On writing poems

Quick and short is the way to go, but what happens when I want to take it slow? Readers pay more attention to things that rhyme, but sometimes my emotions just can’t find the time.

-T.L.J

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Loving him in colors

Loving you is orange, like the spark of a flame that lights up my heart when you walk into a room, like the sun setting on yet another beautiful day spent with you. Your personality is yellow, bright and vibrant, like the twinkle resting in your hazel eyes every time I look at you reminding me life won’t always be blue. Because when I am submerging myself into a murky navy darkness, you are the light to guide me through it, and when the ocean waves of sadness crash on my shores, you never let me feel lonely. And together on a quiet Friday night we will be grey, content, like the resting fog and swirling clouds above us, a quiet white noise rainfall to lull us to sleep. I dream in green, of your tinted eyes and long rolling hills I wish to escape to, and I will wake up in pink, like the blushing of your embarrassed cheeks, like the light breeze of lust through the air, and the beautiful sunrise of a new day. I think of you in black, like constellations forming in my head because the way I feel about you is “totally out of this world” 😉 I think of you as a bright star crossing the night sky, galaxies will form at the sound of your sweet laughter. And when my crimson heart falls short of expressing how much you mean to me, I will write in transparency, making my feelings as clear as they can be, and in the end you are not one single color. You are the explosion of a firework, and you make everyone around you stop and marvel at how truly amazing you are.

(Dedicated to my amazing fiancé)

-T.L.J

Deserving

You will lie in your own sapphire sadness, and pray to a god who doesn’t listen to bring you a boy with evergreen eyes and a smile that gleams. And when he doesn’t, you will settle for a boy with murky brown eyes and a silver tongue. He will whisper hymns of lies that will dance across your mind until he beats them out of you for lingering upon them for too long. He will pick you as his flower and he will continue picking until he has a whole bunch, but promise that you’re his favorite. He will swear fealty to your heart before he runs away with it dragging behind him, and when the storm of his presence passes, and the damage on your body left behind finally heals, you pray once again to a god you don’t believe in, and this time he answers. Yet this time, he sends you a man. Tall as a tree over casting a shadow of protection on those who would do such a delicate flower harm. His eyes a hazel green glow and hands as soft as his heart which yearns to call you his forever. And when you have this man, you will stay the hurricane ridden town you have always been and project destruction instead of taking it. You see a cup can only be filled up so much before it spills out. 

 

– T.L.J

A vicious cycle (a spoken word poem about an abusive relationship)

You asked me a simple question, but my answer was quite complicated. You asked “Why don’t you love me anymore?” and I thought about it for the first time ever, you see, my heart is a lockbox but I don’t have the key, it’s a room I never take the time to clean and I don’t think it’s that the idea of loving you went away. It just got shoved under the bed. Collecting cobwebs and forming into something that made the burning sensation in my chest go away. Because you started a forest fire in my heart and I thought all the pain was worth it for the heat, but you didn’t stick around to clean up the ashes and I became just another girl you wrecked. And if killing someone was on your bucket list, you can check it off a hundred times because you killed me every time you reminded me there were tons of other girls waiting to be set ablaze. You killed the old me that would have never set herself on fire to keep you warm. But no matter how long I burned I couldn’t get through to your ice cold heart. So why don’t I love you anymore? I’ve forgotten what the word even means, because I’ve called myself a romantic for so long bruised and bloodied filling out my police report of how i seem to keep getting mugged every time you’ve had one too many drinks. It kept people from finding out, I mean starting rumors. So in love with idea of love that I’d settle for any human company that could say the words “I love you.” Even if they didn’t mean it, even if they stuttered, hesitated, called me the wrong name, even when I placed my heart so gently in your hands just to watch you crush it in front of me and give a small smile saying sorry. And if you said sorry it was okay even if it wasn’t true. But I’m sure it was true I say to myself shoving the event under the carpet. I could at least keep some self respect. People look into my dead eyes and ask “Are you okay?” And of course I’ll tell you i’m great, more than great even, but my heart beats to the tune of help me. help me. help me. “But you’ll be all alone” i say to myself. Don’t help me. Don’t help me. Don’t help me. I grew up on a battlefield and everyone had a gun but me, I’m so used to taking bullets from people with shotgun tongues, it’s almost like I’m resistant to feeling. I mean feeling pain. And by resistance I mean shoving all my feelings in my closet and locking it shut. My heart keeps growing bigger and bigger so I have room to support all your tragic back stories and pretend that that makes up for the fact that you’re a fucking asshole. I miss you sometimes, I’ll admit. I think about how your hands tracing my skin were as soft as the lips you kissed me with, but then I remember that your words were as harsh as the taste of another girls lipgloss still resting on your mouth. I can’t think of you for more than a minute without crying and remembering if you keep poking at bruises then they never heal. But I can only despise you so much before it turns back into love. This vicious cycle is a washing machine and I’m getting dizzy from all the spinning. Our love was on and off and on and off again like a light switch. I, a dark empty room waiting for you to walk in and light me up again. I may have meant nothing to you, but you were everything to me. how could I still care about you? You asked me why don’t you love me anymore? and I just stood still, unable to break eye contact with your venomous green eyes. I can’t answer an untrue question. i hate it, but I still love you, but I can’t tell you that. Instead I tell you this. You jumped from me like I was a building that was about to collapse, and I held on hoping for the best. The building crumbled down on me, and I still blame you for all the rubble left in my heart, in my bones, i was the goddamn building. My body is still sore from the impact. You gave that same small smile and walked away. I don’t think you understood, I can’t even understand. And maybe instead of going home and washing away the butterflies in my stomach you gave me with vodka, I might just take some pills and go to bed. But then… I’d be alone again.

– t.l.j

Ahh!

I just performed my spoken word poem in front of my first audience. It was such a great experience! Open mics are such good practice, and I honestly can’t wait to perform again next week. I read two pieces and my friend recorded me so I will have her send me the video so I can post it here. I was so nervous, my whole body was shaking and I kept taking pauses because it was hard to breathe haha. I told myself that this year I would overcome my stage fright and I’m working towards my goal! Thank you for all your support if you are following me, I am going to start posting more for sure!