Anyone who has ever read poetry will know the types of poems that exist. There are the poems that are fairly straightforward and make perfect sense in every way. There are some that still make sense but in a more abstract way. Perhaps they are just a giant metaphor, but grammatically they still make sense.…
Read MoreThe Foreign Memory of You – A Poem
I cock my head to one side as I look at you As memories lined up on the wall Contain the outlines of your face And your voice (like the muscle memory Of remembering song lyrics You didn’t know you knew) But I cannot feel your fingerprints on my skin Anymore. You are a foreign…
Read MoreA poem I wrote on the bus this morning
I saw her again this morning. I’ve been seeing her a lot recently. I hadn’t seen her in a while. She’s the girl whose eyes are brighter Than the rest of the world As they glow with the moonlight They soaked in from the night before. Her eyes smile Even when the rest of her…
Read MoreWhat it means to find oneself – A poem
It perpetually perplexed me When hearing people say “Everything clicked into place, I think I found myself today.” I never knew how one could “find themselves” When the only one who can define Exactly the person that they are Is the one who sees inside. But perhaps the problem lies In our vision in our…
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Forgotten – A Poem
Some mornings, the vision Of my tired eyes is blurred And the person in the mirror Isn’t good enough to face the world. But with smoother skin and pinker lips, Or even longer lashes, I am far more prepared to see the storm, My fire will leave this place in ashes. But what if it’s…
Read MoreOn learning that nothing isn’t always the dream – A poem
I have been compulsively Cleaning my room As if trying to get rid of The mess of you And my mind feels clearer now But at the same time feels Empty. To close my eyes is to Look out over completely still water And even my breathing Sounds quieter than before. But I am used…
Read MoreMemories – A Poem
The nature of memories Is comparable to pebbles Found on ocean shores. The pretty ones. The ones you admire for their pure perfection. The ones you may collect into Parcels of folded hands To be deposited in display jars When you arrive home. But they weren’t always that perfect. It’s just that the tumbling tides…
Read MoreThe view from underneath a park bench
I never want to live Like the spaces under benches That only see the hands disposing of chewing gum And the muddy soles of shoes. I want to see the world above them filled with First kisses and Giggles and Whispers and Old couples holding between their interlaced fingers, The idea that maybe true love…
Read MoreHopelessly Wasted Words – A Poem
You don’t deserve Any of the words I give you. Why do I fill my pages With words for you When all yours for me Were empty? And more importantly Why do I keep writing them? Why do I constantly Hopelessly Waste my words On the people Whose colours turned to grey? Who turned my…
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Masterpiece – A Poem
I am a masterpiece in progress. Constantly Endlessly Painting and repainting my bones In the colour that I think fits me best, But nothing stays just right for very long. At first a colour may seem rich And powerful Like the passion of burgundy red, But as it seeps into my marrow It becomes nothing…
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Lauren Kathleen 