The Athenaeum

Tag: poetry

  • Motivation

    Feeling lost?
    Are you scared?
    I can tell something is on your mind.
    Look, it’s not that bad…
    Underneath the pain is a new light.
    Reacting negatively is not the right way.
    Endure the pain.
    I know right now it is hard but everything will be alright.
    Sometimes starting over is needed in order to make progress.
    Upon a new beginning the past will try to take you back.
    Not giving in is the most important part.
    Another chance has been given to you and you cannot let it pass.
    Varying paths will open the more you try to move forward.
    Organizing your thoughts and planning ahead will lead you down the correct path.
    In moments of great sorrow, time heals all wounds.
    Don’t give up.
    A new story is waiting to be told.
    Believe in yourself.
    Look around you now, and see everything is okay.
    Everything is back to the way it should be.

    Feeling, Are, I, Look, Underneath, Reacting, Endure,
    I, Sometimes,
    Upon, Not, Another, Varying, Organizing, In, Don’t, A, Believe, Look, Everything.

    F A I L U R E
    I S
    U N A V O I D A B L E

    But that does not mean it is the end. Sometimes failure is the new beginning.

  • Ego

    Ego

    You think you are a gift.
    The sun.
    The moon.
    The tides.
    All rise for you.
    You forget.
    We will all rise,
    without you,
    regardless.

  • The Next Morning

    There you lie with her
    Confused, filled with dread and shame
    The mourning after

  • Oh, The Places You’ve Been and The Places You’ll Go

    Oh, The Places You’ve Been and The Places You’ll Go

    With move-in day approaching I began to feel nervous.
    More than 1,400 miles from home and what was the purpose?
    I was starting my degree and my young adult life
    And Acadia embodied a future that was bright.
    When I went for my Frosh pack, I met my future best friend.
    I met so many people, on who I learned to depend.
    I became acquainted with the rotation of food in meal hall.
    I also learned to watch out and not feed the seagulls.
    My second year I returned, tan, wise and keen.
    I was no longer a Frosh and I’d avoided the freshman fifteen.
    I got to know my professors and enjoyed my classes.
    I studied, I went out and I even got glasses.
    An apartment off campus was where I lived my third year.
    Where I met my boyfriend, learned to cook and bonded with peers.
    I went to hockey games, started yoga and continued disliking the weather.
    I had found where I belonged; I felt it could only get better.
    As my final year began, I was anxious and ready.
    I was an old pro at school, but as an adult felt unsteady.
    The year went by in slow motion, but also too fast
    I was home at Acadia, but I knew it could not always last.
    As I crossed the stage in U-Hall, the past four years flashed before my eyes.
    I saw everything between my first day as a frosh and that moment and I quietly said my goodbyes.
    I said goodbye to the place that had made me so nervous four years ago,
    The place that had shaped me, that had helped me to grow.
    However long you have been at Acadia, you know what I mean.
    It is a place that gives back, which in life is not always foreseen.
    Future alumni, the end of your time at Acadia is not a plateau,
    Oh, the place you have been and the places you’ll go.

  • I’m No Fisherman

    There are plenty of
    fish in the sea. But,
    then you have to rent a boat and
    rod and buy worms
    and that’s too much
    damn effort for me
    right now.

  • Dear Mother

    Dear Mother

    It’s finally done!!

    After four years

    The mud, blood, and tears have stopped

    I cannot wait to get home.

    I have lost a lot along the way

    Friends, Comrades, Sanity

    All for supposed “glory”

    I’m lucky to still be alive.

    No one won this.

    It just created more problems down the road

    But that’s all behind me now

    YOU’RE GONE

    Was the fighting all for nothing?

    Everyone who died in vain?

    Is this just one graveyard for another?

    I died for nothing.

    Now there is nothing left.

