Hands

My hands were small

With nail polish chipping off

And my fingers awkwardly short

Yours were large

Square and masculine

And they were moist and warm

Not clammy

But in the perfect sense

that made my hands want to stay in yours awhile

and linger there

our fingers intertwined

with a million stars above

as a million testimonies of previous loves

and a perfect hand

dwarfed them all

Untitled 1

I don’t understand you
And I know that I never will
But there’s something in your face and eyes tonight
That holds me captivated and still

You're pressing down with audacity
And I can barely breathe or think
Of what kind of person you are
And what kind of person you could make me

I wish I was your solid prowess
And your admirable deportment
As is your miles beyond me
And I only wish that I someday might deserve you

Check out my Senior Project, "The Clock House"

http://volensamare-clockhouse.blogspot.com/

Attempting Poetry

I know I’m not that good
At least at poetry I think
I’m good at laughing
Singing
Freaking when there is nothing to freak
And being a headstrong independent person

I’m good at standing on my own two feet
And letting a friend know I care
And I’m not afraid to let the world know
How I’m confident in me

I analyze
I hum
In a drone to the music in my car
I sing an octave higher
Just to feel the thrill because I’m good at it

I heave I breath off my chest
And let myself cry
Just because I’m good at letting my feelings run
And we all need to let our emotions fall from our skin

I dance in front of my mirror
And I’m a professional at keeping my room a mess
Because if one thing must be in disarray
It should be that

I stress
I worry
About today
Tomorrow
And the inevitable
Even though it is inevitable
Which makes me wonder why I do

But I’m not perfect
And I’m glad that I’m not
And when it comes to my poetry
I always fall just short
Of something that is really superb
I write because I’m trying
To hum that methodic drone of verses
And dance that rhythmic feet of lines
Don’t judge me
I’m learning
I’m attempting poetry

Hour Glass

When I looked up at the sand pouring down
And mixing with my hair
It seemed so long till
I would soon run out of air
And pushing back terror
I basked in the ephemeral ecstasy
Of my own ignorant peril

No shards of glass
Will hold me
Suspended
Demented
In time
The future is too far away
To ponder sunsets
And the sliding of a day

Gasping
And clinging on
I never saw it this close
And heaving I still don’t quite know
How I underestimated the slipping grains

June Bug

There’s a light on outside
Where a June bug hums its paper-thin wings
Under a yellow hazy light,
Shrouded by a stars,
Veiled by the wisps of heavy clouds,
Mystified by such a light
As I am mystified by you
I wonder why you linger, when
A few seconds more
Of fluttering around that light will kill you
And feigning ignorance of the corpses of brethren scatter below
As I look away, you plummet dead
To your friends
A litter to be swept up by a broom when June really does come
And I as sit here wondering you
I realize the unfortunate truth
That I am just like you

The poem that won't come

Sitting in a dead room
With a dead noise
In a dead heat
Hoping for a poem that will bring my life to life
Fabricate an illusion that there is momentum
Passion
Love
To wake up to everyday
That I don’t need to listen to dead hums
And sarcastic drones
That mock my life
For what it lacks
And what I have still to gain
So I sit here waiting
For the poem that won’t come