Submissions by justdontask
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
i write how i feel, not usually about any subject in particular
STORY POEM
Published
5th Dec 2014 2:38am
5th Dec 2014 2:38am
Shedding (Her) Skin
We drove home, there were some occasional radio station changes and the rolling up of windows but we didn’t say a word to each other. I kept replaying the words “You’re being distant”, “You’re being distant”, “You’re being distant” in my head, dazed. It was never me you were yelling at, but now, I guess my shadow had gotten in the way of your path. Here you were, after silent dinners and the closing of doors, empty text messages, late nights at the office and you had noticed me. I was so surprised that you had taken me out to lunch that I had barely noticed that all you were doing was yelling...
736 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
4th Dec 2014 4:33am
4th Dec 2014 4:33am
Afraid of the Light, Afraid of Myself
He looked at me like I was a secret, hushed words that intrigued him.
He saw a girl in front of him and admired her and sensed an adventure into maturity, not love. What he saw after one summer was himself. She shone brightly into his eyes and he realized that he had never needed a light in the first place, it just seemed a little dark without her around. But she grew brighter, her touch one of fire, soon he couldn't speak to her without getting hurt, but
I'll stop there.
I've wanted to write this poem for awhile, open my heart and metaphorically transcribe the writing on...
He saw a girl in front of him and admired her and sensed an adventure into maturity, not love. What he saw after one summer was himself. She shone brightly into his eyes and he realized that he had never needed a light in the first place, it just seemed a little dark without her around. But she grew brighter, her touch one of fire, soon he couldn't speak to her without getting hurt, but
I'll stop there.
I've wanted to write this poem for awhile, open my heart and metaphorically transcribe the writing on...
610 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
6th Sep 2014 6:20pm
6th Sep 2014 6:20pm
Exhaling You
Piano keys play a couple chords,
then a sweet voice tells me about her pain.
She misses him, she knows she was wrong
but her voice isn't corny, it's deep.
It is caring.
Her back-up singers echo her.
He was her everything.
Should I turn down the music?
The sun is going down now,
The lyrics are outlining my life:
warm breeze, soft words, lips, cheeks, his face begins to form.
But the song murmurs, the chorus ends.
Chirping echoes the blue sky,
brown leaves fall unnoticed.
My earbuds fitting into place but
the same song is...
then a sweet voice tells me about her pain.
She misses him, she knows she was wrong
but her voice isn't corny, it's deep.
It is caring.
Her back-up singers echo her.
He was her everything.
Should I turn down the music?
The sun is going down now,
The lyrics are outlining my life:
warm breeze, soft words, lips, cheeks, his face begins to form.
But the song murmurs, the chorus ends.
Chirping echoes the blue sky,
brown leaves fall unnoticed.
My earbuds fitting into place but
the same song is...
610 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
8th Aug 2014 5:58am
8th Aug 2014 5:58am
An Unedited Plea
It's this time of night when my words come out in torrents and never-ending spiels, my fingers tripping over keys as words start to back-up out my ears and all sides of my brain and I forget to edit until the morning.
When my eyes get itchy and I scratch them till the corners get red and I look in the mirror cabinet and we've run out of Visine.
Looking at my phone, on the ground facedown to make sure I'm not rereading old texts or checking to see if you're online, but I heard a notification and I really think it's you this time.
When tiny strands of auburn...
When my eyes get itchy and I scratch them till the corners get red and I look in the mirror cabinet and we've run out of Visine.
Looking at my phone, on the ground facedown to make sure I'm not rereading old texts or checking to see if you're online, but I heard a notification and I really think it's you this time.
When tiny strands of auburn...
658 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
27th Jul 2014 7:27am
27th Jul 2014 7:27am
Bruises
It's so dark outside
listening to the crickets drown,
but I check my twitter instead.
Blue is keeping me awake
or so the scientists say:
"subjects sustain a high rate of alertness".
I must be feeling blue then,
subtweeting your name;
i can't see the letters on the screen.
Your face painted blue.
Blue fingers, hands,
etched into my blue screen.
The sky, darker than the rest
it ushers me asleep,
dampening you to black.
My striped blue comforter is quiet.
The shadows on...
listening to the crickets drown,
but I check my twitter instead.
Blue is keeping me awake
or so the scientists say:
"subjects sustain a high rate of alertness".
I must be feeling blue then,
subtweeting your name;
i can't see the letters on the screen.
Your face painted blue.
Blue fingers, hands,
etched into my blue screen.
The sky, darker than the rest
it ushers me asleep,
dampening you to black.
My striped blue comforter is quiet.
The shadows on...
571 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Jul 2014 11:39pm
14th Jul 2014 11:39pm
Alive
She brushed away the wisps of clouds that encircled her head
skin speckled with pine.
Dress adorned with a carpet of green hills moving
with each breath from the sky.
Everything that happened on her skin happened quietly,
the bells in the church like crickets
on her body of nature,
built to withstand the harshest movements of life.
She was supported by the lovers that lived in her forest follicles
tucked behind her ear,
the family of five in the crease of her left arm,
and the old man resting by the veins of her foot.
...
skin speckled with pine.
Dress adorned with a carpet of green hills moving
with each breath from the sky.
Everything that happened on her skin happened quietly,
the bells in the church like crickets
on her body of nature,
built to withstand the harshest movements of life.
She was supported by the lovers that lived in her forest follicles
tucked behind her ear,
the family of five in the crease of her left arm,
and the old man resting by the veins of her foot.
...
