5/15

11:52 AM flashesofgold 0 Comments

I think I could make this better with some editing. But so far, here it is.

One.
The number of times I’ve talked to you.
Our palms fit together like the ring around my finger;
I suddenly felt conscious of my thirsty skin
While your hand attempted to read the lines on my hand
As if the cracks told a story of the harsh, worn me
Underneath the half-suns in my eyes of a
Smile I’ve been conditioned to hold.
I don’t even know your last name.
Two.
The number of drinks you spilled on me.
The number of times you apologized and smiled
And jokingly blamed the guy with a drunken slur
And wiped the beer away with a look of satisfaction
Like someone who’s plucked the dust from an old record player
Three.
The number of times our hands brushed.
Your numb hands felt nothing but the
Plastic cold of the red Solo cups
Only you weren’t aware that I was staring at the
Corner where two walls met
And I was wondering how it felt to hold someone’s hand
Like a bandage over a wound
The blood filling each tiny square of fabric
Caressing and sharing the pain.
Four.
The number of minutes the song lasted.
I had never felt quite as powerful as I did then,
As if the bobbing of our heads were
Orchestrating every down beat on the bass.
And every time your head came up you looked at me
And made sure I was in sync with the music, with you.
Five.
As far as you got in scribbling my number.
You took the pen from your pocket and
Etched my name onto your hand and I looked at you
Hoping each stroke of ink would stay there forever.
Six.
The number of days it took for me to forget about you.
This is the number of times that I tried to
Wish away those memories.
The number of times my hand brushed away the air in front of me
Pretending that it was just one night.
That one night when the cracking of the party cups
Under footsteps sounded too loud
And the memories of you clung to me like beer on the floor.

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4/15

6:03 PM flashesofgold 0 Comments

It's kind of silly. Enjoy.
I was slightly inspired by this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kozv2POJS0I

Your love is aromatic, fragrant, delectable you
Fill me, coat my throat with bliss
And move through me, seeping through my bones
Through my veins, conquering me with your drug.
You’re heroin straight to my bloodstream
Straight to my brain to the tips of each hair on my
Head. I quiver with the rhythm of your flow from the
Moment you’re soaked into the crevices of my lips and
You enter and you navigate through and warm each
Tastebud on my tongue and I bud like a rose
Arising from the depths of you but the downfall
Is the worst thing,
          When I realize you are like a storm
Lasting too long, when the stem of the rose breaks from winds
Too strong. You pull me down from happy thoughts and
They are no more; I’m done with you. You’re like lodged
Shards of glass overstaying their welcome in the
Deepest chambers of my brain. You leave imprints of you
In watery brown rings on every story I write
Like fossils of dinosaur bones and you
Leave me longing but you’re bad for my health, my lungs,
My heart. I know you’re nothing special
You’re just coffee to everyone else I know.

Coffee = love of my life.

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3/15

6:10 PM flashesofgold 0 Comments

Although I'm really a Fall kind of girl, I really miss the lazy warmth of summer sometimes.
I'm a day late so this is written in kind of a hurry, but I'd say writing 15 poems in one month is a feat in itself, right?
I've tried to emphasize the sudden transition that comes with the end of summer, and how everything slows down for the last few weeks before you realize you have to go back to real life. Enjoy!

the clouds cut crisp by the sun
dandelion seeds weaving in and out of air
the waves eating and spitting back out
the tail ends of chopped grass
running inhaling and rough exhaling
sugary remnants of ice cream on sticky fingers
the sun temporarily shaded by the clouds
the breeze playing peekaboo with skirts
lonely hearts pacified by a bonfire
emotional release of fireworks
the tender hug of two warm hands
swirling the air with hand outstretched in a car
the feeling of parting with the sun for a while
the feeling of heaviness in the uncertainty to come
the feeling of lying on sand trying to memorize every smell, taste, sight
the feeling of sleeping while the music drifts in and out and lulls until there is a feeling of
                                                                                                Summer.

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2/15

9:25 PM flashesofgold 0 Comments

Does it work on paper?
Topic partially inspired by Dexter.



Autopsy of a girl

1. The iris is crystallized sugar;
her eyes are finally strewn with hot stars
that were always so far
farther than the fabric of her sheets
with its large cartoon stars
and their five harsh pricks,
the collision of opposing lines.
Real stars are round.
2. Her veins are railroad tracks
worn by rapid fiery trains
traveling miles and miles
exhaling fuzzy puffs of smoke
every exhale is a sigh
shedding dreams of being a plane
like casts of reptile skin
yet there is no indication of a destination
3. The fingers are stretched outward
towards the nearest exit
but the hand hangs limp like
the necklace on her neck
and her skin wraps around the knuckles so tight
the doctor swore he knew her life.
The pad of her thumb has been badly burned
so the skin hangs on like wax from a candle;
she lacks an identity.

4. Her lungs are rubbery and tired.
One last breath and her lungs were finished
like a balloon filled with air too many times,
overstretched and limp like her fingers.

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1/15

9:23 PM flashesofgold 0 Comments

So I'm doing 15 poems in the month of April to celebrate Poetry month. I know. Exciting. And ambitious. But I'm going to try my hardest to put a poem up every 2 days, so yay!


you make me feel like the first day of Spring
when the flowers appease their
parched tongues with droplets of Release and
my eloquence Melts away with the words i used to know and
my tongue stays Caged in the place behind my teeth but
you make me feel like the sprout of a good thing
like the smell of the morning mist i like you.
the sky wilts under threats of thunder
and the retreating sun prompts
nervous thrashing wings but
you make me Fall for the way you make me feel.

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