Hey guys,
I sit here and cringe as I type, thinking of how disappointed some of you must be. The summer has nearly come to an end and I've done NOTHING!!!! I am soooooooo sorry about that guys. To be honest, I've been dealing with some stuff at home that has pretty much put my brain on hold as it applies to creative expression, such as writing, but you know what? I'm gonna slap myself in the face and tell myself to pull it together.
Anyhow, as you can see from the title, I've written a poem. This is... very unusual for me. To be completely honest, poetry is that looming dark cloud that I've tried to hide from. In English at school, when my teacher tells us to pull out our poetry books to analyze poems, I feel like everything inside... drops. It's a sinking feeling like my body decided to melt into the tiles under my feet. I guess my mind is to literal to understand a full body of text that says one thing and means another. That's why I can go a full term with grades ranging 90 - 100 % and get a nice little 60% to put me in the 80% range... awesome :/.
As for writing poetry, I find it like song writing- extraordinarily painful and frustrating. I haven't even attempted to try writing one for a year or so. So imagine my great surprise when I sat down at midnight last night and these words spilled out onto a page of my journal with stanzas and a rhyme pattern. It was amazing to ME at least, and I immediately thought "first thing tomorrow- this gets posted." The problem that I've faced is finding a title- A TITLE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Why is this one simple thing the hardest thing for me to create. It's just remarkable how I was able to sit down and create a poem that's worth sharing, but the thing that I've always been able to do just isn't coming to me. I really can't understand it. Anyhow, maybe ya'll can help me by posting titles that you've thought of or, better yet, a certain BEST FRIEND of mine who is a poem junkie could offer me a few creative suggestions (hint hint, Miss Amber White). LOL, well here goes nothing; I now present you with my untitled poem. Hope you enjoy :)
It's almost disgustingly humorous how I'd thought it would last,
This deeply dark and mysterious thing I had cast.
Something most people can't get enough of;
Something we heathens call LOVE.
Heathen you say? Why's that?
Because we've shut our mind to reality, our hearts to the facts;
Because if we were truly believers we would have understood
That this rosy pink demon would prick us all if it could.
To those who see its thorns and still extend a hand to pick this,
I feel pity, for they don't realize that it's a trap for sickness...
A deep seeded hole by which love is planted
Into hearts of those whose veins demand it;
Demand that hot rush, hot flush of cheeks when that lover walks by,
Sick, sick, sickening a cell, growing anemic to the irony that reddens this high.
But I must admit, love smells light and sweet,
A scent that strengthens when me and another meet.
The roots extend deeper and embed itself deep into our skin,
Making us feel airy, weightless and thin;
Floating away so quickly that I wasn't not even aware
of everything and everyone I'd left behind down here.
Down here, back on Earth where stems began to shoot upwards against the gravity
And lives began to change as we dreampt about you and me.
We felt this budding relationship bloom and we planned it's future,
but we felt some new wounds that we then tried desperately to suture.
Holes ripped into soft skin
By vicious thorns, snaking from hate, one of love's kin.
We held on for way too long,
Tightening our grip on this tainted whip...
But now as I unfold my fist I've found
A withered rose, petals of deep red turned brown.
And as if trying to revive what's left,
Tears fall to my palm, but not even my rain could be that deft;
Not skilled enough to return which was never meant to be,
Dreams of you and me that should've just BEEN dreams of you and me.
And to this day, it haunts me to close my eyes at night,
And see him take a hold of me, watching me melt without a fight
Because it's easier to feel what's not physically there
Than it is to be so close and fall victim to the fear...
Fear? Fear of what?
Fear of falling hard with no chance of getting up.
So instead I abstain from the beliefs of the unbelievers
And preach the gospel of my past,
Regretfully watching others' roses bloom
Wishing that mine had had the strength to last...
Love Always <3,
Katrina Lowell
I sit here and cringe as I type, thinking of how disappointed some of you must be. The summer has nearly come to an end and I've done NOTHING!!!! I am soooooooo sorry about that guys. To be honest, I've been dealing with some stuff at home that has pretty much put my brain on hold as it applies to creative expression, such as writing, but you know what? I'm gonna slap myself in the face and tell myself to pull it together.
Anyhow, as you can see from the title, I've written a poem. This is... very unusual for me. To be completely honest, poetry is that looming dark cloud that I've tried to hide from. In English at school, when my teacher tells us to pull out our poetry books to analyze poems, I feel like everything inside... drops. It's a sinking feeling like my body decided to melt into the tiles under my feet. I guess my mind is to literal to understand a full body of text that says one thing and means another. That's why I can go a full term with grades ranging 90 - 100 % and get a nice little 60% to put me in the 80% range... awesome :/.
As for writing poetry, I find it like song writing- extraordinarily painful and frustrating. I haven't even attempted to try writing one for a year or so. So imagine my great surprise when I sat down at midnight last night and these words spilled out onto a page of my journal with stanzas and a rhyme pattern. It was amazing to ME at least, and I immediately thought "first thing tomorrow- this gets posted." The problem that I've faced is finding a title- A TITLE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Why is this one simple thing the hardest thing for me to create. It's just remarkable how I was able to sit down and create a poem that's worth sharing, but the thing that I've always been able to do just isn't coming to me. I really can't understand it. Anyhow, maybe ya'll can help me by posting titles that you've thought of or, better yet, a certain BEST FRIEND of mine who is a poem junkie could offer me a few creative suggestions (hint hint, Miss Amber White). LOL, well here goes nothing; I now present you with my untitled poem. Hope you enjoy :)
***
It's almost disgustingly humorous how I'd thought it would last,
This deeply dark and mysterious thing I had cast.
Something most people can't get enough of;
Something we heathens call LOVE.
Heathen you say? Why's that?
Because we've shut our mind to reality, our hearts to the facts;
Because if we were truly believers we would have understood
That this rosy pink demon would prick us all if it could.
To those who see its thorns and still extend a hand to pick this,
I feel pity, for they don't realize that it's a trap for sickness...
A deep seeded hole by which love is planted
Into hearts of those whose veins demand it;
Demand that hot rush, hot flush of cheeks when that lover walks by,
Sick, sick, sickening a cell, growing anemic to the irony that reddens this high.
But I must admit, love smells light and sweet,
A scent that strengthens when me and another meet.
The roots extend deeper and embed itself deep into our skin,
Making us feel airy, weightless and thin;
Floating away so quickly that I wasn't not even aware
of everything and everyone I'd left behind down here.
Down here, back on Earth where stems began to shoot upwards against the gravity
And lives began to change as we dreampt about you and me.
We felt this budding relationship bloom and we planned it's future,
but we felt some new wounds that we then tried desperately to suture.
Holes ripped into soft skin
By vicious thorns, snaking from hate, one of love's kin.
We held on for way too long,
Tightening our grip on this tainted whip...
But now as I unfold my fist I've found
A withered rose, petals of deep red turned brown.
And as if trying to revive what's left,
Tears fall to my palm, but not even my rain could be that deft;
Not skilled enough to return which was never meant to be,
Dreams of you and me that should've just BEEN dreams of you and me.
And to this day, it haunts me to close my eyes at night,
And see him take a hold of me, watching me melt without a fight
Because it's easier to feel what's not physically there
Than it is to be so close and fall victim to the fear...
Fear? Fear of what?
Fear of falling hard with no chance of getting up.
So instead I abstain from the beliefs of the unbelievers
And preach the gospel of my past,
Regretfully watching others' roses bloom
Wishing that mine had had the strength to last...
Love Always <3,
Katrina Lowell
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