#27

1,111 is like eleven eleven
squished together in a nice dainty little package so
that you don't have to worry.
No colons or spaces to get between,
nothing here but you and me.
I'd give up all my 1111 wishes for you,
for your new friends in that far place for
the ones who left
for the ones who can't come back
come back
come back
come back
It's not that hard, they always tell me, move on get over it, move on get over it
but this is my words spilling out of the tar pit in my soul
excuse the typos.
This is me angry
hopeful
sad
hurt
discouraged
disappointed
hopeful
hurt.
There's a fine line between hurt and hope the more you hurt the more you hope
the more you hope, the more you hurt.

Angel Christmas

Christmas comes
Christmas goes
transient as the last seat at the table,
the one filled by hot air and paintbrushes and
memories of a time less painful when the
falling snow didn't remind you of angels
and the clouds didn't remind you of
the far place where you can't be.
I'm jealous that you went because
you don't have to be stuck here anymore,
a lost soul in a cruel fish bowl
with a mirrored side like a funhouse.
Well there's nothing fun about this and
this house is made of
the dreams wasted,
thunderous voices booming insecurities
across the hope torn apart,
turned to shame.
Christmas comes
Christmas goes
like the people who don't have time to say hello,
the ones taken too fast to say goodbye.
You shouldn't be scared or confused when you
leave this near place.
Christmas comes
Christmas goes,
a woven melody that I hear, entwined with the
storms I'm not sure my paper skin can weather anymore.
Yesterday was a good day
because Christmas came
Christmas went,
you went though,
and you haven't come back.

My Reason

I swore off of love poems some time ago

when I decided that they were as mainstream as 

those fake glasses with the thick, dark rims and 

little metal ovals in the corners. 

I mean, I haven't totally gone back on that promise,

but recent events have proved to me that I need to explain something,

the reason for all I do.

So this is my love letter.

My love letter for you. 

It was August 23rd, I remember, that we 

sat down on cold steps that 

were warmed by the smiles across our face and 

out of nowhere, you saw the lock inside my heart 

start to turn at the press of your lips against mine.

I felt it but I didn't say it because to guard your heart is to guard your home and

back then,

I didn't know just how wonderful you are.

I walked down the street in December by myself and 

it was a cold night with glitter spilled on a black canvas and 

the beat of my heart provided the metronome for the 

symphony of the universe around me.

I heard your voice in my head.

You said,

you're a moon rock in my asteroid field, stardust inside my wand.

I replied,

listen here, wave-breaker. I'm not amazing as moon rock or fragile as a speck of dust but thanks for the compliment I guess.

That was months ago and I promised myself back then that 

it would all end, that 

somehow this night would fade and this star would cease to shine.

I'm pretty sure I'm not stupid and I'm not usually wrong about these things,

but you've proved that stars do burn for billions of years

and one beautiful day can last forever.

because one night we stood in your driveway,

not caring that the neighbors were probably watching with bowls of popcorn 

from inside their windows 

while we danced by your car,

my head against your shoulder and my feet entwined with yours.

You found my lock and you found the key 

I carefully hid away so well,

but I didn't care.

That morning in August you were the only one I called 

and you came over with nothing to say and only tears in your eyes.

I hope you know that meant the world to me.

I hope you know that's when I figured out I need you.

Now people ask me what I love about you and I 

don't exactly know what to say.

So, I smile the same smile you have and try to feel you next to me

to spread your aura. 

I say the only words that I can to attempt to spit out the 

tangled emotions and memories that

float inside the faulty safety deposit box in my mind.

"I just do."

I must show it, because somehow, they always smile

too and nod, saying "I understand."

If you live to be a hundred,

I want to be a hundred minus one day,

so I never have to live without you.

If a day should come that we must go,

I'll stand and wait for you up in a tree, and when you 

find me, you'll help me down.

Until that day comes,

I love you,

I love all of you, 

simple,

true.

I hate poems that rhyme,

but you bring it out in me.

You do.

And my reason?

My reason is you. 

Angry, The Sequel.

I'm sick of yelling through caps lock, unable to hear each other over the
din our own screams create so I'll
put it down right here.
I hate the stranger you've become, the way others have changed you,
the way the world has molded you.
I hate the way you fight me like I don't love you, like I didn't trust you,
like I don't want this to work.
I hate the way you blame me when you don't even take a damn second
to see things from my point of view.
I hate the he-said, she-said that got us into this in the first place,
and I hate the fact that it is midnight but I cry
as silently as possible so that
nobody will ask me what's wrong.
I hate that you don't need me and I hate that
I'm replaceable.
I hate that I need you and I hate that you can't
be replaced.
You'll probably judge this hardcore, but this isn't poetry, it's a brain dump.

