Ars Poetica

So simply said
Some serious sayings.
Stacked slightly slanted,
So serious.
Sarah said something
Silly, sarcastic, strange
Scrawled said scrap,
Spawned sublimity.

My Obsession

I'm not superhuman,
but you should have known me by now.
I keep it caged,
but I can't contain it.
Starving for your attention,
I've traded everything I have
for this one thing.
But my demons lay in waiting.
Will tomorrow be too late?
You're my escape from this messed up place.
I can't escape this love.
How long can we hold on?
I can feel you in my sleep.
Don't wake me,
'cause I don't wanna leave this dream.
Don't say good-bye,
I don't wanna believe that it's gotta be this way.
Don't leave me stranded,
there's nothing left to lose.
There's nothing left to prove.
Surrender your love,
It's all you can do.
You know I'm never far,
hear the whispers in the dark.

-All words taken from Skillet lyrics.

Reading You

I watched your face
as you read these few poems
and I wonder if I should have showed you.
I wonder if they will scare you,
or just freak you out.
I wonder if one will make you sad.
I wonder if it will change everything
or anything.

I watched your face
as you read these few poems.
The happy ones made you happy.
the angry one made your face freeze.
You showed nothing. Empty.
A poker face.

Should I have showed you that part?
What do you think about it?
Can you deal with the pain
I felt before?
I can't put the blame on you,
It hurts too much now
to hurt you.

I want to see past your face,
As you read these few poems.
I want to read the inside of your mind,
Like it's a book I can't put down
And have to keep reading until 3am
and I fall asleep with it on my chest.

I want to read you.
I want your emotions laid out
in front of me.
In front of pretty pictures,
for everyone to see.

I took these words from your moth and gave them back to you

You kissed me
delirious.
I should be sorry
about that
but I'm not.
You're dangerous
and I like it
I can't wait for the day
when good-night doesn't
mean good-bye.

Our Story

This is not a fairytale
I'm not a princess to be saved.
Nor will you swoop in on a
white steed to rescue me.

This is not a Shakespearean play.
I'm not playing a game,
and you wont't need to kill
anyone to save our love.

This is not a Disney movie.
All our parents are alive
and there is no magic,
talking animals, or evil villains.

This is real life.
It may feel like the world is out to get us.
And who doesn't like to be treated like a princess?
But this is real.
This is ours.
And it will last as long as we make it.

The Writer

I'm sorry about the times that I space-out.
The writer in my soul is drafting
and you seem to inspire her.
Don't take my silence, when you whisper love in my ear,
as indifference.
I can't share until I draft, edit, and finalize.
LEt me show my love through my pen.
I'll send you written copies of Browning's sonnets.
"How do I love thee?"
Let me love you through my words.
Written for you.
I'll make you my leading man,
wooing my protagonist in Europe,
or Brazil, the setting isn't set yet.
You're in my every novel plot and poem.
I'm sorry I can't say it well enough.
Follow my pen.
It will show you.

I'm so frustrated I could very well scream and wake the neighbors because of my own stupidity.(Revise)

Spent most of the night teasing you.
Winding you up like
a jack-in-the-box.
Waited for you to explode.

But you didn't.
And that's probably a
good thing.
You sent me home
out your door.

It had gotten colder,
and my shoes click, click, clicked
across the sidewalk as I left.
Lyle, your creepy neighbor,
waved as I walked past.
It is a good thing.
I couldn't have dealt with
the aftermath.

I'm so frustrated I could very well scream and wake the neighbors from their peaceful dreamlands because of my own stupidity.

Spent most of the night teasing you.
Winding you up like
a jack-in-the-box.
Waited for you to strike.

But you didn't.
And that's probably a
good thing.

It had gotten colder,
and my shoes click-click-clicked
across the sidewalk as I left.
It is a good thing.
I couldn't have dealt with
the aftermath.

A Reason (revise)

IT keeps hounding me.
That voice that sounds eerily like my mother
but with a bit more judgement thrown in
for good measure.
IT thrives on guilt.
Poking like a sliver stuck in your sock,
the kind you can't see, but you know IT is there.
Clean
Bake
Drink
All at once.
I'm doing all I can to ignore her. oops.
I mean IT.
There's a reason I don't keep a gun
in the house.

Dangerous, Treacherous, Hazardous You (Revise)

I know
how your hands feel
in my hair
or
against my back
or
clutched between mine.

I know
how your lips feel
against my cheek
or
down my neck
or slow against mine.

Stop

Sit up and move away.
Away from the warmth
of you.

Those hazardous lips
treacherous hands
dangerous you.

In Response to Her Damn Horses

Can any woman
write a book of poetry
that doesn’t portray
men as
repressing
conniving
dictators
whose only goal
is to
kill
steal
and destroy?

Looking inside the dark

“You don’t have a shadow”
Comes the whispery breath of a voice
From the perch on my left shoulder.
“And if you did, no one would believe it.”