  • Nothing Really Mattress

    Nothing Really Mattress

    Today,

    the morning said to me,

    “go back to sleep”

    then it kissed me on the cheek

    and the rain played through my window

    like my favourite song

    until i was safe in my dreams.

    my bed was empty

    when i awoke

    Morning had left me alone,

    and i wanted to wait

    for it to come back.

    the afternoon knocked

    on my door,

    asking me if i was going to eat soon

    then it told me

    “you should probably eat soon”

    but i crawled for a new pack

    of cigarettes instead

    then i laid, naked and empty,

    lost in my head

    on the floor of my kitchen,

    watching the smoke

    cloud my vision

    of Responsibility peeking

    through the window.

    Reality had already settled

    into the wrong places of my mind,

    snickering as it closed the blinds

    to the outside,

    reminding me

    how god damn easy

    it is to ignore

    the things i do not want

    to face anymore.

    i heard it whispering

    “come on, what’s one more?”

    but one more

    was the last of the pack

    i was dizzy,

    and exploding with emotion,

    intensity.

    feeling in extremes

    is not easy.

    it is leaving the blinds

    closed even though

    i know i will have to open them

    tomorrow.

    i do not want to.

    it is ripping myself in half,

    knowing i will have

    to stitch all the shit

    back up again.

    i do not want to.

    it is reaching up from the kitchen floor

    to get the knife

    from the drawer

    and sliding it across my skin.

    it is the voice in my head still whispering

    “what’s one more”

    while my eyes shut

    and the walls are crashing,

    the blood falls.

    it is wondering

    if the Morning plans

    on coming back at all.

  • Growing

    Growing

    Walking slowly down the road

    Moving towards another node –

    In my life a whole new era

    And truth be told there’s nothing rarer

    Then starting off with a smile

    Proving i’ll be here a while

    Take those steps, watch my face

    Make mistakes, no disgrace

    The path I’ve taken is my own

    Getting ready for the day

    Getting lost just to find my way

    Looking forward moving ahead

    Can’t just lay there on my bed

    I’ve got to try

    Be ready to fly

    And it makes me high

    That the end is nigh.

    My path is being shown

    Making hard decisions

    Multiple revisions

    Got to stay precise

    While trying to be concise

    Saying I won’t lose

    That this is what I choose

    My point it must be made

    And prove I will not fade

    This is how I’ve grown.

  • Snowfall

    Snowfall

    Unique

    flakes

    f

    a

    l

    l

    i                n                g

    so          ft          ly

    to the frozen

    earth. Preserving art beneath the unforgiving grasp of icy talons

    to make way

    f        o        r

    new                             art.

    E

    v

    e

    r

    y

    flake:

    Unique

  • Untitled

    i am tired of every one telling me

    i am tiny.

    my waist may spill secrets

    that my ribs have to tell,

    my hip bones begging

    to be kissed.

    my wrists easily fatigued

    by the words i have to write,

    and there are times when i am swallowed whole by another’s arms while my heart plays hide

    and seek under the covers,

    but i am big.

    my voice is the wind and my words are the flowers reaching for

    the sun.

    my eyes go deeper than the mountains and challenge the stars;

    they are eager to devour the sea.

    my lungs can hold back hurricanes and my mind is a firecracker,

    so beautiful, sublime

    in it’s own destruction.

    my footsteps cover continents,

    and the only place big enough to hold me safely,

    to call my home

    is the endless galaxy that surely some day

    will decay,

    fall, burn down

    and leave only the ashes

    for you to try

    to keep in a box,

    try to bury

    in the emptiness,

    in the cavity

    of your heaving chest.

    – i am not tiny. i am

    exploding and

    you will never be able

    to contain me.

  • O Is Never Ending

    O Is Never Ending

    His fist,

    once intertwined between her fingers

    now slams into her red painted lips.

    O is never ending.

    But his touch

    slides up and down her body

    gently healing the bruises left behind.

                                                                   But, o is never ending.

    Till death do us part.

