Going to the mattresses

I'm all caught up now. Maybe I can stay caught up tomorrow too, ha. Today's theme:__________. You'll just have to read them to figure that out.

Also, we are officially halfway through National Poetry Month! You'd think I'd have run out of poems now. But that thought would be inaccurate. At the age of 15, I began my first real blog (on Xanga! yay!) and I wrote a lot of poetry. An insensitive girl at my high school felt the need to comment on a post, "Your blog is nice, but there's too much poetry." There is no such thing as too much poetry.  No point pretending otherwise, I am an endless well of it.



Sunday. April 14, 2013
 Composure


A cardinal perched at the building's top
and wound his way round
to the Sunset Ave stop.
The big red bird was too damn proud
and was shot from the sky
by a man in the crowd.
Every resident on Sunset Avenue said
"Well, it's about time!"
and went to bed.
And falling asleep on that warm night
the singers and the poets
all began to fight.
The gangsters and the mailman, babies too,
old ladies and pit bulls
all started to stew.
Hurling words better left dead,
we scratched and clawed
and cried and bled.
And as we realized we could not be saved
we recalled the cardinal
in his asphalt grave.
The music had gone from his feathered head
and in the wake of his song
we composed chaos instead.



Monday. April 15, 2013
 Waking is like

Waking
is fading upwards
breathless
like ascension
from a bed of saltwater.
Like resuscitation
from a death of
dreamlessness.
Breathing
suffocates
in the absence of
sincerity.
Are you ingenuine
are you the sword
or the safe
exhalation
are you slumber
or are you
unconscious...