Skeletons Are Icky

Hey hey hey. It's late. I'm sleepy. But I had a lightening strike of inspiration for a free form poem and had to get it out, unedited, before I changed my mind. Let me preface this by saying, for those of you that know me personally, I wrote this to help clean my closet a bit. There are some skeletons that I need to get rid of because a) skeletons are icky and b) I'm making steps rid myself of emotional baggage I hoard because I don't know what else to do with it, but I don't want to carry it with me to this next phase of my life. Especially because I'm traveling with another :] But here it goes:

We had our go
until you decided it was time
to see other people.
It would have been nice
If you had told me so
Before you set your sights
On another.

But we were so young.
One can hardly be blamed
For childish mistakes.

A year later,
Your eyes were back on me,
And I was skeptical,
Yet a hopeless romantic
Who wanted to change you.
Seventeen Magazine said
I could change you.
One night you followed me home,
Got out of your car,
And kissed me
long and hard
without a word,
then left,
My mind replayed it over and over
And my mind cast you as the leading role
Of my thoughts.
But sometime between then
And the next time we saw each other
Your mind retreated.

Maybe you were afraid of commitment,
But I was sure you were just afraid
Of being seen with me.
I was a good idea,
But I didn't quite sparkle
Like a trophy should.

I would like to say
That all of this is not intended
To bring you down
Or make you look like the bad guy,
But I'm a woman of integrity.

Now you say you consider me
A close friend
And that I'm fun to be around.
I grin and say thanks.

You say you're lonely these days
Even though you are surrounded by friends.
I say that's too bad
And that I'm praying for you.
I'm a woman of my word.

I'm praying that you get your act together,
but not before you realize
You can't fix everything with charm.

That's a horrible thing to wish someone
especially one you consider a friend,
But I can't find it in me
To consider you anything but a regret.

But one day,
Some day soon I'm sure,
I'll think of you with warm regards
While I sit in the warmth of my new love's arms.

Sky, Park, Air

Another free form written in church. What a heathen.


The sky hovers like spilled ink
Over the park.
His fingers tease her hand
And she grins.
They sit on the bench for hours,
Talking, planning, laughing,
Until he hears a voice
From behind a tree that whispers
Too low for her ears.
Contrite, he lowers his head
And walks away.
The air tonight numbs and pricks,
but she has nowhere else to go.

The sky burns red like licking flames
Against the park.
Another finds her standing alone
Under the magnolia tree.
Without saying a word
He kisses her long and hard
And she counts herself lucky.
They sit on the bench
For a minute or two when he says,
"Thank God for a girl like you
To make me feel happy,"
But even dogs tire of playthings;
Ennui smolders his passion.
He walks away.
The air this evening is thick
And sticks to her arms and legs,
but she has nowhere else to go.

The sky melts gray with ripe clouds
Against the park.
She clasps her hands together,
Looks out to the river
That cuts through the park,
And lets her eyes trace a single wave.
The air today swallows everything
In a dense fog,
But she has nowhere else to go.

She falls asleep on an iron bench
And wakes to find herself
Warmed by a fleece coat spread
Over her body.
She looks up at humble eyes
That match her curiousity with benevolence.
She knows him.
He sits down next to her
On the bench and says,
"Thank God for a girl of God.
Use me to show her Your love
And her worth."
She rests her head on his chest.
The air this morning is ubiquitous as always,
But she'd never know it.