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heavy dreams & lofty responsibilities



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Sat Apr 07, 2018 7:09 pm
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alliyah says...



Poem 11

heavy dreams - 4.7.18

Last night I dreamt of a neopets account
that I don’t think I’ve touched for 10 years.

I’m supposed to be an adult,
but sometimes I still worry
about the virtual pets,
that are lingering unfed
in a forgotten account
that I left behind so long ago.

It’s this awkward tension
of feeling responsible
for something irresponsible
something so insignificant
that it matters,
at least to me.

And I want so badly to be
what I think an adult is, so
I stamp my foot and spit my pacifier
and scream, “I can, I can, I can”
the perfect ratio of responsibility
and confidence yet eludes me.

I consider playing for points to feed the blumaroo
but decide that may be too juvenile,
and so my virtual pets call out in my nightmares
“Feed me, feed me. Why have you forgotten?”
and I wake to wonder if I am starving them,
or starving the child in myself.

I thought that by now
I would have all the answers.
And when I see my mother in the mirror
I expect to also see her poise,
rather than a girl caught between
all these lofty responsibilities.

And the only answers I really know,
are that I don’t have them yet,
and a blumaroo needs food to survive,
and a child needs dreams to survive,
and I’m still not sure what to feed an adult.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Sat Apr 07, 2018 8:39 pm
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bluewaterlily says...



I'm immensely enjoying your Napo especially since I am at that stage where I'm definitely an adult and I don't feel like a kid but I don't feel like an adult either, at least not one with answers. I think your last two poems are my favorite. They're so relatable and Poem 10 was so heartbreaking and beautiful and heartfelt at the same time. It's so hard to watch your friends or loved ones suffer with suicide or depression or any demons haunting them. And poem 11 is the perfect representation for where I am and a lot of people my age are in life. Gosh, that last line is so true for me and so relatable on a literal and figurative level I can't even explain. Can't wait to see the rest of your NaPo unfold.
"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." - W.H. Auden
  





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Sat Apr 07, 2018 9:25 pm
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TheBlueCat says...



<3 that last poem is amazing. So amazingly relatable xD
Unofficial Blue Cat of YWS =^-^=

"You can never look at a book the same way once you've read it"

My PM box is always open for anything and everything <3

~Never stop looking up~
  





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Sun Apr 08, 2018 7:26 pm
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alliyah says...



Spoiler! :
Thanks Blues! @TheBlueCat @bluewaterlily! You are both too kind. Thank you, thank you! <3 Also bluewaterlily - yes the existential problem of having to cook food for yourself when you're an "adult" is never ending! XD


Poem 12

to my father - 4.8.18

i think the walls of skin and bone are too thin
to hold these feelings up much longer.
and they're far too familiar anyways.

so i breathe deep,
_____and drink deep,
_____ and i reject these bones
__________grown from seeds you planted

_____and i leap, pretending i can fly,
because this earth is scorched.

{and you're always stealing sunshine.}

_____goodbye, goodbye, goodbye;

{why are all my memories of you carved in goodbyes?}

oh i hear the view is bright when you can turn and face the sun head-on

but not all birds were meant for flight
and i can tell like gravity, i am bound too tight to the ground.
__________the roots can stretch,
like my infant arms used to reach begging to be held
_______________ but these roots are woven into my veins
{and i can hear them snap with my lungs expanding}
so for now i return to this hallowed ground like a body to a grave.

when the apple falls not far from the tree
__________sometimes it feels like the seed just rots
__________and i know well the smell of rotting promises.

{because the shade is always stealing sunshine.}

let me grow, let me grow, oh just let me go

and there are some people you can never stop loving.
not even when i wonder if i want to hate him.
__________not for one moment.
{though it does not stop the urge to fly.}
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Tue Apr 10, 2018 4:51 am
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alliyah says...



Poem 13

pass with care - 4.9.18


landscapes pass like old friends
posed in the rear view mirror,
while i drive down my familiar street
for maybe the last time.
i wonder at a corner sign
reading, Pass with Care.
how odd that care is considered
a synonym for caution.
i care for this place
because it's worked its way
into my memories like
ground leveled by years
of the same treaded footpaths;
the grass will never grow back
the same way again.
but don't mistake my care
for caution, because i am free.
and the fear of the unknown or
the risks beyond the bend in the road
will not keep me here.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Wed Apr 11, 2018 3:05 am
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alliyah says...



