PoetsKorna's Xanga

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 05:58:21 GMT

The day has come again
no matter how much I willed time
to stop, it kept right on
moving forward, mocking me.
"You have to leave her now"
it's telling me- again.
So I do what I can
to savor our last few fleeting
moments.
I graze my hands
over her expanse
and hope that they will
remember the touch
of her silk skin.
I nuzzle into her neck
and breathe her in,
she smells like home.
I photograph her
with my mind.
Her eyes, her lips,
the contours of her face
and hope to God
the images don't fade.
I kiss her and drink in
her soft sweetness.
I step away slowly
even though everything in me
is pulling me back toward her.
I fight it and continue to walk away.
As I leave she keeps
a piece of me with her
and I can feel it missing
as soon as she's out of sight.
I won't be whole again, home again
until my senses are renewed by her presence.

© Lauren R. Walley

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Tue, 05 Dec 2006 04:18:03 GMT

Maybe I don't have faith in men
because I've been let down by so many.
Just another liar
just another cheater
just another you-
you this tainted, waisted
dream of mine.
My perfect picture
of a father figure
lays in broken ruins
where you left.
I gather the pieces
acquiring some cuts
     along the way,
but a few shards
               still cling
to your office chair.
The same one
you sat betraying in.
You objectify me by loving her,
this girl two generations too young.
Why shouldn't I become
a sexual object
to older preying eyes?
Maybe it doesn't apply to me
'cause I'm the dyke child.
But you can't ignore
what you've done.
It's hard to miss
our withering tree
blowing over in the wind.
You were our roots,
now that you're gone
we're left clinging on-
to the void

beneath us.
For the first time
since this madness started
I think I might miss you
or maybe I just wish
the old you
could walk back through
                        the front door.
But that "Dad" has died. . . and I will mourn my loss.

© Lauren R. Walley

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Tue, 02 May 2006 03:47:06 GMT

Conflicting Identities

Sometimes I worry
that I'll become not enough.
Maybe it's my past relationships
that have this insecurity
simmering inside of me
or maybe I just don't know
what it's like to be you.
I've never dealt with liking both
but being in love with one-
and maybe that's my ignorance
speaking because you don't see
it as something you have to "deal with."
I don't know how to not be offended
by our difference of opinion
on such an important subject.
You like something that makes me
physically ill,
how am I supposed to handle that?
I try to comfort myself
by thinking words you have told me-
"You're the one I fell in love with."
But what if you get bored with me?
You always complain about labels,
so why do you continue to stick
one on yourself, instead of just
saying you're with me
and leaving it at that?
Since you're committed to me
why does that part of you still matter?
It shouldn't in my opinion,
but you still flaunt it when you feel the need.
Have to make sure people know
you're still "part straight"
which can only make me question
if sometimes you are ashamed
of me...us. I guess you don't realize
that everytime you declare it over again
it's a slap in the face.
Maybe I just resent the fact
that I can't fulfill everything
you are attracted to.
That's where my fear
causes me to wonder if you'll ever
want to look elsewhere
to find some one who can.
But you will never understand
these things since you don't have to worry
about me wanting something
you can't give me.
I bet that's nice.

© Lauren R. Walley

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Wed, 26 Apr 2006 21:28:53 GMT

As the blaring horn
and vibrations from
the passing train
fade back into the night,
so do thoughts of you and I.

© Lauren R. Walley

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Wed, 19 Apr 2006 23:16:35 GMT

*Tick, Tick...Boom!

Being me is like being a timer,
sensitive to the touch
alarm sounds with one swift move.
I sit and tick
ready to boil over, ready to buzz
as soon as you set me off
which, I’ve learned,
doesn’t take much.
It’s only a matter of time
before I sound again
because you’ve pushed my buttons
or maybe I’ve run
out of batteries
to keep up with you
know what makes my fuse blow
but you still push
like you want to see the sparks fly,
your time’s run out
my patience is through.
Tick, tick...Boom!

* Tick, Tick...Boom! is a musical written by Jonathan Larson.