Castle in the Air

Do you know
how may nights
I’ve looked forward
to sleep
because I let myself
dream of you?

A Mushy Poem I Never Saw Coming

I think it has to do with your hair.
The dark chocolate strands
Curling and turning
Tickling
So smooth between my fingers
Falling messily on your brows.
Speaking of brows
Your eyes might be it.
Mossy green
No
Yellowy green
No
You green.
Yes, you green.
Fringed by massive lashes
They put my own mascara laden eyes to shame.
When you blink
They brush your cheeks,
Oh my gosh, your cheeks.
Perfectly balanced with that strong jaw
Defined, sharp
When you move your mouth,
The muscles beneath ripple and stretch taunt.
Taunting me.
But you’re not perfect.
There’s that mole on your cheek,
It’s kind of big.
And you tend to forget spots when you shave.
And sometimes
When you open your mouth
You say the weirdest things.
Then again,
That’s part of it.
That’s part of why I love you

Rage

Rage
Based on the painting titled Rage by Brenda Jones

You took my hands with you.
I can’t change anything.
You took my feet too.
I can’t run from it.
I still remember the snarl of your lip,
the look of disgust after.
Like maybe you regretted it. Or not.
Maybe you were disgusted by me.
The bloody mangled remains of my youthful body,
laying prostrate on the graying white sheet.
There might have been regret in your eyes.
Sorrow. For the pain you inflicted
Sorrow. In the deep creases of your eyes.
But that came later. Probably.

Monster. Did you feel bad?
I still see you in the crowds,
in the faces of angry strangers shoving past.
I’m older now, and you’re gone,
but you’re still in my head.
Are you sorry?
As you burn in hell, are you sorry?

Our Circles End

I want to loathe you.
Tell you to stay away.
Until I am near you,
then I pray you’ll stay.
Do you see me?
As more than a friend?
Or am I just
your girl pretend?
To satiate your need
Until the time
you find the next girl
to glut your mind.
But here I am
waiting for you again
Is this a circle?
Can it be our end?

Eminence (Revise)

Standing on the edge of this cliff. Timid.
Tremulous waters below, lapping at the stone.

My quaking feet knock pebbles in the foaming
fingers that reach up, trying to grasp my ankles.

He is down there. He’s asking me to jump,
to collapse into his unyielding, rock steady grip.

I stagger back from the precipice, the boundary, the brink.
Unsure of his dependability, his stability.

If I jump, I may stumble. I may crash. I may die.
Or I may just miss his arms completely.

But if I don’t, I’ll never find him, never join him.
And so with gravel crunching beneath me,

I soar.

It like learning to grow a turtleneck

I’m sitting in my living room
With my leg curled up underneath
me on the big comfy chair.

My friend Caitlin is laughing her
Laugh, bubbling and flowing out all
Over the carpet.

Our Friends keep saying funny things.

My boyfriend Ben is sitting on the floor,
Trying earnestly to explain probability
While I make funny faces at him.

How you doin’?

It’s pretty much impossible
To concentrate on studying
Autobiographies about old dead guys when
Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe and Joey
Keep making me laugh.

-Sarah Baughman

Ice Sestina

It’s cold.
But I can’t wear my gloves while I tie my skates
My knee’s bang together as I stand up. Weak
Ankles, straining to balance on the blades.
I can feel the heaters above me, a breeze
That pushes me forward; through the door, onto the ice.

I forget this feeling of freedom on the ice
After I go home, legs burning, toes cold.
I close my eyes and push forward on my skates
Ignoring reality, the pressure that makes me weak
Focus on the sound, ice on blade
Faster yet, my worries fly away in the breeze.

Do they feel this breeze?
As they, stick in hand, slice across the ice
Do they feel the cold?
Do they feel freedom on skates
Too? Or is that weak?
Stick, puck, net, blade.

What about her? On the toe of the blade?
Spinning so fast, the crown can feel the breeze.
Jumps, twirls, a spray of ice.
Her only expression: one of cold
Concentration. Her legs are a continuation of her skates
A part of her. Without them, she’s weak.
Alone here, I’m not weak.
A strange place to meet him, on blades
And still alone. Yet I feel him in the breeze
As I circle the ice.
A strange way to connect, but he meets me in the cold,
Gliding with me, my God finds me on skates.

I can forget life when I’m on skates.
When everything’s gone, he strengthens the weak.
He steadies me, when I’m balanced on one blade.
When I wobble and sway in the breeze.
He melts away my protective ice,
Warms my hands in his, chases away the cold.

A Reason- Billy Collins Poem

It keeps hounding me in my mind.
That voice that sounds eerily like my mother
With a bit more judgment thrown in
For good measure.

It thrives on guilt,
Poking like a sliver stuck in your sock
At that soft part of me
That I already have doubts about.
It gets to me.

Cleaning
Baking
Drinking
All at once.
I’m doing all I can to ignore her.

Ooops, I mean it.

There’s a reason I don’t keep a gun in the house.