894 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd Jun 2014 4:52am
22nd Jun 2014 4:52am
Mistakes
it comes down to drunken texts
at 11:15, sips of affection
sour taste, emotional waste
numb fingers press against his keyboard
but she just wants to talk.
teeth nipping at her ears like gnats
father on her left, the boy on her right
but it is not, she is scared
now she can hear blood in her ears
they aren't supposed to bite like that
now it is well past meridian
only a minute ago she was yesterday
the boy tomorrow and her father monday
but now it is dark and sunday
there is only black in the sky ...
at 11:15, sips of affection
sour taste, emotional waste
numb fingers press against his keyboard
but she just wants to talk.
teeth nipping at her ears like gnats
father on her left, the boy on her right
but it is not, she is scared
now she can hear blood in her ears
they aren't supposed to bite like that
now it is well past meridian
only a minute ago she was yesterday
the boy tomorrow and her father monday
but now it is dark and sunday
there is only black in the sky ...
731 reads
3 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
1st Jun 2014 5:17am
1st Jun 2014 5:17am
It Meant Something to Her
She was listening to his spit-up on her computer;
folk indie made her warm.
The sun shone through her curtains
making shapes upon the wall.
French music played romantically
on his computer in his room.
The language barrier confused her
and she walked away feeling different.
But every time she walked by,
his eyes telescoped into her body
and everything spun around
loudly and so fast.
And he was ashamed that
he could only describe her
in simple terms.
He would say "fuck it",
she would said "okay". ...
folk indie made her warm.
The sun shone through her curtains
making shapes upon the wall.
French music played romantically
on his computer in his room.
The language barrier confused her
and she walked away feeling different.
But every time she walked by,
his eyes telescoped into her body
and everything spun around
loudly and so fast.
And he was ashamed that
he could only describe her
in simple terms.
He would say "fuck it",
she would said "okay". ...
604 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
22nd May 2014 2:25am
22nd May 2014 2:25am
Ranting Voice
i'm wondering about negative space
you without me around.
you saw her at the cafe
but it wasn't the right her.
i'm wondering
"is this your ranting voice?"
asks my writing teacher.
"i think you should shorten it".
cut the thoughts, I guess
myself with no I's, only eyes
now i'm wondering
will he call me witty?
oops, I forgot
no I didn't, i guess.
the due date has passed.
I followed the pregnant girl on Instagram.
It's 8:58pm, look at the time,
was that a paradox?
A lot of myself, seems...
you without me around.
you saw her at the cafe
but it wasn't the right her.
i'm wondering
"is this your ranting voice?"
asks my writing teacher.
"i think you should shorten it".
cut the thoughts, I guess
myself with no I's, only eyes
now i'm wondering
will he call me witty?
oops, I forgot
no I didn't, i guess.
the due date has passed.
I followed the pregnant girl on Instagram.
It's 8:58pm, look at the time,
was that a paradox?
A lot of myself, seems...
673 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
12th May 2014 11:46pm
12th May 2014 11:46pm
Early Night/Late Morning
It was early in the morning.
I wasn’t sure if I should sleep.
We had talked and talked,
our words leaving our mouth, our bodies
they sprouted wings.
I think we talked to a point
where they flew away from us.
Now it is so late,
so early,
I can see the sun.
You are tired, goodnight.
I hope you see the sun too.
It feels,
like i've talked a sun rise and set.
The dark sky does not scare me.
The recesses of space,
you have taught me to wonder.
Every day
I...
I wasn’t sure if I should sleep.
We had talked and talked,
our words leaving our mouth, our bodies
they sprouted wings.
I think we talked to a point
where they flew away from us.
Now it is so late,
so early,
I can see the sun.
You are tired, goodnight.
I hope you see the sun too.
It feels,
like i've talked a sun rise and set.
The dark sky does not scare me.
The recesses of space,
you have taught me to wonder.
Every day
I...
795 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
8th May 2014 1:49am
8th May 2014 1:49am
Phylum Mollusca witnesses Metamorphosis
The little egg found shelter under dull leaves.
Where eyes could not roam,
where whispers would not pry at his frail skin like knives.
His innocence still remained,
though his growth began to be noticed.
There was a quiet brown slug,
who had seen him within his oval home.
They were the best of friends.
She valued the days when he could not see around him.
An oblivious egg overseen by a hopeful friend.
He did not notice her clouded eyes, or
desperate defense.
The round egg grew and grew,
with no knowledge of his vast maturity.
...
Where eyes could not roam,
where whispers would not pry at his frail skin like knives.
His innocence still remained,
though his growth began to be noticed.
There was a quiet brown slug,
who had seen him within his oval home.
They were the best of friends.
She valued the days when he could not see around him.
An oblivious egg overseen by a hopeful friend.
He did not notice her clouded eyes, or
desperate defense.
The round egg grew and grew,
with no knowledge of his vast maturity.
...
890 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
2nd May 2014 1:30am
2nd May 2014 1:30am
Monsoon Leaves
He lived in India for six years as a child.
He saw the people with kind hearts unhindered by the smoke,
who wove baskets by the congested streets.
He liked how they would toss him a strip of their monsoon grass and
he would hold it tightly for the rest of the day.
Their kindness felt warm in his hands.
When it rained,
he would try and weave himself a boat to float him to dry land where the sun
shone all day and no one stared at his white skin like they wanted
to take it and sell it, maybe you use the money to set up a basket...
He saw the people with kind hearts unhindered by the smoke,
who wove baskets by the congested streets.
He liked how they would toss him a strip of their monsoon grass and
he would hold it tightly for the rest of the day.
Their kindness felt warm in his hands.
When it rained,
he would try and weave himself a boat to float him to dry land where the sun
shone all day and no one stared at his white skin like they wanted
to take it and sell it, maybe you use the money to set up a basket...
680 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by justdontask
