nostalgia and floral perfume

The sun sets over the powerlines outside her house
Her aching hand scribbles lines in her diary
The cream pages understand her confusing thoughts

Holly Golightly will not be put in a cage
And the girl’s diary believes that she won’t either
Not with the way she contradicts herself daily,
Becoming a different person in each journal entry

She is made from nostalgia and floral perfume
She belongs to no one, just as no one belongs to her
Such is the way she longs for it to stay, or so she says
Secretly she yearns for the ending of Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Only the diary with the broken spine will ever know it


Goals!
-write 15 poems (one every other day, at least)
-read other people's poetry
-improve my poetry writing skills

Table of Contents

Before the floral scent kicked in... (pre-NaPo poetry)
a. Lula Mae
b. city street trains
c. a field of lilies
d. pink and purple
e. chalk drawings

when nostalgia clouds every fiber of our being
i. April Showers
ii. Free
iii. Hide and Seek
iv. Salt & Pepper
v. Indoor Recess
vi. Springtime Allergies
vii. Talent Show
viii. "Hello, I call to no one"
ix. 3rd Grade
x. Imaginary Friends
xi. A Rainbow of Flowers
xii. Roslyn
xiii. Pushing Strollers
xiv. 8th Grade
xv. seems like old times

Lula Mae

"I'm not Lula Mae anymore!"
No longer running through a briar patch
Confined by numerous expectations

Now, living in a most solitary apartment
With a bathtub for a couch and a nameless cat
We don't even belong to each other

Luxurious hats and costly pearls
Nothing will fill the large void
A place like Tiffany's doesn't exist
No, not in New York City

city street trains

the trains on city street come and go
intermittently; close then far apart
they're frequent when clouds cover the city,
distant and detached when sunny

I sit at the train station every day
waiting for a train to arrive for me
cruising down the tracks

I watched each of my friends get on
one at a time; red, green, blue
I wondered if my train would ever come
one rainy gloomy day, it came for me
the pink line train, my train

my train is unlike their trains
it squeaks; starts and stops
sits still for days at a time

I had waited so long for it
I needed my imperfect train desperately
without it, I'd never see New York City

when my train moved on the tracks
I clutched the silver bars eagerly
not letting my slow progress waste

someday I'll get to New York City
even if it took my friends 2 months
and 10 years for my pink line train

a field of lilies

flower fields blanket the land,
s e p a r a t e d by flower type
my peers all found their flower fields

no matter where i searched
i couldn't find one for me
no flower field was for me

i found a patch of wet dirt
in it, i planted a seed of hesitation
a lily grew up from the soil

more and more lilies grew
popping like popcorn from the ground
dancing in the spring wind

there were no flower fields for me
no peonies, daises, or roses
so i planted my own lilies

pink and purple

I was always pink; and you, purple
Easter baskets, toys, shirts, and skirts
Excitement when purple came to Grandma's
The purple to my pink

We drifted apart, colors washed away
Slowly, like the moon cycle changing
Until your color drained, gone
Then the green brought us back

Pink and purple aren't as bright
Don't fit together as well
But they're not lost forever
We can still become vibrant again

chalk drawings

TW: knife mentioned, religion (in a non-believing way)

I don't know why I see life as
a Beautiful thing, why should I?
It hasn't treated me with kindness
It pushed, crushed, laughed, and hurt
The hurt faded; little by little,
by the words in my notebooks

I traded the kitchen knife for a pen
And that lessened the pain for a while
But it always comes back in the end

Words crumble; leave behind dust
They're fragile little creatures
Most prone to rust

First day of Kindergarten was a bust
Older kids laughed, shoved, and rushed
I trembled in fear; crumpled
A decade later, I'm still scared

But maybe, life is a slab of concrete
Bright, colorful, chalk drawings show me
The beautiful things are scarce, small
But one happy moment gets rid of the bad

Bright times are temporary
Dark times seem everlasting
So why do I like living?
Maybe because I know darkness
If Bella Swan taught me anything, it's that
"Without the dark, we'd never see the stars"

Bright chalk covers gray concrete
Chalk dust remains on your hands
Vibrant colors overpower the gray
Is that what my 3rd grade teacher taught me,
When she took us outside to use chalk?

