I hate how the world tells us that
We must grow up.
Before we can finish our youth,
We have to bare the weight of the world
With poise, and maturity.
They say it comes with age,
But don’t they know,
Acting our age only kills us faster?
We can prove the world wrong
If you run away with me.
We’ll pack our suitcases in the night
Take what little cash we have and
We’ll cover the town in the dust from your tires
As you rev the engine and speed away into the night
And never look back.
We’ll forget our age and where we came from.
When our cash runs out
We can max out our credit cards because
They’ll never catch us, anyway.
And when that runs out,
We’ll run to Atlantic City to
Amass a fortune counting cards or playing slot machines,
Depending on how lucky we feel.
We can even dip our toes into the sand for a little while
And watch the sunrise.
But we can’t stay too long,
Because that’s when roots form,
And then that’s when you start to grow old.
So let’s run quick
So we can live like Fun
And set the world on fire
And be young forever.
Tags: aging, escaping, eternal youth, original, original poetry, running away, youth
I hate how the world tells us that
Tags: individual, love, original poetry, poetry, true love, unconventional
I’ve never liked following rules.
I run circles around society and its conventions.
I’m odd, loud mouthed, and fast-paced.
No lover could ever keep up with me.
To them, I was like a shiny new puzzle:
Fun and interesting for a short while,
Until they realized I was too difficult to tie down and tame,
So my appeal and lust quickly waned.
It was for that reason I was content to live a solitary life.
After all, love had only tried to ever confine me.
I was no damsel in distress,
No fair lady.
No prince need apply,
No savior needed.
Then I met the man that could run alongside my marathon mind,
and held my hand so we both could jump all over societal lines.
He was not my knight in shining armor.
His silver was rusted, tattered and worn.
He worth had been tested,
And yet, he still stood.
Together, we broke the rules of love and built something stronger.
He is my strength, my hope, my drive,
But, most importantly,
My partner in crime.
Who needs rules when you have each other?
Tags: admiration, Billy Joel, inspiration, love, music, oringinal poetry, poetry, words
At my age you would think that
I would have acquired enough vocabulary to be able to describe the happiness you make me feel.
There are literally hundreds of thousands of words and word combinations in the English language,
you would think at least one would set my inspiration off.
Instead, I’m stuck here
sitting at my desk staring at a blank page.
It is moments like these where I love to hate Billy Joel.
Not only can he eloquently express his emotions in words,
he can sing them too.
I can’t even begin to find the words to describe you and me.
God gave him all that talent,
why couldn’t some be spared for me?
Sometimes I think Billy understands us better than I do.
He knows how elated you make me feel,
and that this feeling hasn’t happened for the longest time.
He understands all the love, anger, nerves and anticipation that comes
with feeling this way.
He never gets it wrong, either.
Maybe it’s because he’s seen the world,
and has met all sorts of people.
Maybe dealing with the stage fright and constant change of scenery has
made him immune to this uninspired blank stare I have.
Or maybe he is just simply smarter than me.
Maybe one day I’ll be as wise as Billy
and will finally get these words out of me.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to find a way to say that
you make me too joyous for the words I know,
and too nervous to discover new ones.
Until that day comes,
I’ll just spin around in my desk chair,
pen in hand,
and think of the love you make me feel,
and know that at least Billy understands me.
Tags: lonliness, love, oringinal poetry, poetry, true love
The man I love is broken.
Life has taught him,
he is better off alone,
and that he should be tougher than he needs to be.
He is more handsome than a dream,
but more stern than anyone I have ever seen.
An angry old man in
twenty-two year old bones.
He wears a black Pea coat
bathed in the scent of cigarettes and cologne,
a gray t-shirt untucked from his faded and worn jeans,
and black steal-toed work boots.
A Parliament 100 is never far from his sight,
although he hardly seems to have a smile on hand.
I can see the loneliness in those beautiful brown eyes.
I wonder, though, if he is aware that
every time we are together,
that dark light just seems to disappear.
Sometimes it feels as if
our love is a clear path,
and we are only a few paces away from happiness.
Then we take a sudden turn,
and we are even farther behind square one.
And the same scene always plays:
He wipes away my tears with the tips of his fingers,
looks at me with those big brown eyes and whispers,
“Maybe one day.”
I nod and say, “I know. It’s okay,”
But I’m lying again.
I wish I had the courage to be honest,
and to do what I really want to do.
To just cut an X over my heart,
dig in with a knife and show him
his name is branded there,
haunting me everywhere I go.
I just wish I could rip it out
and stomp it on the ground
until it is dead because,
deep down I know,
that promised “maybe” day may never come.
Then I go to sleep and I dream of him,
and all the sweet things he does for me.
I dream of being wrapped in that Pea coat and
those big brown eyes swearing that everything will be all right.
When I wake,
my hope is renewed because
maybe this is the day he will finally see
my love for him is true.
Tags: dark, monsters, original poetry, peace of mind, poetry
I’ve always had this problem with nightmares:
They continue long into my waking hours.
Along every road I walk
Dark creatures lurk behind a door
Waiting to pounce and shake me from my blind happiness
And drag me back to Hell where I belong.
