Hello, my friends, hello.
There’s been quite an influx of you recently, and I just wanted to thank you for reading my poetry. Eric really did something amazing when he started The Poetic People project, and I’m honored to have been a part.
Posting is sporadic at the moment but will hopefully pick up this summer once I’ve figured out my schedule a little more. Also, I’m following several of you back, but this blog is a side blog and therefore my name on your followers list will be “elizabethkate.”
Just wanted to let you know who that strange new person following you was. :)
Once again, thank you for reading, and please leave some comments or critique!
~Elizabeth
Poetry is a way for me to work through difficult experiences and emotions. It allows me to explore my feelings and communicate without having to be blunt or callous. It allows me, clumsy and impatient, to create art with the fingers that can mess up even a stick figure.
One of my favourite Tumblr poets, leaveyouapen, is collecting descriptions of what poetry means to individual poets. I submitted a picture and a statement, and if you’re a poet you should too.
positivity
I am positive.
Growing up, moving on
heading into the sun so bright I can’t see
at a million miles an hour so if I stop
I stop with a lurch.
Positive, clear, on a shadowed path
but I’m a superconductor.
Crackling
ready to shock whoever touches.
Because I am on fucking FIRE
and I will burn you so bad.
And you’re a real nowhere man
and I am a superhero siren
who can’t pull her punches.
And like a magnet
my positive and your negative snap together
CLACK and we kiss
with a sworn finality.
And CLACK we meet again.
This is all normal.
We break.
We build.
Our wings become metal and clunk to the ground.
Our feet grow springs and we bounce up through the clouds.
Hearts are stiched with hemp and words and sometimes the threads come out.
Sometimes glue sticks.
Ghosts are behind every corner
and every rainbow ends too far away.
Our images of self skew and slide into something ugly
Or something beautiful.
Our bodies and the words we use for them become the definition of ourselves
when it is so much simpler to just say “me.”
Karma burns and kisses.
Lovers leave and linger.
Blood drifts and dries.
And it is all a part of the glorious contradiction and contrast that we call life.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Revel in the roller coaster.
You are not a lab specimen of some failed experiment.
So don’t label yourself down to a science.
I need-
I don’t know.
Does that make you happy?
Leaving me guessing
leaving me refreshing
waiting
shaking
losing
and all it gives me is anger.
Anger is something I don’t want to have from you
but it is all you give me.
And this is rapidly losing any poetic touch
and gaining reality.
Back to my point.
I need-
no.
I don’t need.
And not needing does not mean hate.
It does not mean animosity or bad vibes
it does not mean hatred
it can even mean love.
It just means no need.
And excuse me for not needing
the source of anxiety and blood.
Let me start over.
Let me reach down deep into the Earth and dig out my roots
ready to replant wherever I land.
Let me pull back my heart-chords
-starting with you.
Let me explain.
Because YOU never explained, and when you did
the story changed every time.
I’ll free us both from strewing excuses to puncture our tires
and keep us here.
Let me leave you.
Let me leave you here. Now.
Those shoes you wrote about?
They’re muddy and falling apart.
I think I need to just get a new pair
and stop hanging on to high school.
My goodness, thank you! I have to admit, I’m not familiar with David White. I know tumblr doesn’t allow links in the ask boxes, but could you direct me to some of his work?
And again, thank you so much! I’m honored.
another one for MHM
HELP
tapping ticking words like scythes
words like mighty ships sailing away
words that only dig your grave
HELP
late night snapshots all so blurry
can you make out the face inside
can you see our faces asking why
HELP
can you breathe through the fog of anger
you use words like you’re fast asleep
what are you saying, what do you need
HELP
like knives, scattering and shaking hands
like family, scared and helplessly waiting
far away on your ship of careless debating
-
all I hear is your voice breaking
screaming for help.
Green Thumb
I have problems that look like a stalk of poison ivy:
I’m in the 8% not allergic
which makes it hard to tell if it’s not just a weed,
just a minor annoyance in the grand garden I’ve grown.
While that would lead to some being carefree
it makes me believe that everything will make me scratch my skin
raw and red until I bleed.
I have problems that multiply like grass seeds
as you cut them down, back they grow
and change colours with the rain and sun.
Mow them down, manicure your lawn, but they will always grow right back up.
Sometimes I even sow more in a fit of self-destructive landscaping.
I’m now a little like a flower bed
beautiful by seasons, barren by others,
but always something under the surface.
Eaten by worms, dug by dogs,
but lovingly planted
and someone is waiting for me to bloom.
Someone, somewhere, wants to see colour
and is willing to wait through the winter for my face to shine again.
Author’s Note:
I sometimes follow the people who like posts and follow this blog, so if you see an “elizabethkate” on your followers list, that’s me on my personal blog.
And thank you for the positive feedback via likes and reblogs! Means a lot.
