Heartburn

They told her not to touch the stove
They told her it was hot
They told her to keep her fingers back
They could easily get caught
They told her he seemed nice
For once, she was not warned
She never touched the stove
But she still got burned

Conclusion

The sweet taste of success drowns out all the rest! It is with great pride, tinged with relief, that I conclude my National Poetry Month Project of posting a poem a day. I am so thankful for everyone who checked in and read my work. It was that accountability that kept me going, even when I really really would have rather gone to sleep. If it wasn't for the fact that my blog was getting more views then it has gotten EVER I might have given in to the burned out feeling I got halfway through. In this month I have written almost as much poetry as I have in the entire rest of my life thus far. This is a really awesome personal accomplishment. By no means am I stopping here, but the flow of material will slow down considerably, hopefully to about once a week. This has been such a great experience! Thank you again readers one and all, for encouraging me to get something in the ink, even when I lacked inspiration!
More to Follow,
Inkwriter

Bittersweet Memories/ Summer Vocabularies

Sea salt

Pearl

Thick silence

Dusk

Wildflower solitude

Scarlet stardust

Tender Confetti

Part with your spare change

Mermaids arise

Tart lemonade

Suppressed smiles

Morning dew

Stolen moments

Inhaling

You

Middle School in a Box

Humiliated Sweat

Mixed with crocodile tears

Layers of regrets

Form a fog that never clears

The “Fake” that is the fashion

The judgment via peers

Pandora’s Box condensed

In to three confusing years

Sore Arms

Writer’s block isn’t so much a block

Or a traffic jam

Or word you can’t remember

It’s more of a rag, long dry

That you wring between your hands over

And over again

(Until your arms hurt)

Without one drop to show for it

You happen to be very thirsty

But all you have is sore arms

And memories

Of when that rag was dripping wet

It isn’t so much a block

As an excuse to throw your pen across the room

And go eat something fattening

Only the Good...

The feeling begins as a small ache in the heart

And then sinks to sit, not uncomfortably, inside the stomach

It isn’t expected,

But not exactly unexpected either

Like a friend come to visit,

Who didn’t call ahead

But who you kind of figured was coming

It is a weight, and an ache

But not quite a pain

It’s being grown up in a way

The reason adults don’t smile quite as carefree as you did

On the playground

It doesn’t hurt, it’s just heavy

It’s sad

Not the sad where you almost cry

The sad where you know it deserves tears

But you also know it’s not worth it

The feeling comes when you realize

The world is unfair

Not a selfish realization

Not that you won’t always get what you want

Not that some people have more of what you want

It’s when you realize

The world isn’t cruel to those who deserve it

It hurts those who don’t

Don’t

Don’t deserve pain

It’s a shame that settles

In the stomach

And sits like an old friend

Who didn’t call ahead

As She Posts A Poem

Her foot's falling asleep
The prickling sensation increasing
Staring at the TV
Trying to catch the dead body breathing
Cracking her knuckles
Stifling a yawn
Sipping the diet coke
She's grown dependent on