seethe

I split the sky into you and me
and found peace in that morning.

You stayed up all night with glue and tape
and tried in vain to make us fit,
over and over again.

But the more you try,
the more I pull away, sticky--
angry at the sight of more attempts.
How long can you place me beside you in words
before opening your eyes
to see I'm gone.


and I never was there:
Just a prop of paper-mâché
made to fit your expectations.

Is that why you cling to this
portrayal on paper
while I greet another morning alone,
comfortable
in my half of the sky.

--
Title is semi-prompt.

rain

I cracked dry from the pressure--
drought of hiding
in a barren world where I thought
the way I was
was just for show


and the rain only came back
when I told you no.




--
Title and Vienna Teng's song 'Drought' are prompt.

absent

another day where the time
slips through my fingers,
falls out of holes created
in the pockets of my
genes--something about this
must be hereditary,
for it lingers, invasive,
festering
like a disease.


but really,
it isn't the time that's the problem:
it's my perception.

today I took a test,
finished a final project,
and put myself on the internet
for an assignment--
more than enough to comprise
a day started at 4 pm.

what bothers is the time I stole from myself
yesterday,
the missing hours swiped and spent
avoiding all my goals;

7 hours that should have been mine,
but instead belonged
to no one at all.

--
Title is prompt, and the fact that I stayed up 'til 7 am this morning, then got very little sleep, then did all my Computer Essential homework (almost done with that class!). And I have to get up at 6 tomorrow, and then I'm volunteering at a Japan Festival all day tomorrow. Ugh. Not looking forward to it.

it was illusion (bonus poem)

it was illusion that I let show
as a sparkle in my eye,
because there was nothing I wanted more
than to try and make this
work

but that's just what it became:
a struggle, a pain, an annoyance;
a weight dragging me down,
into what could be the perfect future,
but not for me

and suddenly words didn't work anymore
and I wasn't myself without them.


there's nothing I'd like more
than for it to have been true
otherwise
I never would have done that
to you.


but I am not her.
and I never was.
And there's nothing I want more now
than my certain slanted sun, my secret garden,
a glass coffin to rot in, sleeping
until the world has forgotten
what we very briefly dreamed of.


but my words do not work
when said from lips I wish were smiling,
and I am a coward; so these are my words.
I'm sorry,

but no.

lacking a vase (bonus poem)

lacking a vase, I put them in a peanut jar.

as one who used to live with clay under my fingernails,
this fact was somewhat bemusing,
and slightly depressing--these deserve a better fate,
but the clear plastic lets me better see
the lovely magenta
that the stems have turned the water
(and my hands)

I always said I would dye my hair that colour
when a chemistry concoction mixed up like that.
it was a crazy thing to say, but so natural,
commonplace
the three times I actually did.

distractions.



This doesn't change anything.
I can't do this anymore.

the suffocation of trying so hard to change myself
does nothing but hurt
and make me blame you for that pain.
And no amount of wishing
has ever given me wings; why should I have expected it to work
    this time.

        Because I wanted it more?


but then again,
this arrangement of spring reminds me
that I've been painting you the wrong colour in my mind.

you are more like these bright flowers,
but caught in carefully molded clay;
unfired, still working out your form,
and waiting for someone to see through, to turn your sides
clear plastic and reveal your hidden heart.

because as much as it kills me,
all of this has been dizzy perfection
meant for some lucky girl
who isn't me.




    I think I liked pretending too much.
for both of our sakes.