hope

Color Me Yellow

Color me yellow

Marigolds and sunshine

Butter me up, Babe

Make me laugh

That ugly laugh

That real one

You know…

Too much teeth, too much gums

A parade of bumblebees

Spilling from my mouth

 

Spell out my name

With those little golden letters

Like the ones

On the spine

Of my favorite books

I wanna twinkle

Bright, like a star

Wild, like a firecracker

 

Wrap me up, Honey

Like a lemon Starburst

They’re the best ones

#changemymind

Oh and don’t forget

Snag some bananas

While you’re out

You know I won’t eat ‘em

But they’ll look fancy

In that amber fruit bowl

You bought for me

Way out

In Amarillo.

 

-Elle

#Poetryfromthenotpoet Have I mentioned that I supposed to be writing a novel?

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Mental Health and Loss

I’ve been struggling with anxiety and depression lately. There are some things going on in my life right now that have really aggravated something that typically exists as a small hum. My set of dark little clouds have gone full on thunderstorm on me. The past several days have been exceptionally dark and difficult. A hint… there seems to be a pretty tight correlation between my sadness/darker emotions and the amount of poetry I vomit out. I’ve published thirteen poems this month and there are three times as many in various states of completion on my computer. I have felt helpless and worthless and exhausted. I fill to the brim with emotions that have no where to go. On Monday I didn’t even bother getting out of bed.

Then there was today.

My dad called me. I could tell something was wrong. I assumed our family pet, who has been very ill, had passed away. My dad was having trouble finding his words so I asked if that was it. It wasn’t. He went on to tell me that one of his best friends (G.), all of whom are like uncles to me, had just died in a motorcycle accident. He also told me he loves me and he’s glad I’m alive and here– words I desperately needed to hear, but also words that were horribly somber in this context. I’d like to say that learning what happened to G. “snapped” me out of the hole I’ve been in, but it doesn’t work that way. Death does bring perspective though. It’s the filthiest way to learn a lesson or get a message or whatever. It’s cruel and it’s painful, but I have to pull something out of it. Because the alternative… that horrible things just happen and that’s it, that’s the end. That won’t do.

The last time I saw G. was at a party at my dad’s house a few months ago. He was playing with his eight year old daughter in the backyard. They were running in circles and screaming and laughing and living. Now G. is dead. Perspective. Perspective. Perspective. I am struggling. Life is difficult. I’m here and if I’m honest, sometimes I don’t want to be, but I am. And there are people who are thankful for that. Today was hard. Today I cried over G., cried over me, cried over every person I’ve ever cried about really, whatever the reason. I had a tear for the whole world.

Tomorrow, I think… I’ll get out of bed.

And if that’s all I do, it’ll be enough.

 

-Elle

When I’m Dead

I wonder

If you’ll love me

When I’m dead.

I know death is ugly

In a physical sense

But I always imagined

That as your flesh

Returns to the earth

All the pretty things

All the beautiful bits

That were buried

Deep down

And scattered about…

I always thought

That surely

They leak out

Seep into the mud…

Make sweet flowers bud

You love flowers

Yeah.

I bet

You’ll love me

When I’m dead.

 

-Elle

#Poetryfromthenotpoet

Careful

Demons fly around your skull

Whispering evil things

You’re worthless.

You don’t belong here.

You fight them valiantly

With prayers and kind thoughts

But they’re relentless

They tell you crazy lies

You know you shouldn’t believe

But they never tire

They never stop

They smell your tiniest weakness

A little crack in your exterior,

They dig in

And rot your insides

Like a cavity.

No dentist, no doctor

Can fix this

Their poison is sticky and foul

It mutates your soul

You’re on the edge

Of an infinite black hole

Careful, Love

Careful.

 

-Elle

#Poetryfromthenotpoet

Assure me.

You’ve done everything right

You’ve gone by the book

You’ve played by the rules…

But somehow you feel unfulfilled

It seems like everyone around you is living their best life

And you’re just here

Existing.

Not that that isn’t something to appreciate…

But still.

You fight away dirty words like “unwanted” and “unloved”

Toxic little beasts

They lie to you in the night.

Those words…

They’re liars.

…Right?

 

-Elle

P.S. friends, strangers, lurkers… In case you need reminding… You are so loved.

Feel, Don’t Touch

My truth is hidden in the darkness.

A firecracker encased in blackness

Sparkling, crackling, and emoting

In a sound proof room.

Monsters with no eyes lurk there,

Desperately seeking something they will never find.

They cannot tell day from night

They cannot tell salt from sugar

And yet, I fear them still.

 

Brave adventurers scour the darkness in pursuit of my secrets.

They have much in common with the monsters.

Cannot see.

Cannot hear.

But they can smell…

Rain. Ocean. Tears.

Can almost taste it…

Earth. Water. Salt.

The scents are transformative.

They are also distracting.

 

My truth is hidden in the darkness.

Only one sense can be used to find it.

Dear adventurer,

Close your eyes

Plug your ears

Overwhelm every taste bud

Every scent receptor

Clear your mind, open your heart.

Meld with the blackness. Be silent now.

It’s just there…

You can’t touch it, but you can feel it.

Magnificent. Tragic. Light. Heavy.

Tell me, can you feel it?

Complex. Simple. Fiery. Cool.

Tell me, can you feel me?

 

-Elle

Today’s not-so-secret: I am not a poet. I know nothing about poetry. (can you tell? haha) I don’t even particularly enjoy reading it. What happens is, see… I fill up with words. They fall out. I dump most of them into what wants to a be novel. The scraps… well, they are what they are. I am profoundly emotional (#becausehuman), but it’s not socially acceptable to publicly feel all your feelings. Mostly I think that’s good (there’s enough drama out there already). Hopefully for me, stock piling emotion will result in a pretty piece of written work one day. That, or a melodramatic pile of entertainment. Either or. Either or, my friends. 🙂

Peace to you!