I see things that aren’t there

Written February 3, 2007. Just prompted by staring at my ceiling.

I see things that aren’t there
But I know better than to tell you so
In the lumps and swirls of paint on my ceiling a dragon swoops
From the knotted wood a little face peers at me
I see things that aren’t there
But I know better than to tell you so
I do believe in Wonderland
In magic places left to see
I see things that aren’t there
But I know better than to tell you so
Maybe I believe because it makes it easier
Not to give up
Not to back down
But I believe
And you cannot take that away
I see things that aren’t there
But I know better than to tell you so


We are not the people we were then

This was written in May of 2006, sometime before my high school graduation.

We are not the people we were then
We’ve grown new hair
We’ve shed old skin
But in the time between the lightning flashes
We wander the same way we always did
We are not as fluid as clouds
Nor as hard as mountains
We are but small things
We run and slide through our scattered lives
Often forgetting to breathe
To smell the rain and the river
And the salt-rich sea
Admiration and wonder are the only medicine
That can keep our souls from withering young

There was a way I saw the world

Another untitled and undated poem that I’m relatively certain was written in spring 2006. I have a sneaking suspicion that while I was thinking of someone specific when I wrote it, more than one person was holding space in my emotional mind when this came bubbling out of me. The first time I read it after rediscovering my poetry journal, I knew exactly what this poem was about and when, until I realized that this had to have been written in 2006, and the incident I was remembering occurred at Christmas in 2014. Weirdly, it actually fits the second incident more literally than the first.

There was a way I saw the world then
And I will never see it that way again
Your are no longer a prince
Nor I a princess
Though we laugh in the rain just the same
We sat under the stars and talked
About everything and nothing
And I loved you again, though differently
In some ways, we are twin souls
But at times you feel oceans away
How strange that we should speak
Under the stars
Together this one time
And tomorrow smile at strangers
As we hug and part
Heading home

On the bus

One of my earlier poems, probably 2003 or 2004. I was pining over an upperclassman who was really good at theater.

On the bus
I dream of you
That is my time to
Dream of you
I stare out the window
And pretend you’re next to me
I think of when
You looked at me
What were you thinking
Can you tell
That I dream of you
When I’m alone?
Who do you dream of?
Will you ever
Dream of me?

When I see you, World

This is a celebration of being alive in spring time. Written sometime in the spring of 2006.

When I see you, World in the lush green grass,
you wash my sins away,
and all the little things I cannot bear to do
but have already done.
Dancing in the grey rain,
on the blue sea shore,
in the now that’s here all else forgotten
I can taste your salt
and touch the way you move.
Intricate dances of untold rhythms
A thousand steady syncopations
The beats pound into one
That openness that makes me close my eyes,
so they can’t shut the feelings out.
I sink my feet into your body,
throw my hands into your breath,
in the nows when you are smiling.