plainjanepoetry

[plainjanepoetry]

if anyone sees this will they PLEASE tell me how to make the line spacing smaller on posts?

[plainjanepoetry]

reflection

here goes.

i was never first jumper

the girl on the river’s edge, one-piece taut over her hips

hair scalding hot and full of static

the girl who leaps without being dared.

i was always the chicken.

stood on the dock with my arms crossed, hair tangled, hiding my belly.

i was the one with dry hair who cries when she gets water up her nose.

the one with gray eyes, painted toenails.

i was never the dream girl.

the fireside tale, the achievement, the trophy mystery of a self-absorbed man.

i hated those men and they hated me,

so easily understood and so hard to misplace.

women who hate men are not bitter, they are happy.

they know the world’s ways.

i was the simple spinster, the easily pleased.

the one my friends put aside at the first mention of adventure.

i was not the girl with mud in her hair, teeth gritted, capturing the beauty of the land she loves.

the man she loves.

i never loved a man,

but truth be told,

i rarely loved myself.

[plainjanepoetry]

letters unsent

so the days go on and it seems, the only letters i shall ever write to you will be ones i cannot send.  but i will keep writing you letters- until the day i die, letter after letter, until no song of ours is left unsung.  i know i am chasing an impossible dream.  i continue, though; i will write for you until my throat closes off, until the words i pen curl off the page and begin to wrap around my neck, until my papers attempt to perform cpr by pounding on my chest in my sleep when i’m not even dying.  i will write for you until the nsa taps my computer and wipes my memories, deletes every file, and then i will rewrite everything from scratch because more than a memory you are etched into my skull.  i will see your name written there, and it will conjure up the vaguest images, and from that i will craft you back into existence and write letters to your shadow.  i will write for you until the books on my bookshelf curl in on themselves and become relics, until the corn shucks in the compost start spelling incriminating words, until i choke on my tea and can no longer breathe.  i will write for you until my right hand shrivels, and then i will learn to write with my left; and in every shaky syllable there will be truth, desperation, sacrifice.  i will write for you when every crop is dead, when my phone is dead, when my parents are dead, i will write for you when the paint is drying on my toenails and when i am waiting for the bus.  i will write for you until my voice runs as dry as the creek in fall, and with every damp pebble i will scratch out your name in different epithets until even they are bone-dry.  i will write for you until each campfire dies, using the dying embers as light for me to look at the page in, and then i will write poorly in the dark, even when no one is there to listen to my storytelling.  i will write for you until every last guitar string breaks; in the meantime, i will play with one, two, three, four, then five missing.  in the meantime, i will play one string chords about you, and i will be happy.  i will write for you until i break my back, until i have a heart attack, i will write for you until i have climbed to the top of the empire state building and looked out over new york.  i will have fresh eyes, and i will search for you.  and every song of ours will be sung, and i will sing my favorite ones, to the entire city, the entire country, the entire world.  i have so much to say, and darling i promise to say it… to everyone, but you.

[plainjanepoetry]

Emily Dickinson, Poem #20, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

[Text ID: “I will singing go– I shall not feel the sleet–then– I shall not fear the snow”]

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"you framed my love poem and called it friendship" is it just the angsty teen tumblr girl in me or is that a really powerful line??

How can you not know how I feel when my words hang in your space?

- You framed my love poem and called it friendship