  • i wanted to go for a walk

    i wanted to go for a walk

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    to enjoy the time I had to myself,

    not having to worry about anything else,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    breathing in the air, so pure and clean,

    observing nature, calm and serene,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    a walk through the woods, nothing better,

    suddenly a girl, all I did was stare at her,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    she was injured it seemed, i needed to help,

    but what could i do, i’m a miserable whelp,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    turning around, back home i went,

    after all, i was mentally spent,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    turned off the lights, went to bed,

    but all through the night, that girl in my head,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    i woke the next day, read the paper with dread,

    as i had thought some girl was found dead,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    the part that is strange, the part that can’t be,

    the girl that was found, was not found by me,

    i wanted to go for a walk.

    If I were able, I would surely cry,

    But that is impossible after you die.

    I should not have gone for that walk.

  • I Don’t Write Love Poems

    I Don’t Write Love Poems

    I’ll be honest—I don’t write love poems. But if I did, I know what I would write about. I know what kind of love I want.

    You see, I want that love where I wake up early every morning to make her breakfast. I want that love where I would fall apart just hearing her say my name.

    I want that love that is reckless, scary, and dangerous to my health if I don’t do it right. Yet somehow makes me feel invincible. I want that love that reminds me of jumping off my bunk bed as a child, thinking that I was Spider-Man. A childish love, sure, one that is without limits.

    I want that kind of love where she is there to catch me as I trip over the odd combination of self-doubt and ego that I always seem to leave everywhere.

    I want that love where we smile so bright whenever we’re together that they can see that shit on Google Maps.

    Love poems aren’t my thing. But if I am still being honest, if I did write one, it would be about you.

    If I was to write about my love for you, I would say how it made me feel thankful that cupid finally got his technique down when I first saw your smile.

    If I wrote you a love poem, it would mention how the only way I stay sane is loving you with complete and utter lunacy.

    If I wrote you a love poem, I would try to make it into a song. With your heartbeat as the bass and my words as the lyrics. We would make some pretty sweet music together. Our mixtape would be fire.

    Again, I am not saying that I write love poems. But if I decided to write one someday, it would make the most sense to write about you.

    And when I do write this hypothetical love poem, I would say that holding you is a feeling that is only comparable to a sunrise on a perfect morning.

    Warm. Fulfilling. Necessary to my existence.

  • a hell of a drug

    a hell of a drug

    i just want to run

    and dance and scream until i cant anymore.

    i want to lay in the road and let the stars swallow me whole

    i want to be devoured by the night sky

    and the morning

    i want the sun to kiss me on the forehead

    and promise me it’ll never burn out

    so long as my heart beats for the moon

    and if there ever comes a day where i cant wake up

    i hope to fucking god i have told you

    how often i think that i love you.

  • Unholy Assurances

    A necklace pinned to a chest

    And now nailed into my palm–

    And in a feeling of general, amazed unrest

    I hold this silvery golden river gone calm.

    I’ve watched it many times before,

    Twinkling above her breasts,

    Growing very old and very poor–

    This cold resting necklace, pinned to a young woman’s chest.

    My finger, crouched and feeling

    Clutching this dead body in a hand,

    Holding him, and losing

    (in my very own forestlands).

    And with my little thumb I press and rub and feel

    At all his little silent grooves–

    His grooved little mouth, and eyes, and heels,

    I press and press and press and press–

    On such a sweet little thing busy blooming on another’s chest.

    Dumb with provenance

    And meekness, and grace

    Suffering on a cross

    So that we all may save some face.

    His eyes are downcast,

    Splendid, and chilling,

    And his cheek a little turned

    At the absence, of feeling.

    And so–

    Hushed, and gruesome,

    Bowing his head,

    I observed his soul listening

    To the wondrously ill wishes of the dead.

    Little Christ!–

    good Christ!–

    a Christ as much as he–

    Dangling on this soft little necklace pinned to a chest–

    as much as I am me.

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