Writing in College – A Poet's Pen

That’s All I Want

I want us laughing over spilt coffee

Shuffling through a deck of cards

With our legs crossed.

I want that piece of sky

When last night becomes tomorrow morning

And our clothes try to hide

What we made in our memory.

I want our feet to cross over

The places that threatened our freedom.

I want the clock hands to get stuck

So we have more time to spend.

I want the papers and messages to cease

The overwhelming deadlines

So I can talk to you at night.

I want something to hold onto.

Like the days we take time to go for a drive,

Or when you take my hand and smile.

I want those days, and I want more nights—

I want us to remember the meaning of together.

That’s all I want.

My Found Poem.

I am scared of a lot of things.

I used to build my clubhouse out of books

Whenever I needed an escape,

But my eyes still held the darkness

Like an open tomb—

Like a wall without a light switch,

So I close my eyes and try to whisper,

“I am not alone in this darkness,”

But all I can manage is,

“Why?”

It’s like my world seemed to tip on its axis—

Like any second

I could fall beneath the surface.

I let the night hit against my vocal chords

And cried,

“Give it back!”

Give me something real.

When last night became tomorrow morning—

And don’t say good-bye.

Don’t give me another blank stare.

I want to shatter this image,

But instead

A broken mirror takes its place

And leaves glass in my hands.

A constant imprint

That I am not yet who I want to become.

A constant reminder that I have to hold my scars

And move forward.

This is Not a Black and White Story

I am scared of a lot of things.

I’m scared of ISIS, terrorism, disease, and people hiding in the dark, waiting for people like me. I am scared of him. I am scared of being alone, and having no one to go to. I am scared of disappointing my parents, getting pregnant before I get married, and not making it into grad school. I am scared of school. I am scared of losing everything, and dying before I get the chance to live,

But I love running outside in my bare feet, and making up words to songs. I love driving when everyone else is sleeping, and pretending like I am the only person left in a small country town with a name no one seems to remember. I love talking about nonsensical things with friends, and drinking underneath the stars that fall along the river.

My fears will not stop me from walking outside, and breathing in freshly cut grass, or the crisp mornings lining my windows. My fears will never leave me, but my love for life, and for people, will fuel enough excitement and energy to search for more.

More than black and white, and more than memories left behind in pictures.

I am writing this blog so I can continue to move past the darkness pressing into my sides, cutting into my lungs, while I look into my past. I want to breathe again, but first–I need to start from the beginning. Or maybe from the middle.

This is me.