Author: angrylove888 PM
Carry me softly. Be gentle with me. Maybe you can understand. Maybe you can't. Stream-of-thought poem about my deepest and wildest desires. Tread carefully on my dreams. They're all I have left.Rated: Fiction T - English - Poetry - Words: 547 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 02-08-12 - Status: Complete - id: 2995856
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Do you know what would be nice?
To never leave that place
where the warm breath of blankets covers
and muffles the sound of time as it tick tick
And to never come home, but
to stay with you
through high school and college-
where the heat of your hugs are always
present on my skin.
Like the pleasant feel of glowing honey
you stick to me.
Your words, they bounce and echo in my
so I may never forget how you feel about
And your soft, gooey pastries
satiate my soul.
It would be nice, too, if math was declared
'insane' by the courts
and no longer practiced in the school
The judge would say "Math is insensible, so
from this day forward, all answers shall
Pie, just like your yam pie, remember?
I gobbled it up so eagerly that my eyeballs
rolled up into my head with the sugar high
That was Christmas.
Oh, if only every day were Christmas
then I could stay with you.
So, I wish the courts would declare my
God knows they need a therapist.
I can see it now; my dear old mum and dad
so pinched and awkward, in the velvety red
their words meaningless bloody noises
bursting from their mouths.
The therapist, traumatized, would flee from
the room and call security.
"These people are crazy, foaming at the
in high, screaming voices. Mad, I tell you."
But back to pie
which brings me to
He was saying something funny,
A lame joke about calculus that went
"Two pi equals one pie."
And I laughed because I understood.
I laughed but he didn't hear me.
He doesn't talk to me anymore.
Not since we went to the movies.
Which is a shame because I
miss him like nothing else.
I miss all of his stupidly lame jokes that
always somehow related to bananas
I look at his face.
My heart stops beating
and I taste the musty, fruity scent
that I had been tasting all along.
I'm smart enough to call it what it is:
How can you know
you silly boy?
I want to forget you.
I want Oreos
while sitting under the willow tree that is no longer
since my grandma's neighbor chopped it
so brutally to the ground.
I want to sit in the shade there
with my sisters beaming up at me through
as the light of the dimming sun glows red.
Just to sit there and let the stories pour out of
spin out of my ears and eyes and mouth in
shimmering sparks that land in my sisters'
eyes and twinkle like waking stars.
To sit and pretend we will live forever in a
world of fantasy.
To listen to the song of the crickets calling
in the rhythm of enchanting night.
To not notice the chill of the dark settling
down on us
but to revel at the skies
and the feel of being at home-
of being snug in the backyard of our
where we shall hope to live