Poemtober: volume 2 issue 3
October is halfway over and thus, so is Poemtober. If you’re new here, welcome. Poemtober is where I take Inktober prompts and write little goober “poems” for fame and acclaim! Just kidding, it’s for fun, and illustrations accompany some of the poems. Thank you for reading or at the very least, for clicking on this link, scrolling a little, then exiting out to go look at Instagram stories.
Sour
tingle left on your tongue
the culprit
you’ll never talk to them again
it’s not you it’s them
so you’ve realized
-
they looked down on you
they were better and you were worse
in your black nonslip shoes
hair pulled back
legs tired but willing to keep going
to keep working
Not Interested
-
Unspoken, this is the last time
the kiss on your cheek citric acid
close your eyes
pucker up
they’re gone
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Stuck
rolling side to side
hopeful desperation
you may think it’s at random
but it’s anything but, planned
failing, but planned
an escape in progress, rolling
but escaping is harder than just rolling
side to side
clawing crying running doesn’t always work but worth a try
and yes, thank you for asking
this is about the Modelo can captured in the train car
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Roof
the dark skies open
giving permission to the patient droplets
allowing them to fall, a brave trek
to the tin roof
ugly, industrial
now a dancing percussion instrument
I sleep listening to the performance. safe. sound.
and then it stops
silence
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Tick
Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap
.
.
.
.
.
Click Click Click Click Click
.
.
.
.
.
Open Open Open Open Open
.
.
.
.
.
Twitch! Will it happen aga- Twitch!
.
.
.
.
.
Stop Stop Stop Stop Stop
.
.
.
— No, stop.. I can’t .. No, you can
Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap
.
.
.
.
.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Helmet
Hey! I finally got one!
A helmet
My mom’s happier
I think I’m sadder
It’s not the helmet’s fault
I’m just going to blame it so
It’s not my fault
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Compass
will cardinal directions
lead me to peace to a place
I’ll call home and be satisfied settled
that town squeezed me. not suffocated but
gently nudged me outside its borders
this town swallows me, not its fault but mine
the warmth it surrounds me in feels
like home until I miss the tight squeeze and
when I’m squeezed I reach for the room the space
the number of people that reduce me to a dot
a digit, thinking about the home on the island
somewhere cold and dark until I need the light and I think
maybe the house in the sun in the valley
maybe not a house at all
maybe nowhere, no space no squeeze. welcoming void.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Collide
MyFirstSemesterOfCollegeIHadAProfessorWhoSaidWriteAndDontStopDontThinkDontWorryAboutPunctuationOrSpellingActuallyJustBarelyLiftYourPenOffThePageButProfessorWhatIfIKeepWritingAndThenICantStopAndThingsAreSaidThatCantBeTakenBackLikeWhatIfIWriteAboutMyClassCrushWhichIsSillyThereShouldBeNoFearForThatButWhatIfIWriteAboutMyRealFearsWhatIfIRealizeImAFraudIDontKnowWhyImHereThisWasTheOnlyOptionItHasAlwaysBeenTheOnlyOptionButWhatIfYoureNotGoodEnoughWhatHappensIfYouFailAtTheOnlyOptionIsItBetterToFailOrToQuitEveryoneHasTheirOwnAnswerAndInTheEndWeAreAllWrongBecauseWeThinkWeAreAllRightAndWhenYouAreWritingWithoutThinkingYouMightThinkThatsProfoundButJesusChristYouSoundLikeHoldenCaufieldAndYouRealizeYouDontMissHighSchoolInThisMomentWhichIsEnoughToLetYouRemainInCollegeForTheTimeBeingForTheNextFourYearsForTheNextFiveYearsAndThenWhenYouLiftThePenYouAsk
Was I ever supposed to be here at all?