#26

Well, I thought falling was imperfect,
that there was no way around the lightning splitting trees,
no way to prevent the shatter that inevitably ensues,
only cataracts to look through and
misery-tainted ears to listen through, but
as always I was wrong because
when I fell off of a skyscraper, I can't be sure if you pushed me or if I jumped.
That's beside the point.
When I hit the ground and looked up you were there and
it didn't matter that people were circling around me like paparazzi vultures,
all that mattered was seeing you give me a thumbs up
from the top balcony all
that mattered was your crinkled smile.
If falling is like this all the time then I don't mind splitting in half occasionally because
you'll just grab your keys and go,
drive fast away,
find the duck tape and
piece me together again.

#25

It was a cold, windy, November night when I watched my
demons fly away and my
soul grow roots in the home of another, yet feel
gutsy enough to let the petals go
even though it is not mating sea on.
The night is cold buy your arms and your lips are warm and
all I can think about is how nice it would be to have you sleep
with me,
not that weird way but
the way where I put my head on your chest and fall asleep
to the metronome of your steadily beating drum.
I sick of living in the shadows of my past and
leaving out all the rest,
of making enemies with uncertainty and
friends with animosity.
Raise the stakes or fold,
I go all in.

Explanation to Brutus

The fault, Dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.
our stars shine so brightly but who knows what they truly are,
a million miles away from this concrete jungle of
fear and tyranny
false hopes and false witnesses who
take an oath upon the court that
they solemnly swear...
I solemnly swear that I have had enough of this fucking nonsense.
I have had enough of the screams that
rip through my mind but never through my ears and mouth.
I've had enough bad luck for five and
I've had enough midnight despair for everybody.
Lay your faults on me like an anchor and keep me at bay.
If you don't the surge from the storm may
swipe me into the nearest Forever 21
where I will be on display for people to buy unaware
of the price of beauty stitched into the fibers of my being,
slavery is sewn into the fabric of our clothes.
I'm creating an anthem.
This one is for the girls who cover their faces with makeup to hide their
souls from the world.
This song is for the boys who think they are men but deep down they are just
infants.
This is for the ones who want to sing but hate the sound of their voice, for the ones who
paint their nails to cover their flaws the one with cracked broken
lips,
the ones who suffer from the nighttime tormenting fits.
This an anthem of dreamers and believers,
of condescending critics and
their peers
for the poets who are told if it doesn't rhyme it's not a poem and
for all of us who have been knocked on our knees just one time to many
This is for the ones who write because their souls need to be fed,
for the ones who sing for their emotional bank to be kept clean
and for the ones who express who they are
each and everyday.
This is an anthem for all of us, for all of us here
who take a stand against normalcy and society,
who think the -ologies have taken it just a little to far.
This is for the spirits that want to burst out and
for the rib cages who keep them in.
I'm talking about an anthem.
Listen to my anthem and let wildflower vines tangle with your bones.
Let their stems clog your veins and let your soul take
over in the grey area where it meets the body.
When the man up there returns back down I hope you're not in a house or
a building or in anything for that matter than
your naked body stripped down of fabric,
the fibers of your being shown to the world because
we are the beautiful ones.
We are the ones they hate because they love,
the ones that get thrown against walls because we break them down,
the ones who feel a need to sit on rooftops and explore the depths of humanity;
Don't let that wildflower die.
Listen to my anthem.
The fault in ourselves, Dear Brutus, is each other's stars.

Tidal Wave

On the high tide of bliss trouble is covered,
covered but the seaweed and life forms and sea shell that have
drifted in to cover up murky bottoms.
I wish my soul had a moon,
my heart could be a moon,
I want some tides in my soul,
but the kind that stays.
I need a high tide,
I need a sunrise,
I need some concealer
to cover up this dark spot and wrinkle.
You see, a smile is just a piece of the tide,
a laugh is just crying without tears and
when I said,
I'm so happy I found you, I meant it because
you make it so the
high tide never goes down.
Maybe that's not healthy.
Maybe I need to see to the sand in order to
dig for the gold which I seek,
but I say,
fuck the ordinary, I want to be extraordinary,
unlike the name implies.
I want to be strong like the waves of a hurricane,
knock me off my feet,
I want to pretend like the last six years didn't actually happen,
and I want to pretend that I can actually express my feelings in cryptic, creative, unusual ways but instead I end up just dumping my brain and dumping my feelings into a box carved into my computer screen, my blinking cursor mocking my pain, my hands are covered with the blood that I lost when you went you left you left you went you're gone and somehow I'm fucking jealous. I'm jealous you're in a place where it's all fucking dandelions and daffodils meanwhile I'm stuck here picking up the pieces of the debris after the storm.
You know how hard it is to smile when people ask how you are?
If  I told the truth I'm sure I'd be locked in a mental ward.
You know how hard it is to watch a grown man cry his eyes out?
You know how hard it is to imagine you could be next?
To know you could be next?
To think that the one you love with your whole heart could be next?
I'm sorry but I really can't go through this again. I really can't go through this again. I really don't have the strength or the courage, or the classical beauty that you say I do to go through with this, to go through this, to make it through this one. I need. Help.

