Indie's Incandescent Inscriptions

First year participating in NaPo~ We'll see how this turns out.

4/1: Molted Infatuation

I am no longer fascinated
by your lack of
indigeneity.

My infatuation
was just a passing phase,
a molted exterior I have shed
and forgotten.

But your skin is a world map;
birthmarks indicate all the
exotic places you were once
linked to.

Your bright colors enticed me
to your niche; at last,
someone was clothed by more
than camouflage.

I never intended for you
to see me as a snake
in the grass.

Not bad. I dig the development of the skin metaphor. Maybe work on your line breaks though. Some of them are weak. Unless you're already super famous and your writing is well-regarded a good rule of thumb is to avoid breaking on weaker words such as particles and transitions - 'the', 'and', 'of', etc.

Will keep that in mind! Never really knew what to do with that sort of thing. Thanks, Karzkin.

4/2: Dear Forgotten Father


Dear forgotten father, I miss
you more than I realize.
How long has it been since I last
met your eyes? It’s been awhile,
dear daddy, my absentee friend. It’s
been a long time, not here to pretend
it hasn’t, but please, I’m just asking
you to crack open the door.

I am thirsty, tired, hungered
for survival. The last thing
I remember learning in school
was that humans have five
anatomical cavities. All
of mine are empty, and then
there’s my soul: black hole
number six.

I suppose you have a right
to judge; I’ve dammed
my own bitter stream
since you left. That’s why
I never thought it’d be me
showing up on your
doorstep, but today isn’t
the first time I’ve seen
you around. I see your
eyes in the men that won’t meet
mine, those men that leave
with the sun.

4/3: Encryptions


I am taking a risk
by not writing this
in Pig Latin
or some other code
I might recall
from my
childhood,
because you
have eyes
in the back of your
soul.

Indie's poems are like: there's a mini narrative in every bite! ^_^ I love the minimalism of the last one and the voice you bring to all of these.

The last thing
I remember learning in school
was that humans have five
anatomical cavities. All
of mine are empty, and then
there’s my soul: black hole
number six.

I'm over here counting my cavities. You learn something new everyday P:

Thanks Audy! I should probably try a new style for today

4/4: Forgotten Ripples Turn to Glass

We are waiting round the table
of forgotten glass,
though I cannot find
your reflection
in the murmured ripples.

The quiet here
is haunting, our breaths
suspended,
lingering,

but the wind behind
your words
has gone forever still.

I’m peering into the mirror
we once explored
before, but I cannot see
the wavelets,
those stirrings
of your soul.

You are here,
but you are silent;

you remain,
but your lungs
are still.

4/5: Freezer Burn


The call to sadness is like a draft
you felt obligated to
enlist in. You’re at war
with yourself in a foreign
tundra, but if I find you,
I’ll unload each expired
promise from your back
and bring you home.

It hurts me that you are broken.
I wish I could ship a thermos
of chicken soup over to
the icy wasteland you’re
trapped in.
I wish I could
feed your soul.

I hope that one day,
you’ll reveal those parts
of you, buried so far
beneath your coats of sadness
you thought that they
had melted away.

Five years is a very long time
to be sad, and I’m so sorry
you know these layers
of ice better than you knew
the whorls of your fingerprints
before frostbite.

But you’ve hung on
this long. You must have
incredible things in store
for you, because the voice
inside you hasn’t stopped
whispering, Hold on
just a little while
longer.

I believe in your
freezer-burnt heart
and I am sorry
my apologies can’t bring
the spring.

4/6: Impressions


III.

I had planned to straighten my hair
tonight, to look pretty
so that maybe that new guy,
the one in my computer class
with the deep brown eyes
that find my mouth when I laugh,
might notice me
tomorrow

but it is now 10pm
on a school night. I spent
the last hour telling
a stranger who felt
like giving up
that I believe in him.

VI.

This weekend I am going
to the beach with the guy
I rode horses with one
rainy day. My mind says,
Don’t eat the leftover
Easter candy; you want
to look good for him
on Saturday, don’t you?

But there is one inside
me questioning why
I should deny myself
something that I love for someone
I am merely amused
by. I will have a bite
of chocolate after 8pm
if I want to.

I.

Tonight, I shook hands
with a stranger named Purpose
and realized there is more
to life
than third and sixth
impressions.

4/7: I am really not liking anything I've tried writing, so please forgive me for lacking this weekend. Hopefully Monday will wake up the muse again.


Through the years, I have wondered
if you would hold me after I sang
“Amazing Grace” at
my grandfather’s funeral,

if you ever noticed
waned crescent imprints
in the palm of my hands
or the sores in my mouth
from chewing away
condemnation.

But the truth is,
I say “but” too often.
I am no longer
going to excuse
your mishaps, or mine
for not knowing
who your person is
any longer.

4/8: Bulimic Consumption

(n): an emotional disorder
in which a large quantity of food
is followed by feelings of guilt
and self-induced vomiting -


Our love is a synonym
for bulimia. What else
could I name this
infatuation?

You ravage my seclusion
like one without money
or motivation scavenges
through trash;

a detritivore, you search
like a thrifter
for anything worth
less than you.

The salt that collects
on your lips from my cheeks
does not quench
your thirst for me;
the leftovers
of my skin from the one
before you
do not satisfy
your desire for flavor.

Your gluttony
exposes my ribs,
and I am left empty
and jaundiced,
feeling that

this is not how love
should taste.

Tonight, I shook hands
with a stranger named Purpose
and realized there is more
to life
than third and sixth
impressions.

This this this.

Thankies Persy