Reflecting on My Metaphor

i am a typewriter and someone else is pressing the keys

i am a match that won’t light

i am yarn, frayed and unraveling

i am glue that never dries

i am words written backwards

i am a stone that can’t skip

i am lukewarm coffee

i am a pen out of ink

i am an empty spool of thread

i am a threadbare sweater

i am a left sock without a right

i am a flower, always wilting

i am written in an unspoken language

i am all consonants and no vowels

i am a broken vase, not yet mended with gold

i am a butterfly with broken wings

i am an owl without voice

i am loaded scales with no counter weights

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Exploring Hope and Possibility (110318)

teach, i will

crochet, i will

mother, i will

love, i will

grow, i will

write, i will

live, i will

 

there is time

there is hope

there is possibility

there is me

 

hope, i will

Formerly Known As Anony

Hi! It’s been a while. In case you didn’t know, my name is Bree, but previously I have kept that mostly hidden on here. I started this blog in 2013 and published two posts that year, neither of which exist anymore. Then I didn’t post again until I don’t remember when exactly, but that post doesn’t exist anymore either. But in January 2016, blogging here became kind of a regular thing and I published something between a hundred and a billion posts over the span of thirteen-ish months, only to drop off the radar again in February of 2017. I definitely didn’t stop writing, I just stopped sharing. I’m not gonna fill you in on my life, at least not right now, but I am gonna post my favorite poems from the blog hiatus. And I use the word poems lightly here, almost none of them have forms and some of them are so far out in left field I doubt anyone will catch them, but imma share anyways. So, hold on, this ride might get a bit crazy.

Ode to Lost Gloves/020417

I’m sorry you were lost and left behind
I’d pick you all up and make you
Into a sculpture if I wasn’t so lazy
My heart breaks for you
For your soft fingers
That will never be filled with flesh again
Your owners have gone on with their lives
They will not remember you
Instead they’ll buy another pair
At Kmart
Because that’s what they do
Consume
Consume
Consume
That’s what we all do
Lose something, we buy another
What will happen when the gloves are all gone?
No one ever loses a pair
Only one at a time
Except I do know someone
Who lost a pair, more than once
If hearts were like gloves, we’d all be broken
Maybe hearts are gloves, two are useful together, they make sense
One without the other will always just be lost.