joyce-lynn

on sunday i will see you,
take one look at your smile
(the adult teeth all grown in)
and tell you how much
you've grown, how much you've
changed, what a beautiful
young girl you've become.

i'll tell you i remember
that goofy smile
of years long gone,
your front teeth missing in action.
they were caught in a limbo
between infancy and adulthood---
and god knows you were, too.

maybe you were just a child,
yet i can't help but wonder
if all that thick grey smoke
has since formed clouds
on your blue eyes.





by me.

it

people find it in different places.

some search in the dark space
under the bed,
take the lid
off the shoebox, and grab the needle.

some skip the bullshit,
get right down to the veins--
take the razorblade and bleed.

we all need to find it sometimes,
sometimes at night
when we're sleeping alone.

i'll get in my car.
windows down and music on,
pretending i'm not the same
as the bleeding,

the ones just trying
to find a vein
and make sure their blood
is still warm.




by me.

Anthology, Page 157

the mind is its own beautiful prisoner.
Mine looked long at the sticky moon
opening in dusk her new wings

then decently hanged himself,one afternoon.

The last thing he saw was you
naked amid unnaked things,

your flesh,a succinct wandlike animal,
a little strolling with the futile purr
of blood;your sex squeaked like a billiard-cue
chalking itself, as not to make an error,
with twists spontaneously methodical.
He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses

he laughed,and closed his eyes as a girl closes
her left hand upon a mirror.


There are four poems in my E.E. Cummings anthology that are marked with a pink post-it. This is one of them. Another is the first poem I posted--- somewhere i have never travelled. The other two, I will post in time. =)

I love this poem. Is it strange that I know EXACTLY what he means in the last three lines? I know what he means throughout. I think I knew him in my past life. Maybe I WAS him! Wishful thinking. =)

it seems

it seems to me that when it's spring
people bloom and flowers dance
there's no such thing as no such thing
and nothing's newer than romance

it seems to me that when it's spring
people bloom and flowers sing

Sitting in Silence.

Speak to me friend! Or is the world so wide

That souls may easily forget their speech,

And the strong love that binds us each to each

Who have stood together watching God's white tide

Pouring, and those bright shapes of dreams which ride

Through darkness; we who have walked the silent beach

Strown with strange wonders out of ocean's reach

Which the next flood in her great heart shall hide?

Do not forget me, though the sands should fall,

And many things be swept away in deep,

And a new vision uttered to the shore,--

If after days bespeak me not at all,

Nor other's praise awake my song from sleep,

Nor Poetry remember, anymore.

Edward Estlin, I'm going to marry you (after I die and we are united in the afterlife, of course).

How does he know? Seriously.

Wow.

this is one of the first poems i ever wrote. i was twelve years old.

i have no idea how i made it out alive, but i'm so thankful that i did.

not only does this show my evolution as an artist... but as a person...

Sweet

And blood tastes sweet
Delicious like candy I would never eat
Smooth on my tongue like a razor blade
Bleed the pain away til I begin to fade

And tears taste sweet
Bitter like the herbs I would never eat
Smooth on my tongue like a razor blade
Cry the pain away til I begin to fade

And bones taste sweet
Creamy like desserts I would never eat
Smooth on my tongue like a razor blade
Starve the pain away til I begin to fade

The death you give
Black like the life I would never live
Suicide is sweet like a razor blade
Thanking my disease as I begin to fade.




yeah... you know what this brings to mind?


Still Here
Langston Hughes

been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,

Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!

weathered

sometimes the sun
the sun don't shine
upon this jaded soul

jaded by the darkest nights,
down days, and rock 'n roll

sometimes the rain
the rain it reigns
upon this searching soul

searching through the morning dew
for what might make it whole

a hand to hold, a breath of smoke
a book to pass the time

a jaded, searching, restless soul
with a troubled, troubled mind...




















wow. i really, really like this. i think it's one of my favorite works. i think its simplicity makes it darker, and deeper.

Down

My most recent poem. It has quite a few deeper meanings, but you can begin to understand it by thinking about The Matrix.

two pills:
a choice.

alternate reality red
or the blue of this life,
these skies.

so many times
i've chosen red.

i've made
my whole world
bleed.

there never existed
an in-between.

but i've come to find that i
can never be alice
and that chasing rabbits
can paralyze

freeze me mid-fall
down the rabbit hole--

and hours, hours of black.

so why not the blue?

my brain plays the prisoner
of its own illusion:

the red.
take ten.

the mirror tells a different tale:
c a t a l y z e
wipe the warm blood
from my cold brown eyes

and down,
down,
down the blue.