© Lauren R. Walley

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Wed, 19 Apr 2006 23:11:55 GMT

Curiosity Killed the Cat that Night, or it Could Have

Your innocence drove you to get inside
his car just as much as your trust
convinced you it’d be alright to stay
as he drove you further and further
away from safety.

He stripped you
of more than your soul.
As you tried to hold on
everything just slipped away.
He sucked the life out of you
one thrust at a time,
left you a walking zombie for months.

So why am I the one curled into a ball
crying, constantly consumed
with anger and hatred?
I want to get even.
I want to find him,
make him suffer like you did.
But you wouldn’t let me.
It’s not in your nature.

© Lauren R. Walley

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Wed, 19 Apr 2006 23:09:44 GMT

Disclaimer: This was an imitation poem I did of one of my classmates in my poetry class, we had to mimick a poem of their's, she had written about the month of February in a similar way to this, so this is my take on imitating her. So, this probably wouldn't be something I would have normally written.

April came today
with its stubborn rain showers
and indecisive weather,
whispering “don’t be mad at me,
I bring May flowers”
not to mention the end
of the semester and start
of the summer.

At least it’s better than February,
but I still could do without
the bunny rabbits, eggs, and the Easter Bunny.
Another holiday Hallmark has managed
to convert for it’s own profit.

So when April came today,
I sighed, at least one more month has passed.
I’ll plow through research papers
and study for final exams
as I wait for May to come.

© Lauren R. Walley

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Thu, 16 Mar 2006 01:51:56 GMT

Just a List of Us

Hair Grease
Broken Headbands
Traded Sweatshirts
Rainbow Bracelet
Promise Ring
Laffy Taffy
Aut Bar
Back Seat of My Car
Your Overcrowded Closet
Hollywood Video
The Chair in my Living Room
Summer Nights
Winter Days
Four Hour Phone Calls
Camera Phone
AIM Conversations
Plane Tickets
Greyhound Trips
Countdowns

And somewhere in between
I fell in love with you for the second time.

© Lauren R. Walley

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Thu, 09 Mar 2006 05:13:52 GMT

She sets herself back in time
thirties style in smokey jazz clubs
updo's with bright feathered hats
and satin gloves
that reach up
to her elbows
one, maybe two white Magnolias
rest upon the side of her head
to accompany a face
that is already beautiful and delicate enough
without them.

Pictures of Billie Holiday and Cab Calloway
hang suspended in the background
'Are You Hep to the Jive?'
as she shakes her way
up to the old radio microphone
she sets herself back in time
to perform this song
and her blessings make my ears smile.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 04:14:19 GMT

I’m not sure when I realized you weren’t perfect.

It may have been when you traded phone calls with me
for homework even though I knew you wouldn’t be working
on the homework anyways.

Or maybe when you had too many theater rehearsals
to squeeze me into your busy schedule.

Maybe even more seriously, when I realized what an
emotional wreck you were and how nothing I could ever do
was going to fix that. Or maybe when I realized that 90%
of your smiles are fake.

No, you’re not perfect even though you had me fooled
for quite some time,
but your mind
doesn’t allow you to see what’s right in front of you
when you’re “in love.”
Yes, I thought I was, but now I think I was just in love
with the idea of being in love. Because true love
couldn’t possibly be that dysfunctional, at least not in my opinion.

Nope, you aren’t perfect and thank God
I realized soon enough, it took
the shock and pain to finally uncover the veil
from my eyes...but I could finally see what had gone wrong.

Maybe I realized it when I saw the scars
on your arms from the years of you bringing
your emotional pain to the surface.
I can’t believe I sunk as low as to harm
myself as well, and I realize now how pathetic
I was for admitting to no one but myself that
it was just a cry for your attention. Now I couldn’t give a shit
whether I ever see or speak to you again.

And maybe I’m more angry at myself for letting
you burrow yourself inside of me and stomp on my heart
than actually being mad at you.
I’m just glad I finally did realize you weren’t perfect
before it was too late.

© Lauren R. Walley