Tag: sad

Clarity.

Time seems to hide in my moments of clarity,

Like days will melt into years

With quiet mornings and him

Holding my hand

And drinking coffee.

But it is morning,

And I am alone.

His body is molded into a plastic chair

Learning coded messages

From pieces of technology

As he sends words to me

Through small screens and dying batteries.

I am sitting on the couch

Writing and planning for next week,

Imagining little voices calling out for me

To teach words and metaphors.

I am alone,

But in my dreams I will still have time to meet

And talk and laugh and listen.

I am alone,

But I hold him here.

Are you Happy?

I have something to tell you,

but I’m not sure how to say it.

Are you happy?

I want you to be happy,

But I’m not sure what to do–

I feel like I’m tiptoeing around shattered glass,

Picking up stray pieces,

Wondering where they came from.

I want to tell you something,

But I feel like there are no words left for me to say–

For me to fix the broken things.

I don’t know you,

But I want to.

I want to wrap my arms around you,

But instead of touching you,

I want my words to be the arms

That bring you comfort.

Warmth.

I want to make you laugh,

And see you smile with your eyes–

Because I want you to know that I really do care,

And I am a broken person, too,

But my heart still wants the same things–

To love well, and to be loved well.

So I don’t expect much,

But I want you to know my heart is here.

It’s beating, and it may sound faint at times,

But it’s here.

I know you can’t save me,

And I can’t save you,

But all I can think to say is,

I want you to be happy.

Are you happy?

My Campus Letter

A poem I wrote during my Senior year of college.

I am going home.

I am leaving, but I hate saying good-bye.

Good-byes are hard, and they aren’t honest. You can’t look someone in the eye and tell them it’s good that you’re leaving– 

So here I am

Standing–

Looking around at empty spaces,

Thinking about the students melting away in plastic chairs,

Waiting for their day to start.

Why am I here?

Give me back my sophomore year–

When my friends sat on the quad and played guitar music,

And started paint wars, flour wars, and water balloon fights.

When my first impression consisted of the random girl sitting in a tree reading

And people called me a hippie, because I ran in my bare feet.

Give me back the late nights at Omlette Spot, and the basic days at Starbucks,

When we used to think the “Why?” questions, and found ourselves in the stars–

When we sat with our legs crossed, shuffling through a deck of cards–

Give me back my friends,

The people I shared my life with,

And the people who loved with their whole selves–

Not just with their words.

Give me back the girl I was sophomore year.

I want to feel light again, like I can fly,

And find off the wall dreams.

Give me back my piece of something…

But I am leaving.

And this short span in my existence is coming to its end–

So the bell rings.

My mind rushes forward as I see students pour out from their classes,

And relief leaves me.

I bow my head, smile at my bare feet, and close my eyes.

I guess this is good-bye.