatever happened to kindness?
a touch, a quiet sigh
within a glance,
a nod when passing
another human in the street?

It is cold where we are living
even at 100 degrees Fahrenheit,

but, remember, it is in the storm
where we find strength;
sweetest scent of flowers
soothe the senses,

after the rain.

..

While Blowing Up Balloons

Pastel reminders,

stale air;
one for each birthday
you missed.

Jagged Edges

There are pieces of me
scattered in the wind;
cracks in a vessel
glued together,
chips missing

to a jigsaw puzzle heart.

All of us are flawed;
jagged edges, smoothed over
polished like a revised poem;

like a love song
from the rooftops.