Final Writing Project: Rough Draft

I still have three more poems in mind. I would also like to heavily edit these poems as the week goes on and I feel different inspirations and find new ideas. I don’t think I’ll be able to do a chronological order by time as I first proposed, but I do think I can link one poem to the other with transitioning ideas. I also need to consider if I want to mention who it is I am writing about underneath the titles of these poems. 

 

I love you but I hate Sundays

Sundays are a dread

And under this roof,

I’m a lie

There is no Adam and Eve,

Noah’s Ark,

holy wine, end times

And you ask me if I’m praying

So maybe I’d be better if I was

smarter, lighter, more conservative,

your type of devoted to the alter,

to the man in the sky

But I’m hiding, holding my breath,

trying not to imagine the day you find out

trying not to imagine a life without this secret

You say you find your freedom in Him

But I don’t know if freedom’s real at the expense of others

And dear your God, I hope I’m not just an other

But on Sundays it seems that I am

And for you, everyday is Sunday

 

My Morning Brie

It’s been thirteen years and the twenties are doing a strange thing

The hills where we grew up are flat without you

So I’m going to have to leave too

You are my Pocahontas, my Brie in the morning

my Grape Cider on Christmas, my fellow saint-gone-sinner

A braver voice when I can’t be honest

The reminder of whatever worth I mindlessly lose

Love when I need it more than reason

Being an artist, a woman,

an Asian-American, an Agnostic

makes you want to disappear

But I hope you never do

 

The Flowers on Locust
there’s something about to burst

and it’s bound to kill me

your secret, sleepless body lingers

and I don’t know if I should let it fade

I’m always searching

some might say I’m visionary

but the winter disagreed, swallowed me whole so I beg

Summer, take my irrationality too

I’ve learned it’s more heartbreaking

when there’s no anger, no sad

just nothing, plus or minus civil reckonings

we used to talk about happiness, death, purpose,

anything at all

what is it that you feel now?

I couldn’t just say hello to say goodbye

So I won’t ask

two more months until I’m dancing under the blazing Vegas sky

will I ever find someone who understands that part of me, as you do?

I still remember what I wrote about the moon last summer

that was about you and since,

it has always been about you

three more months and I’m moving over 

but will I be moving on?

I can’t stop looking at that guy in the beanie and the girl with the red hair

but I wonder if any could ever out do you and I

not you,

you and I

or will I have to see you?

we can try Suburban Station again,

because I’m that forgiving

I can already feel myself hiding a smile

dear jaw, hold me back for christ’s sake

hold me for christ’s sake

it’s a tragic ending

just as I deserved

I used to write to hold on

now I write to let go

the flowers on Locust are dead

and if she knew, you’d be too

and if she only knew,

I’d be too

 

Please Don’t Cry

You are my favorite person
Even with your booming voice in the morning, the flip flops you won’t give up,
your soup-slurping noises, and goddamn Fox News
I don’t know how you deal with my
Grumpy mess, messy mess, silly mess
But you’re always happy to see me
Proud of what I’m doing, sad to watch your only daughter go
You joke about crying and I hope that’s all it is
Because I still remember the times you looked like you could cry
Those images are rainy days
But let’s be the summer now, our whiskey floats and rib eye grilling
Not the last, I promise
I will still love you as I’m leaving

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