Elementary school was a big sunny blur
Filled with laughter and childhood joy
Grinning with classmates, running outside

Junior High was a stormy rain cloud
"The Outsiders", a ray of sunlight
Escaping into novels, or the Library

So far, High School's a storm
Chaotic, messy, and overwhelming
But calm always comes after a storm

Dostoevsky once said:
"My God, a whole moment of happiness!
Is that too little for the whole of a man's life?"
And I think he must be right

I don't believe in God
Don't know if I believe in fate
How can there be a higher power
If we're destined to a a life of pain?
Scientific Theory says we're an accident
It must be so, given what I've gone through

But it was the best accident ever
I'm happy to be alive
If that keeps me going
I'm going to enjoy my life
I owe it to Mother Nature
And the scared Kindergartner
I used to be (and still am)

April Showers

Wind whooshing outside
Raindrops hit the pavement
Ghosts of Aprils past
Room the hallways in my soul

April Showers bring May flowers
My tides are changing
Flower stems bloom up
Out of damp soil

I am changing too
Family members betray
Siblings become phantoms
Appearing every now and then
But never stable

As a kid, April was spring
Flowers out of hand prints
Picture books about animals

Now, April is stress
Unwanted change emerges
Upcoming tests plague minds
Of teenagers tired of the world

April signifies change
Little kids growing up
Flowers grow then die
Change is inevitable
So we must embrace it
Dance in the April showers

Free

Nostalgia hurts worse than any other pain
I yearn to return to my childhood
Play with that friend who moved away
But I know I can't

I want to return to those happy days
Live my childhood to the fullest
Because I know, deep down
I wasted it away

I was always told by adults
"You're so mature for your age"
Well, I'll tell you a secret
Pinky Promise to not tell
Mature=growing up too fast

Nostalgia hurts worse than any other pain
Because when you age, you know
You wasted your time to be free

Hide and Seek

You can be in a room full of people
And still feel so very lonely
Like that one time when I was seven

My cousin's birthday party
"Let's play Hide and Seek!"
Everyone scurries to hiding positions
As always, I'm far too slow
There's nowhere to hide
Except for in a shadowy corner
By the couch near the TV
I feebly cover my frail body
With my mom's black purse

For minutes, that feel like hours
I watch from the shadowy corner as
Everyone else gets found but me
Eventually, I was discovered
The last one left to be found

I never stopped playing Hide and Seek
Except for now, I'm the one seeking
And hiding, all at once
My own twisted game

Seeking for someone to understand me
Yet hidden from the true world
Unsure how to leave the shadowy corner
Stuffed in a cage of my own making

I'm still that girl in the corner
Waiting, waiting for someone to find her
Because she's afraid of it
Being left alone in the dark

Salt & Pepper

I suspect you forgot me
I’m not sure if I miss you
Maybe what I miss is
What we could’ve been
If I hadn’t been so scared

Walking back inside after P.E.
I always hated that class
But I liked talking with you

Words I almost said but didn’t
“I’m hurting too”
“Are we friends??”
“Can I have your phone number?”

Time passes no matter what
People are molded, shaped
Like a child using Play-Doh

We haven’t spoken since that year
Those memories are locked shut
In between the pages of my old journal

Surely, you haven’t forgotten my name
But what about those memories we made?
Do you reminisce over them?
Feel nostalgic over our short friendship?
Or am I the only one carrying the weight
Of what we could’ve been

Indoor Recess

When I was younger, I was richer
Rich in chocolate gold coins and toys
Barbies that could be whatever I wanted

Running around on the grass at recess
Being bathed by the soft sunlight
Pretending to be anything I wasn't
But in those 15 minutes, I was
Magical, Fantastical, Free

Now, the grass is yellow and crisp
The sun seems to boil me alive
Anxiety bubbles inside of me
What if I'm not good enough?

It's like permanent indoor recess
Trapped inside because it's raining
No windows in the classroom
So you can't see the raindrops