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Poetry

	Abby Smith
	PROFILE About me Friends (1) Poetry (6) Prose (2)

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Abby Smith, 26 june 2012

decay

have i ever begged you to stay?
i always let you go, let you steal my
integrity, past our decay

what do you want from me today?
some happy endings, a quick fling?
did i say something that's halfway

to stupid, halfway to the real truth?

you were everything
until you were nothing.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 3 | detail

Abby Smith, 26 june 2012

edges

you came to me, all
cold toes and dreamy eyes
and it makes me so happy,

so very happy
that you are here
and you are a concrete idea,
so stylized and edgy

and we'll be waiting for you, baby
and i hope that you'll drive in
again, up my gravel driveway,
turn the porch lights on, and

i promise i'll run to you, darling,
and that sinking feeling
that isn't true, not at all.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 5 | detail

Abby Smith, 20 april 2012

the sky and his heaven

just like bone-trees, we are
fingers spindly and reaching out,
towards that great blue yonder
whimsy, isn't it, to say that
for all it is, is the sky,
the sad broken smiling happy sky
brains like gray clouds
cirrus and cumulus and cumulonimbus
and i agree it's all a storm
in our cloud-brains, all of that
electric emotion, lightning crashing

thunder is his voice, isn't it?
thunder, resonating from the tips,
the very tips of your roots to your clouds
and he is the soil and the water
and his easy smile is the beam of sunshine
and his laugh the rain trickling down your
trunk, your spine, sending you reaching up

and maybe, he is the sky, as well
your beautiful sky painted red
at dawn, forever smiling down at you.

and the sky has his heaven, she.
she is to him like he is to you,
and your stretching phalange-twigs,
they can mean nothing to him
truly, as long as the heaven exists.

she is the gaudy one that everyone loves
and he is the green grass that refreshes you
he is beautiful, foreign to you, and
she is the weed that covers him from you
because her petals are vivid and stop you.

and maybe i would like to be
the little bird on your branches
settling onto your bones for a while
inked in gray, to keep you company
to make sure you don't feel alone,
to be a friend to you always
even as the sky loves his heaven.

and as the stars twinkle softly at the sky
and the weeds grow in the grass at your feet
we can both agree that in our bones,
in my ruffled feathers, your lonely branches
that there will be another sky, another day.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 6 | detail

Abby Smith, 20 april 2012

sonnet iv - unfortunate

sadly, tea cannot cure a hangover,
just as alcohol can't cure depression
we have found out that earl gray in dover
tastes the same in chicago, confession!

father, a confession to be made now,
that my head hurts like my soul is broken.
to drink a glass of water, raised eyebrow
of the world, of last night, words unspoken

pop an advil, give a half-hearted grin,
and then a cup of steaming tea to wash
the glitter of yesterday off my skin,
pretend again to say our minds don't slosh

lipstick stains on shot glass, on porcelain
taking meds as we wait, the world begins.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 9 | detail

Abby Smith, 20 april 2012

blocks

are we so selfish, to do away
with ourselves? lock me up,
wear the key on a chain around
your neck; it's to keep me alive-

have i ever needed tending?
i've promised i'm okay, but
you'll see right through me,
my butterflies and sharp smiles

or will you?

the tips of my fingers, they
are rough, catching at my skin
and all of these pictures
sepia-toned seeping sunlight
wishing, wanting again

with these, i've never been so free!

number of comments: 0 | rating: 6 | detail

Abby Smith, 20 april 2012

ticking

darling, tell me that you want me
because i'm not sure if we can do this,
whatever this is, anymore.

i'm just too tired from smiling,
please don't hold that against me.

my fingers tremble like the minute scales
on butterfly wings, on dragons
and i breathe fire, all right,
flickers of something hotter than you'd believe

and now clocks keep their arms to themselves,
ticking muted, time stops for a second to watch me

does this make me pretty?

for even one stolen second of waiting time,
can you consider me to be gorgeous?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

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Other poems: decay, edges, the sky and his heaven, sonnet iv - unfortunate, blocks, ticking,

Latest items:

Poetry

decay

edges

the sky and his heaven

sonnet iv - unfortunate

blocks

ticking

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