Poem 14

grey - 4.10.18

my gut wrenches when I see the silver
thread sprouting from morning hair, still -
I tell myself it’s the sun playing her tricks
these are comfort lies I tell myself.
but truly,
i am horrified.
_____though not surprised.
surely this is part of my purpose;
being groomed for death.
living for work. feeding off anxiety,
drinking my own exhaustion like oxygen.
breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, and
there’s a fine line between breathing
and hyperventilating, and breathing
and when your own body,
breath in, breathe -
has pulled - out the white flag of surrender
upon your scalp, I’m second guessing myself
no matter how I turn my head
there it is tied down to my skull
a reminder i am a mere mortal
if you dare to look close enough
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Points: 23188
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Thu Apr 12, 2018 3:39 am
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alliyah says...



Poem 15

wisdom in seasons - 4.11.18

There's something curious about snow in April
like a marigold that's taken root in the winter
deciding to blossum despite the world
saying, "hush, now is not the time,"
for a marigold cannot grow on iced ground
and so she's destined for a quick demise
and the snow responds about the same
a treasure stolen from it's correct place and time
snow in April does not last, the birds beat it down,
the trees weep at its attempts, and the sun only laughs

There's something curious about failure
about appearing at the wrong place at the wrong time
attempting to take root where the ground won't break
or settling where the sun will not allow you to stand
the world experiences failure all the time,
and we are not immune. we fight and cry
and let our spirit fold against its thin edge
while we wait to see what the world will say.
until that soft voice returns, "hush, now is not the time"
And life is learning to live within the seasons.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Thu Apr 12, 2018 7:17 am
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rosette says...



I loved this one, especially. <33
On earth I long to be like Him
  





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Fri Apr 13, 2018 4:26 pm
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alliyah says...



Spoiler! :
Thank you @rosette! <3


Poem 16

unfiltered thoughts at bus stops - 4.12.18
(wrote yesterday, no time to post, please pretend this is poetry)


i.
"9 hour trip" i repeat and check my watch every 55 seconds just often enough, that the time never moves. and the man with the over-sized suitcase wedged in between his knees repeats "we close now, we close now"

and so i lose track of where i am

"we close now?" "we close now!" "we are still not close now."

i ate all my cheerios before the first stop - stomach sings, head pounds, rest.
just rest for awhile.

ii.
1 hour 47 minutes later, complete disorientation, where am i? why am i here? where are we? "we close now" says the man with the suitcase wedged between his knees.

here we're at the first stop. the choices: wendy's or run across the street to fast-food tacos. my choice is easy. oversized kitkat bar, water-refill, box of cheerios for the road! mini-mart delicacies, a small comfort for a weary traveler. a woman has stolen my spot, she pretends she hasn't by looking at her phone when i ask her to pass my coat. i move to the back, and inevitably steal someone else's unassigned seat
and so mayhem ensues. "That's not going to work honey, you got my spot"

i will move. the man with the suitcase wedged between his knees says we're close anyways.

iii.
now i'm in the real back of the bus, by the latrine and the pile of coats stacked on the last seat. a man from bangladesh hears my name and tells me he is a muslim. "Are you afraid of me now?" he asks.

i tell him we're created by the same God and that's good enough for me.

iv.
i read the same 12 lines in my book for the next 2 hours. until i am awaken from the endless cycle of comprehension and disengagement to the sound of my friend getting off at his stop, "we real close now".

v. and the man from bangladesh tells me he is interviewing for a job and needs prayers, i tell him "i will pray for you" and we exchange cheerios and protein bars.


vi.
i feel some deep connection with my ancestors as i see my phone is dying, i feel i know what they must have felt when the oil was running low at the end of the night. panic sits in, that my ride will not be at the correct stop, and my phone will be dead. and i will be dead. i fear i will miss my stop, so i hover between sleep and just conscious enough to know i have yet arrived.

the woman who stole my stop makes it to the back and taps my shoulder,
"anyone in the toilet"

she asks me, i have no clue, i was asleep, so i tell her "yeah, we close though" and she walks back to her seat.

vii.
45 minutes later we arrive and my luggage is thrown from the underside of the bus like a great dragon heaving up its lunch, and i cling to it hoping i packed my phone charger.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Fri Apr 13, 2018 8:29 pm
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alliyah says...



