reneespoetry

[reneespoetry]

I'm not good at reaching the top shelves.

I can only reach the liquor,

But I spend time with you in my dreams.

I could reach you,

But I'm so small now,

and I don't know what to do with my hands.

I reach for you in my dreams.

(Short)

c.r.

[reneespoetry]

We are the kids. The ones you see in those indie D rated films. The movies nobody else has seen but you. When you can't even remember the title. We are the kids in those movies. The alcoholics, the delinquents, the ones with the bad home lives and baggage for days. The kids you can't help but pity or want to be. We walk in the middle of the street in a blue hued darkness, waiting for cars that won't come. We drink until we feel better, we smoke until we feel nothing. We are midnight cigarettes at the park, the bluff, the gravel pit. Small town romantics with no love to give. Highschool dropouts and teenage burnouts. We starve ourselves and bond over the same trauma. Stolen childhoods, nightmare daydreams. We run away and hide. We are the cowards. We are afraid of the dark, and the monsters in our closets. Screwed up childhoods of hunger, and pain, but it was nothing if she also experienced that. It's nothing if he knows how you really feel too. It's just nothing, because they know too. Which makes it everything. Our music, our poems, our art. It makes us. We are the kids. We are the brave ones. The strong ones. We are the kids who look out car windows, the ones who stand in the rain, the cold. To know how it feels to just be. To not think. The generational trauma, sisters and mothers. Sister or mother? Burn scars and drawn on glitter. Eyelash wishes and bloody knuckles. We stand up to fall. We kiss our best friends, we don't talk about the weird parts. We sneak out and we sneak in. We hide with each other in places we aren't supposed to. We steal and we cheat and we are selfish. We are. We are the kids. The ones we never wanted to be. The ones who don't embrace anything but know everything. We know what we're doing... don't we? Don't we? Nostalgia and too much love. Too much want. Too much of nothing to do and nowhere to go. Middle of nowhere night terrors you can't wake up from. Too much blood flow. Too much art. Poetry. Bond. We are the kids. There's so much to say but no space on our pages. There's so much to say but there will never be a time or a place, but we know. We know. We know because we are the kids.

[reneespoetry]

Anticipation you didn't even realize was there,

A subtle build up to something, something,

You're not quites sure what something.

You didn't even realize there was a something,

But it's here now.

Here it is, now.

Did you anticipate it?

Of course not,

How can you know, feel?

It's a thing, a thing that you can't know.

He knows.

You know.

But do you, do you really?

Are you scared of it leaving so quickly,

Like stars falling from the sky.

Make a wish, my love, your time is coming

Your time is here.

And now stars mean nothing when his eyes,

His eyes shine brighter than that North Star,

The one at your mother's house.

The one you memorized at fourteen.

But now, you can memorize his stars.

Your old enough now, girl.

Your old enough now to memorize him,

His eyes, The stars.

Did you feel the build up,

Like piano notes,

Slow. Soft to hard. Fast.

We're you aware of the anticipation?

Of course not.

But now you know, feel.

He knows.

You know.

But do you really?

Are you sure.

(Poetic Duet/Musical Chairs)

c.r.

[reneespoetry]

I gave up lightning storms to watch the northern lights.

I'm still stormy, just further away.

Just miles away.

I gave up lightning for something so...

Soft.

Am I soft, have I gone soft?

Have I thrown it all away, just like I once said I would?

Miles and miles.

I gave up my lightning for solar flares in winter.

I think I made it though,

Im pretty sure I made it.

Predicted it too, just like always.

What I say manifests itself,

In aroura borealis and white lightning.

Storms.

But here I am, under the northern lights,

Here I am baby,

No more lighting storms,

But I made it.

(A teenage girl in Alaska)

c.r.

[reneespoetry]

Let the hummingbirds rest now.

Love can't be as thick as your tears,

Thicker than the blood stains on the sheets,

The carpet and the walls.

Is love thicker than your wine?

Rest now like the birds,

Your favorite kind, the one your grandma liked.

Wind chimes and car ornaments,

Sleep like a ghost, holding your lily.

Let hummingbirds rest now.

Do you still love me now that I'm older?

What if you love me more,

Nobody misses the old me.

That's fine because nobody misses the old you either,

The lover, the alcoholic, the mother.

Nobody misses her but you,

Me, and the hummingbirds.

Let it rest now, mother,

Wings can only flutter so fast in the summer,

The summer they were young.

Only you miss the hummingbirds.

So rest now and flutter in your dreams,

The summer dreams when you were younger,

Let the hummingbirds rest now.

Rest now, mother.

(Hummingbirds in the Summer of Youth)

c.r.

[reneespoetry]

You're the ocean, and I'm a star,

We already decided that.

We've known for years.

How are we meant to be if all I am is a reflection,

How should I live knowing I'll never be more?

I used to think being a star was enough,

But these days I feel so burnt out,

And I keep reading that poem over and over.

The one about you drowning in me,

Drowning in a star,

Am I really enough if I can't give you air?

Can't I just stop trying so hard?

I'll never know you again, we know this,

We've know for years.

It's so hard to be sixteen when your not,

You belong to the ocean, the beach,

And I belong to the skies.

I miss you the only way I can,

But you hold my mirror.

And I keep you as much as I can,

Because you have my reflection in your eyes,

And I'll never let go that easily,

But I'll let you go back to the beach.

I'll go back to my sky.

I'll let you drift back out to the sea,

Until you can only see burnt amber,

And my sky blue flames.

(A Plagiarized Burn Out)

c.r.

[reneespoetry]

Crack, crack, break,

I don't feel so young anymore,

Where's my fire?

14 years of fire,

Where's my fire?

I miss your destruction,

The way you left me in a puddle,

On the bathroom floor.

I miss how you destroyed me,

And I miss your bruises.

Why can't anything stay the same?

I miss being 14,

False teenage freedom just isn't the same.

Crack, crack and shatter,

When did I lose that freedom?

I have so much freedom,

I don't feel so free anymore.

Build it up baby,

Bring me up again, again, again.

I'll call my dad and I'll call you baby,

Again, again.

Do you think I'm young?

Or do you think I'm mature,

Maturity, freedom, August.

I want your August,

And you want my love.

A fair trade for false teenage freedom.

Break, break, shatter,

A false trade for a time machine.

I love you,

A fake trade for my freedom.

(Fourteen year mock-up)

c.r.

[reneespoetry]

It's August again,

I'm never alone again,

Was I ever? It felt like it.

When I am alone, I read Richard Siken and cry.

I cry more these days,

But I rarely cry anyway.

It's so hard to sleep,

I can't sleep alone, but I do.

And I sit around and miss you,

You?

Should I restart, or have I already done that,

Have I already scrapped this book?

Have I just begun, again, again.

You make me feel like I'm fourteen again,

But it's easier this time, I think.

I think you make it easier, You make me easier, simpler.

Do I think I'm interesting enough for you, are you keeping me bored or am I just too surrounded?

I don't miss being fourteen but that's what I keep saying, I miss the rush, you are the rush.

And I'm never alone, but I can't sleep anymore.

(A Teenage Siken Poem)

c.r.