Poetry Blog by Sarah Mae

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patrick D Ortiz on i still think of you (3 days ago)

Big Sal on The Art of Moving Forward (Thu, 13 Dec 2018 07:19 pm)

Jon Stainsby on eric (Thu, 29 Nov 2018 05:26 pm)

Kate G on eric (Thu, 29 Nov 2018 07:41 am)

Taylor Crowshaw on the parting poem (Sat, 24 Nov 2018 08:24 am)

Jon Stainsby on the parting poem (Sat, 24 Nov 2018 07:56 am)

Douglas MacGowan on Why Are We So Delicate? (Tue, 6 Nov 2018 05:52 pm)

Hugh on the red poem (Fri, 2 Nov 2018 10:12 pm)

Jon Stainsby on the red poem (Fri, 2 Nov 2018 09:41 pm)

Candice Reineke on It Was Almost Love (Thu, 1 Nov 2018 10:10 pm)

i still think of you

those sunsweet mornings

evenings romanticized by some unseen certainty

moonlit nights sipping seconds with undeniable ecstasy

 

tear from me this moment why don’t you

this time I had to love you was never mine

counting down, your dark eyes turn pale blue

 

this innate part of me, parts with bared teeth

clenched jaws, white knuckles and teary eyes

if I hold on

will ...

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Apathy

How melancholy are we now.

Your ghost heart beating so slowly,

I tell you things but they don’t make a sound.

 

How tired, how tired you are.

I meet apathy under your eyes.

How intangible is the light from the stars.

 

What is it to you now?

Is it silence, is it that I look into your eyes and see stone.

At what heartbeat of the clock did absence meet your bones?

 

...

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The Art of Moving Forward

Far be it from me to write what I’m unsure of.

But this much I understand.

What I was sure of was your hand in mine.

 

I may not be one to know the art of moving forward

much at all anymore.

Everything comes back to you in some form.

I can’t sleep without seeing you in my dreams.

I can’t even drive on the road next to my house without seeing where our feet touched concrete,

...

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eric

Today, my soul feels restless.

But for me that's just today, 

for you there's not another day to feel any other way. 

 

Besides breathless. 

 

God I want so badly to help you.

Please come back for just one moment

so I can help you.

 

Somehow we lost you in the laughter.

We didn’t think you could be hurting.

You loved just hard enough.

If I pulled the sun back...

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the parting poem

I was never sentimental enough.

My thoughts always matched your words.

Never bold enough to speak them,

my arms were always cold enough for you to hold them.

 

Sweetness escaping your lips,

in the form of syllables.

Mine struggles to respond,

but my heart feels full.

 

These are the things I can only say in poetry.

And now I regret not saying them into your ocean e...

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Why Are We So Delicate?

Your lips are tender to the touch,

tender to the touch.

As if silence amounted to lust

and sound to “not enough”.

 

Skin on skin but not nearly close enough.

 

I want to run my finger over your thumb,

over your thumb.

And right over the mistakes I made so stupidly blinded

by the clouded sun.

 

We sat in a coffee shop and it started to rain.

You ran outside an...

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the red poem

Your fingertips slide effortlessly across my skin

as if they were made to begin and end there.

Makes me wonder.

 

Your lips delicate, every warm, familiar place.

Beneath my chin, the tip of my nose,

trace my bottom lip like a sweet red rose.

 

The innocence of lightness.

My breath tightens.

Like an ocean wave licking the shore.

Sliding over sand.

 

Slow it do...

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It Was Almost Love

Do you remember,

how it felt to be in love with him?

When the words from his lips

were like honey to yours.

 

Don’t you recall

the way it felt to hold her in your arms?

When the sight of her smile,

made you believe love was a thing that endures.

 

Remember when you used to love the sighs he let out in his sleep?

 

You used to adore his barefoot driving,

his t...

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the colors you didn't see

It’s funny how everything is yellow.

At least when I’m next to you…

But on the drive home,

everything is tinted blue.

And it’s not because I’m leaving you.

 

I’m looking in my mirrors,

and my imperfections at loving seem a little closer too.

 

You wanted so badly for the flowers to be alive.

Forgetting all the thank-yous’ and i’m sorry’s,

jumping to I need you and…

...

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A Poem Like A Person

A poem.

Like a cavernous room,

like an echo off the sound

of a heart breaking in two.

 

A poem.

Like a song.

Like lemon trees and clean sheets

Amongst the brighter things.

 

A poem like a riptide.

Like shallow breathing,

like rapid sinking

like sand scraping hand

like water beating land.

 

Like thinking…

 

A poem.

Like a good morning text.

...

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His Whisper

I hold him close and lean into his whisper.

His thoughts like the place where heart and soul collide,

I feel his heart, beneath the wall he puts up sometimes.

 

And in the quiet,

the best kind of quiet,

I listen for the wanderings of his mind,

should they ever pass my door.

 

For when the sun rises the next day,

I fear he’ll find the brighter things than me.

I worr...

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Seasons

We fell apart so effortlessly.

Like snowflakes from a cloud.

We looked like we were floating,

but reality was the ground.

 

We came to pieces.

Like leaves withering in fall.

Our hearts and our heads,

got mixed up in it all.

 

We lost our color.

Like paint drying in the sun.

We didn’t mix the right way,

thus the breaking had begun.

 

Is this a sad story?

...

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The Potential for Light

Weren’t we always taught from day one,

that as soon as we see the moon,

there goes the sun.

 

Well don’t you think we’ve been staring at the moon too long,

knowing there’s a sun?

Knowing the something out there, is a something that’s bright.

And maybe our planet is dark,

but I have not failed to notice the hidden light.

 

The lights in the eyes of a laughing child,

...

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What Of Laughter

What of the writings of laughter?

What of the humble ramblings?

The vain attempts to expound something

so small,

so soulful,

they only write what happens after.

 

What of the thought of laughter?

Of remembering the soul shaking,

of heartwarming,

stomach aching.

Of teary eyes and the best way to lose the quiet game.

They skipped to the next chapter.

 

What ...

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Sitting in the Stream of Consciousness

The running out of blank space

in my notebook,

leads to the running into blank space

in my head it took.

 

What should be written,

is done,

and what shouldn’t,

remains locked away in my thoughts that tend to run.

 

And there’s a certain lost feeling,

one gets when they have no more poems to write.

 

It’s not that I can’t see the beauty

in you anymore,

o...

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Touch

I yearn less for you to touch my skin,

and more for you to touch my heart.

Because I must admit,

it was your soul that drew me in.

 

And while I wouldn’t mind,

being wrapped up in your arms.

Perhaps I could be wrapped up in your heart.

 

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Starting Point

They told me,

life would its have ups and downs.

 

But lately its been winding down,

to more of a flat road.

I’m sure you’ve heard, the one you’re on so long,

you forget where you’re going, it goes on so slow.

 

Stories of,

great revelations, heart wrenching trials,

some wonderful epiphany.

Self-discovery and all of its battle scars.

 

They promised,

I wou...

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Shapes

I met a boy who was a square.

All edges:

On the edge of catastrophe,

On the edge of addiction,

On the edge that we often stand on

At least once,

Contemplating the distance to the ground.

 

Then I met a girl who was a triangle.

She was three people in one,

She was the girl who partied too hard,

Whose wrists were often scarred

And the package of “I’ve got it all t...

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