It’s hard trying to live expecting
Dark creatures with ten heads and pointy claws to latch
Onto your heart the second you feel hope.
I try to fight them with sharp chasers
But they only disappear for a little while.
Then, they multiply.
I’m left to battle again,
Distraught and alone.
I’m not asking much,
Just some peace of mind.
But, in my mind,
I know peace has died.
And, my heart thinks,
Wouldn’t the world be better with one less cynic, anyway?
Tags: beauty, cigarettes, class, glamour, original poetry, poetry, smoking
I’ve never been glamourous,
It’s that top shelf I just can’t reach.
My jeans have holes,
I wear clearance rack high heels
And band t’s that are too big for me.
Who do I kid when I say,
“I can be classy when I want to be”?
Anyone can clearly see,
I’m no Audrey Hepburn,
A far cry from Marilyn.
When my skirt blows up in the breeze
Guys don’t smile or stop to gawk.
They just laugh at me and walk by.
I can’t even afford a dollar menu breakfast at Tiffany’s.
But even though they have timeless beauty and prestige,
They share the same vice as me.
I might not be able to hold a flame to their looks,
But I can smoke as much as them on any given day.
With a cigarette in hand as I walk,
The click of my discount heels can sound like Prada.
I can be like Audrey and Marilyn.
I don’t have to be a young punk from Smalltown, USA.
With a cigarette,
I can be a classier me.
Tags: crazy, insecure, life, mad, mad people, original poetry, poetry, smile
Birds of a feather flock together and,
In much the same fashion,
Mad people gather.
We all wear Cheshire grins and swear
We don’t have an ounce of care,
But it’s only to hide that we do.
We care too much and too often.
We care about the wrong opinions
And waste our time trying to fix things in ourselves that
Were never wrong to start.
We laugh at our abnormalities
And pretend to not be insecure,
Even though our greatest fear is facing judging minds.
Sure we can joke and say life is a game and
We’re taking it one move at a time,
But what is a game without planning?
Anticipation and fear of the next unknown step?
We lie through our Cheshire Cat teeth,
Sharpened to points so when we smile
We hurt ourselves before anyone else can.
Those who smile often have something to hide
And those who smile brightest,
Hold the darkest secrets inside.
Tags: monsters, original poetry, poetry
I apply makeup everyday,
Black liner and red lips,
My painted mask of sanity.
I drink a cup of coffee
As normally as I can.
But as hours go by,
And the coffee wears off,
The monsters start to peek out from
Between the cracks in my brain.
With each cigarette,
My red smile begins to fade away.
The monsters crawl out at sundown
And begin their daily dance.
Skipping and twirling from
One dangerous thought to the next.
Back and forth,
To and fro,
Until my mask in running down from
Sweat and tears.
My mind races,
Trying to outrun the monsters in my head.
They ring like razorblades in my ears.
Hold me close.
Make the bad noises disappear.
Tags: happily ever after, love, original poetry, paradise, poetry, romance
In a perfect world, it would be just
You and me.
We would escape the crowded heat of paradise successfully,
And run away to where it is cold.
We would sit close in front of the fire
And watch the world burn away to nothing except
You and me.
But this is all made up in my head.
We sill have to deal with the suffocating heat
And the crowd of judging eyes
In this false paradise.
They call us animals because
We smell of cigarettes and sweat.
They mock us and say,
Happily ever after is dead.
But they don’t know how you look at me
Through the smoke and steam.
If they could look in your eyes,
They would see that
Happily ever after is real.
Yesterday, I came across some of my old high school journals and decided to take a few moments to read through them. It was odd reading the thoughts of overly hormonal 15 and 16 year-old Ari. The oddest part was when I cam across the entry about meeting my best friend for the first time. “I started drivers ed today,” I wrote, ”I met this chick named Juliana who seems chill. Class is boring as hell though.” I told Juliana about the rediscovery when we met for coffee later on that very same day. We both laughed and continued with our conversation. Then, as we sat there discussing the drug war, I made a surprisingly shocking discovery: both of us were grown up. It doesn’t sound like it should be a huge discovery, after all we have aged several years since the fruition of our friendship to the present, but the realization caught me off-guard. Maybe it was because earlier in the day I took a walk down memory lane and temporarily relived our high school days. We weren’t girls anymore. We’re college students drinking coffee and discussing politics and hard hitting issues while smoking cigarettes in the freezing cold. I felt like I had no concept of time. I didn’t feel like we had grown up that much. It was almost frightening how old I suddenly felt. It felt like we had just graduated high school yesterday.
Then Juliana reached for her penguin hand sanitizer and made a fart sound as she squeezed some out into her hand and we both sat there and laughed so hard that we snorted. I didn’t feel so old anymore. The littlest gesture made me realize that we might have aged, but we hadn’t grown up. Our innocence might have left us, even our naivety, but not our sense of humor or sense of wonderment. I think that is most important. As long as we keep a sense of childhood wonderment and humor, we will never grow old. Even when we’re old and gray, we’ll still be laughing at toilet humor and watching Disney movies. Even as I’m writing this, I am listening to a Disney playlist on Spotify. Guess I’ll always be a kid at heart, and that’s OK.