My mind is a blur of letters upon words upon phrases trying ever so desperately to spill from the very pages of my brain, only to slip out in a jumbled up mess of colors and nonsense. My heart thumps furiously as my brain attempts to pump out all of the gunk and grime that cakes and clogs even my simplest of thoughts. The empty paper in front of me begins to bleed as I release a wave of emotion from my lips, no longer caring where it lands. The once white page now stained and red shows nothing but confusion and chaos. How could anyone read this? How could anyone understand? My mind, now emptied, prompts me with an idea. I reach for the brush, and soon the smooth, white lines wipe away any trace of color. How fresh and clean the page now looks, but soon, the process will begin once more. I worry there won’t be enough white paint.
Category: Poetry
Spring
The rain brings flowers
And my heart begins to bloom
A pale shade of pink.
I am made of
reddish hair,
deep brown eyes,
freckled cheeks,
and most annoyingly,
stretch marks.
A mirror stands,
full-length
with white, wooden edges,
looming ominously,
waiting for me
to step up and see.
My reflection laughs
as it raises its finger,
viciously pointing
out each and every flaw,
leaving no insecurity
left unmentioned.
I am made of
self-doubt,
self-hatred,
self-loathing,
and sadly enough,
a severe lack of self-worth.
My inner voice
pokes and prods at my
very existence,
making me question
my will to even be
or do or say.
But suddenly,
like a small voice
in the midst of a storm,
something changes,
something that makes
the sun seem brighter,
the grass look greener,
my heart feel…fuller
He stands behind me,
the mirror now reflecting
two instead of one,
and my reflection
ceases to point,
to laugh, or mock.
Instead, she smiles
as his hands hold hers.
I may be made of
stretch marks and freckles,
eyes too dark
and hair too tangled,
but standing with him,
he shows me
just how it feels to be
loved in spite of it all.
Apart we may be made of
flaws and insecurities,
but together we are made of
love and laughter,
hope and understanding,
and all that really matters
is that together
we have found our strength.
Reminded
He reminds me of
What it feels like to be loved
Again and again
Self-Love
Self-love isn’t about achieving self-perfection. It’s about recognizing your flaws and yet loving yourself anyways. It’s the ability to look in a mirror and not hate your rolls or thick thighs or that one patch of hair that never seems to lay flat. It’s being able to see yourself in a new light, one that highlights your inner beauty and incredible strengths. Self-love is the understanding that even in your lowest moments, you are still beautiful. And while this may be a difficult concept to fully grasp, it is one that I will strive for every day in every moment I’m alive. We must learn to love ourselves rather than rely on the world to do it for us because if that is the case, we will always be sorely disappointed.
The Beauty of Silence
It was in the stillness of each moment that she found her peace.
The silence did not make her fear, but brought her sweet release.
When the world was too loud, her thoughts were often lost in the noise.
Yet, in a moment of quiet, she found her hidden voice.
And oh what a beautiful voice it was.
Rain
When the rain begins to fall, and the skies begin to darken, I think about my own mind. Depression threatens to intrude upon my happiness like the looming clouds threaten to choke out the light of the sun. The rain falls from the sky like tear drops down my cheeks as the last remaining rays of light slowly disappear. But then, something magical happens. The rain falls and falls, bringing with it sadness, but something else as well. There’s hope. Hope that the day will become brighter again. Hope that tomorrow will be better. Hope that this rain will wash away all of the cobwebs from your soul and give you a new sense of life, feeling, and belonging. And as you look outside your window, you realize that it is all true. The rain washes away all of the dust, pollen, and grime that cakes the world outside. But when the rain stops falling, and the clouds go away, don’t think about the mud that’s left behind. Rather, look upwards towards the sky as the sun begins to shine once more. A rainbow will appear even after the worst storm as a reminder that things will get better. They always get better. And as the flowers begin to soak in all the nutrients from their freshly watered soil, remember that growing is a process. Rain makes the flowers grow stronger, just like tears make the heart grow fonder.
Beautiful
Writing is Hard
Sometimes writing is hard.
You sit down at your desk, laptop on, Microsoft Word open, and you slowly place your fingers on the keys.
“Okay,” you say to yourself. “Let’s write something good.”
Now if only it were that easy.
The seconds fly by. Seconds turn to minutes, which turn into hours, until you finally shut your computer and stand up with a sad sigh. Another day spent staring at a blank computer screen.
Where’s the inspiration? Where’s the magic? Why can’t words just appear on the page and inspire any and everyone who reads them?
If only writing were that simple.
Sometimes, writing is hard.
But one day, something magical DOES happen.
You sit down at that same desk with your same old laptop, Microsoft word open, and you write. You write and you write and then you write some more! Words turn to sentences which turn to paragraphs that go on to fill pages!
And as the seconds turn into hours, you finally stand up with a satisfied smile and think to yourself, “THIS is what I live for. This is why I write.”
Sometimes all it takes is one day, but sometimes it will take years.
All you need is little time and a whole lot of patience.
Sometimes writing is hard. But that will never mean that it is not worth it.
The “not-so-simple” simple poem
Why can’t poetry sometimes be simple? Why can’t it simply say what it means and mean what it simply says? Why must there always be some hidden meaning behind it that one must discover through deep thought and contemplation?
This is a poem.
It’s not a hard poem.
It’s not a message in disguise.
It is simply a poem about a simple poem.
Poems can have meaning without the use of fancy words that no one understands.
Poems can give hope and peace and joy without having to be picked apart in a literature class.
This poem is simple.
So what can be taken from such a simple poem?
Simply this: don’t feel as though you cannot write poetry just because you don’t have a large and confusing vocabulary or can’t write in a style such as Poe or Dickinson.
Poetry should come from your heart and if what you have to say is simple, then simply say it. No extra words or confusing lines are needed.
So simply speaking, this is a simple poem about a simple poem, and yet surprisingly, there’s still something not so simple about it.