Help me, I'm drowning in a self-induced tide
to cover my motives.

Garden Gnomes

The lust of you breath giver tickled my guitar strings
softly and rang the bell that gave an angel her wings.
I guess I can blame you then for taking away my garden-
weaving sweetheart woman with clip-on earrings and
hand-sewn sweaters.
You breathed too hard, rang the bells, she left, she's
gone, you took her away.
Away on the wings of song, fallen gout of the car door
 onto a black sea of
tar the place where pine needles fall,
fall carefully and silently into your lover's arms.
Swept away on a vein of blinding lights
sirens and chaos, strapped in places like a paraplegic by
men wearing white but far from saints,
working the night shift of the grave yard,
pumping air into your oxygen tank.
You scuba-dived in the great reef and felt the Caribbean tousle your white wispy hair.
In the end, I could tell a garden grew in your soul.
It took roots in your left ventricle, made it's way through your aorta and
the big black splotch they found on the scan was
really just the bloom of some other beautiful God's creation.
You really did it this time.
"It's not miracle grow, just TLC" You'd always say, maybe added with some
Pattington Bear and humming Handel's "Messiah" while picking weeds.
I can honestly say I'm still fucking pissed at the
world
because I don't even know the name of the man who
decided to play
god
and say "Oh well, there's no
hope"
I want to tell him You threw up your hands too soon.
Winter comes after each and every harvest the bloom would die
and spring would come, bring all back to life.
You would have argued with the lab coat,
I know, because you were the one to plant
full shades in full sun and have them flourish,
and your perennials would
still be there long after the snow had created torrents in the front lawn.
You, wind-blower didn't wait long enough,
so I blame
You.
You must be an American because everything about that was so
chop-chop, on the double, obviously she didn't want it that way if six hours later she was still in the boxing ring with no "ding ding" in sight.
A big fucking hello and thank you very much for
making my mom break down in the middle of
CVS while I stammered to make sense to the
manager,
stammered to find words to explain the situation the same stammer I make when people say they're sorry
I don't want your sympathy.
Back to the manager, I think it went a little like "Well um Ma'am no, well, she's not crazy, she's just gonna need some, um, well, uh, TIME, yeah that's what she needs. Time"
Tick tock tick tock
You know we all do.
Some things though,
are simply easier said than
done.

Aye, Matey.

Where have my intentions gone,
gone away lost with the wind of a
wayward soul a
meandering ship captained
by a drunken sailor
screaming for mercy from the depths of his
chirrhosis- scared liver about
salty rum not curing his
insatiable appetite.
Well me neither.
Lately nothing cures a hunger and
greed I have for the clock and
nothing hurts more than hearing the
piercing tick tock
in its mocking tone
as if to say,
"Hey diamond dust, you lose,
I win. This is how it is on this
downward spiral."
Spiral down, spiral down,
on second thought,
It's really more of a 360 foot free fall
with only your nose to
stop you.
Somebody make sense of this
madness of life.

Dear World,

If you look at this blog, please comment on my posts.
I like it.
Lots.

Thank you, world.
Love, Hannah.

Watercolor and Gold

Can these photographs be taken through
watercolor irises?
I forgot my camera at Niagara Falls so I
asked the tour guide whether
the falls would still be there tomorrow.
They shift a little bit each year, he answered,
but they'll still be here tomorrow.
I say who knows.
Who knows if the things we see today are here to stay
like hangliders of coconut trees,
dancers of ladybugs,
Tell me,
what are the skyscrapers of which you speak?
What are these man-made things other than
hunks of metal and glass perceived by
orbs implanted into our craniums
then flipped 360
so we can say wow.
The real beauty is in the man
who stands outside the bar
next door
beard the only clothes his own,
cover his photograph eyes with
a hat of cocaine and heroine
he asks where his albums have gone.
All he has is a broken
moment of peace engrained in
his memory strong
as sapphire, malleable as gold,
What is it that he sees, what we see?
Pain a picture with golden irises, and
nobody can see it.
What's the point of under appreciated art?

#24

Brick house.
Where have you been?
What stories do you keep hidden in your
cement grooves?
Brick house.
How many bodies did you slay today?
How many souls did you break today,
deep at the bottom of the ocean,
How many children cry today?
Brick house.
Why did you do it all?
Brick house.
Why did you burn your bridges?