The Leaf

Poetry

My eyes and limbs are frozen still

as I stand on the cold hard ground.

A crackling noise is coming from above

I look and see dead leaves falling down.

One by one drifting back and forth

swinging off the branches in slow motion.

Setting their sights on a safe landing

but stepping on one will leave it broken.

I look down at this brown leaf

believing it’s some dull dried up thing.

But I suppose it was once a small bud

unfolding to the sun in the Spring.

Sitting and waiting so delicately then

freshly awakened ready to grow

into something precious and wild

that the storms will eventually know.

I imagine the leaf open wide now because

it survived the treacherous storm.

But this poor leaf will soon feel silence

she was left alone and has taken a new form.

I hope the leaf feels content now

the storms have appeared to go away.

Summer is here with bright new beginnings

and it has brought the leaf a new day.

I see the leaf starting to change in the Fall

because time has brought her a brand new color.

But the storm is coming back now

so the leaf hangs on tight and takes cover.

I think the storm is different this time

because the leaf did not let go of the limb.

It brings the leaf plenty of rain to live off of

but the storm did not come back again.

No water means the leaf is hopeless

and forgotten in the harsh dark Winter.

It will soon dry up to almost nothing

and I hope that stupid storm will miss her.

I look up one more time to watch

the leaves falling from the trees.

As they continue to drift back and forth

I can’t help but realize these leaves are me.

I’m the leaf sitting

on that cold hard ground.

Just waiting for Spring to begin

because I want to bloom

and stop falling down.

Her versus Me

Poetry

Her face against yours in that picture

made the volcano inside of me erupt.

The emotions spewing from my body

felt like acid reflux; unwanted and abrupt.

Confrontation was not what you wanted

but my gloves were ready for the ring.

Preparing to fight until you insisted

that we were the exact same thing.

My head dropped to my chest

because I honestly could not see

why you had turned something like this

into a battle; her versus me.

You consoled me and did not blame me

for feeling the way that I did.

I waited days to give you another chance

like I was some dumb little kid.

I made your bed when you showered

and I saw her name light up your phone.

We never discussed what this was

but how should I have known?

Screaming at the top of my lungs

each time I drove over to your place.

But soon my heart would melt

the second I saw your charming face.

Just tell me why you are friends with her

even though she is miles away.

Yet I am the one knocking on your door

begging like a stray dog who wants to stay.

Maybe this was all my fault

I am still not exactly sure.

But now I know your secrets

were something I could not endure.

Months have gone by without seeing you

but it has honestly felt like years.

I tend to think she is still in your life

and it brings me to my knees in tears.

Toothpaste, Ketchup, and Yellow Trucks

Poetry

I have a list that goes on for miles

I made it the other day.

I wrote down all the things that remind me of you

stuff I should probably throw away.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

I have to bid adieu.

But I really want to tear it up

and pretend like this is all untrue.

It begins with the orange toothpaste,

something I used anytime

I was over at your place.

I recall the mint flavor on your tongue,

but now that usual sweet taste

has left me bitter and stung.

Next is the bottle of ketchup I see,

sitting there in my fridge

obviously taunting me.

The brand is your last name

written in caps and bold.

I wish I could let it just sit there

but my heart has switched cold.

The final item I can not throw away,

it is impossible to do so because

I see it almost every day.

Yellow trucks constantly roaming around,

and the second I see one

my walls begin to crumble down.

It might not be the yellow truck that you drive,

but I still look and I swerve

and I barely survive.

The Last Night

Poetry

Last night I did not know you.

Last night you were not my friend.

Last night I felt like all we had worked towards had officially come to an end.

Last night you did not touch me.

Last night we barely spoke.

Last night I could sense my heart starting to break before it had actually broke.

That would be the last night I would sleep in your bed.

The last night I would lie there with you and a million thoughts hanging above my head.

But you are not worried about me because I always wake up like everything is alright.

Even though I knew all along that this would be the last night.

Boys and Dolls

Poetry

Don’t judge boys who play with dolls

maybe they’re just confused.

They feel a sense of temptation

which is something most boys can’t refuse.

Some boys hide their dolls from plain sight

so that others don’t know what they’re doing.

It may seem like a fun time for them

but dolls can be easily ruined.

When they brush her hair back and pull it

they feel like they’re in control.

And when they bend her knees and twist her head

they must remember she has a soul.

But please don’t judge boys who play with dolls

maybe they’re just lonely.

We all wish to find someone

who can be our one and only.