Two-Pack

Accidentally skipped a day, so sister-poem haiku drafts for #365days of poems. 

Buried Treasure

50,000 leagues
Under your skin there is a
Skeleton key heart.

Target

Anger- the shotgun,
Heartache- forlorn aftermath,
Silence? Hushes halls.

Somedays

Someday is a mystical land where
The coffee sweetens itself and
The papers grade themselves and
I don't forget to pack breakfast or lunch
or my self-esteem.

Someday, I'll be the someone
somebody wanted me to be.

Today is a dreary wasteland where
The tea is a day old and
There is a foothill of paperwork and
I barely slip out the door with my feet on straight,
let alone my sneakers.

Today, I'm the one to
touch and go,
Run three laps deep before
Missing the finish line.

It's just one of those days.

Pushpop Friend

She melted away,
All orangsicle sweetness aside,
No match for the heat of the summer
or the intensity of piping hot voices.

She measured out meters
Of friendship,
Push-pop ready,
Never pushy but popular,
She never really liked anything about me.

Push pop girl.
Woman of fine weather thoughts
& blue sky companions.

Rain clouds blew your thoughts away.
Storms warned you to bolt,
And here I thought
You cared.

Just a passing
Flavor-of-the-month
I guess.

Infinite Space

I wish I could disappear some days,
Caught in infinite space
and not finite time...
These bones will rust,
This skin will fade...
What days will we remember then?

Fade away,
Fade away,
And yet...

We long for infinite space,
A summer's day.

One day.

A Quiet Thing

Note from the Writer: I'm going to do this introverted thought experiment of a poem-a-day. Forgive me if the drafts come out a bit lame, but know that, in good faith, time will turn verses into something a bit more vital. Also - it's been a while. Feels like home to be back. -Yue

Waiting for expiration,
The shelf life of a half-life
carbon-based, carbonated
woman.

Not-yet grown, not-yet known...
Yet wanting to be.
Not-to-be pretty,
Not-to-be seen.

"A quiet thing"
They've called her,
Whispered behind closed door fingertips
Eyebrow curtains shut.

Not a quiet thing.
Home.
She finds it in herself.
A resting place.

Waiting for invigoration,
The body of a life yet lived
carbon-based, carbonated
woman of wonder.

You are not alone.
You are quiet when you want to be,
Screaming when they don't offer space,
Chuckling into corners of pregnant silence--

You.
You know more than they think you do.

You.
You who waits for candlelight
& moon's glow
& fireflies
& the piano keys of cities at sleep.

Quiet is not an insult.
Ugly is their attitude.

Woman:
Be carbonated,
Be full of stars,
Be well; be a well of liquid
                                            hope
                                                    overflowing.

You are a fountain of crystalline glaciers;
Fragile but strong,
Endangered but magnificent,
One of a kind.

A wonder.
Woman.
Truly.