Poem 17

untitled - 17 - 4.13.18

there are certain feelings that don't come softly,
like the chill of winter air when it burns your lungs
you don't doubt it, or pretend it's something else,
as real as the skin at my fingertips
as clear as the breath caught at the sound
of the syllables from my name on your lips
sometimes you just know.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Sun Apr 15, 2018 2:16 pm
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Cadi says...



Ooh, I like #17 - you've got a wonderful, tangible metaphor there - I can almost feel it!
"The fact is, I don't know where my ideas come from. Nor does any writer. The only real answer is to drink way too much coffee and buy yourself a desk that doesn't collapse when you beat your head against it." --Douglas Adams
  





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Mon Apr 16, 2018 5:31 am
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alliyah says...



Spoiler! :
Thanks @Cadi!


Poem 18

I only use my words - 4.15.18

i'm not writing poetry
I say, capitalizing the "i" to make it official.
and even adding the punctuation 'dot' at the end .
There. You happy?
Don't mistake these haphazard sentences and lines that drag on then
break-up unexpectedly
as poetry. Because I am not writing poetry.
I can't right now.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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779 Reviews



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Points: 23188
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Mon Apr 16, 2018 5:43 am
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alliyah says...



Poem 19

untitled - 19 - 4.16.18

he asks me what i'm thinking,
like i could give an adequate answer in words
to tell him about the exact amber brown of his eyes
or somehow give a rendition of the intonation of his laughter
if in words i could tell him
how my thoughts leap and squeeze my lungs
then dance between our words and weave between interlaced fingers
i'd tell him the truth
but until my voice can speak in more than words
i'm only left with poetry.
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  





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Mon Apr 16, 2018 5:53 pm
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TheBlueCat says...



I love these last two <3 #18 is my favorite, it feels like my thoughts c:
Unofficial Blue Cat of YWS =^-^=

"You can never look at a book the same way once you've read it"

My PM box is always open for anything and everything <3

~Never stop looking up~
  





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779 Reviews



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Tue Apr 17, 2018 10:21 pm
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alliyah says...



Spoiler! :
Thanks for following my poetry @TheBlueCat! :) Glad you enjoyed those last ones too!


Poem 20

busy - 4.17.18

lately, i worry i have not had time to smell the roses
because sight and breath are too valuable to
waste on anything seasonal
although i can't remember the last time i lived
in anything except this season
of the constant haste and forgetting to breathe and
forgetting which lines i've already said
because breath and sight are too valuable to waste
on remembering what's important. you see,

I'm busy right now,

and that's not just a statement
about how limited my time is because no one has time
to complain about clocks or anything else
that refuses to give, but takes and takes and
takes until you are only left with pocket change
next to pocket minutes,
breaths of time
to avoid spending all at once

but I'm busy
has become linked to my personhood,
a sad epitaph that no one had time to proof-read
but left an impression that no one has the time to register
but they'll leave roses and say that it's sad anyways,
because we're all busy.

and now the answers come quickly
so as not to waste time
what're you doing? I'm busy
how do you feel? I'm busy
who are you? I'm sorry, but
I'm busy right now, can I let you know at another time?

and i would finish this line in some sort of summation
about how the tyranny of the busy
and the shortness of breath
has left me short sighted
and short lived
because i have ceased having time to live anymore
but i can’t give you pretty flowery words to
tell you how the mess and stress
have started to define me; and
breath and sight are too valuable to waste on words
and finding meaning takes time i suppose, and
I’m just too busy to say what i want to say
and you’re probably too busy to hear me anyway
but i don't think i can ever love someone
who doesn't understand that teal
is a different color than
dark cyan.

  








You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.
— Anne Lamott