Maybe our dreams are more voices in our heads than we think.
Louder than we hear,
Until we choose to listen.
The depths of tomorrow – A poem
You give me memorable moments
In unmemorable days.
My yesterdays described by conversations,
The sound of you saying my name,
And times I thought of you
When listening to the rain.
With you, I can be everything I am
And you show me everything you are.
The depths of you and the depths of me
Are almost parallel to the depths
Of tomorrow…
Utterly and entirely
Infinite.
The curious way time runs away – A poem
I think I worry about time too much.
Living alongside the rhythmic and repetitious strides
Of the backdrop of humanity
Seems to fill my head with it.
With time.
The nonstop tick-tock is locked into my footsteps
Into the beats per minute of my heart
Blinking numbers or the hypnotic swirl
Of hands that spin too fast in the corner of my eye
But not at all when staring them in the face.
Maybe I worry about time too much because
I’m aware of being trapped in it
But I can’t see it to get out.
Silence
Silence is more than quiet. Quiet is the sweeping hush of the stars pressing fingers to their lips so the world stops thinking. But silence steals even the most subtle of sounds and fills the air with everything else.
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The perils of a mind’s imitations of life – A poem
I have not yet learned to notice
How time jumps
Or how the clocks don’t tick
Glimpse – A poem
Perhaps our view of the world is tinted,
Our vision restricted
By the vignette of a telescope
(Magnifying the dangerous,
Like hopelessness and hope)
Becoming me
Put simply, this is a personal essay about how I became the writer I am today. I revisit some of the poems that kickstarted my journey as a writer and more specifically, a poet, and how I discovered my love for poetry. I take a look at some of the obstacles I overcame to get to where I am, and how I came to welcome my identity as a writer. Basically, it’s going to be a bit of a long one, so buckle up!
Writing is such a big part of me, so much so that I’m just not me when I’m not writing.
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Remains – A poem
When I disintegrate into space
What will be left
Is the remains of you
And all the people that made me.
My scattered ashes
Will be seeds
For not just the flower of me
But a garden.
Adrift – A poem
The ways a place can hold you
There are different ways a place can hold memories. Sometimes you see them and other times you feel them. It might be just a breath, other times the feeling can consume you. But either way it moves you and either way it’s there.
Sometimes it can be like a waft of familiar perfume that makes your heart skip a beat. Or it’s like you travelled back in time and you’re no longer standing there but surrounded by your past unfolding in front of you. As if your soul escapes your body for a moment and the only thing possible for you to do is stand there and feel it.
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Lauren Kathleen 