Some girl in the autumn.

Today I step off the bus
And see:
A pretty girl with
Long hair blowing, flowing
Behind her briskly-walking
Thin, jaunty body.
Girl I don’t know hurts me,
Only in her beauty.
Her carefree attitude a color in the atmosphere,
A painting this September morning:
A girl with dark blue jeans, light orange jacket,
And clear, white skin in a town’s crowd—
Still, my eye is drawn to her.

And, for a moment,
I thought I was her, maybe once, some time ago.

I know, though,
I never was a pretty girl with long, straight hair,
Strikingly clothed and a contented look,
With a face another stared at
For its grace and pleasantness,
Walking briskly in the late summer.

And I can’t decide if that hurts,
Or if I like it.

A double haiku that has to do with nature. Or rather, the unfortunate nature of a situation.

Cat, now we both have
Diabetes. Maybe we
Can help each other.

I'll draw up your shots.
But your missing fifth digit
Means you can't draw mine.

A February birthday poem, written in September.

This is a birthday poem
Because you loved to read my poems
And you liked it when I wrote about you

I'll put this on your grave
But your soul's not there
And I don't know how to find it
Still, I hope you will read this

You still have a poem of mine
But I don't know how to get it back

Happy birthday
You bought me a painted sterling bracelet
with arched jumping dolphins for mine
at that festival
next to your house
remember?

I liked how those dolphins jumped in a
continuous circle one after another
Brightly
I liked how it fit my wrist

That was September 10 years ago
And I lost that bracelet
It's gone Intangible

I can't walk through the festival
I see its lights dangling between
telephone poles and I cry
Dolphins dripping down my eyes
And the twilight colors them painted sterling

In my poem to you
I won't talk about how beautiful you are
Because you don't exist
Because you weren't when I saw you
your chest stuffed and your face made up
and they couldn't get your skin color right
so you looked yellow
You looked dead
I was scared to look for too long because I thought your eyes would pop open

I can't see anything but those pretty dolphins
They're unraveling becoming a string
now separating too

I don't want to let them go
They're just a memory
They don't look like a bracelet anymore
I forgot what colors they were painted
I forgot the little things I liked about them
I forgot what the clasp looked like
They fall sadly into separates
Dripping they look like hot tears
I wish they would turn into birds and fly
You died without being ready
So they never will

Angry Poem

I hope you know
When you cast judgement
On someone else
You are saying nothing about that person
But you speak of yourself--
Your bitterness
Your hatred or jealousies
You shine a mirror when you speak such negativities
That have no basis
Except, in your opinion...

I know you know
Your judgement hurts.
Your poison seeps into the air
And into the ears of susceptible bodies with little egos
waiting to grow

A rose does not head the thorns you posess
They prickle my skin like the bare briar
They are as beautiful as barbed wire

Your high horse talk looks like
Weeds under a telephone pole or
Pollen-soaked rain or
Oil in a puddle.
And when these picturesque atrocities
spill from your rose-like mouth

You look like them, too.

Thinking of a friend with a heartache, I decided to post this

This poem is dated May 4, 2003. That would have made me fourteen years old, but heartache hurts no matter what age you are. I really enjoy my writing from this time.

Make it go away

Make it hide in the dust of the stairwell

Away from me, away from them,

The ones who care.

Who can love if it is only a word?

An idea, like the colors of sound,

Pulling at imagination and want.

That which is irresistible, but a wild stab

In your heart:

A beautiful fluttering of butterflies around me,

While locusts swarm in to destroy the golden wheat.

I've always had this obsession with water lipping over...

So the rain never stopped.
And suddenly it seemed to me that the flash flood that dropped
To a bubbly happy brook
was dried up and began anew with steadily rising water blue.
Not gray and angry like last time
Just a deep, unthinking blue, pitter-patter.
Didn’t matter.
I let it rise until again it came forth, but,
Now, you would think it dries—
No,
Just a bit lipped over,
So it rose further.
Drove her crazy, never ending.
No cathartic moments pending. Spending
Every minute waiting, fearful, angry, still
She’s hating those small drops fallen into that stagnant pond,
Once a river.
She’s wishing she could stop the drizzle,
Let it sit and die, a swamp.

Start the process over.

She sees it, what she wants to be:

A deep, gorgeous valley.
With flowers, lush grasses responding
To the brilliant sun
And animals on the run
And bees that skim over the clovers
Across something that once looked damaged
And never too well managed.
But now is firm and fertile and fair.
She envisions herself healthy, unaware.
Just calm and happy and green and plain.
Just drinking that water whenever it rains.
Soaking up life, however it comes.
Not submitting to any inner demons.
Letting the wind blow her hair in her face,
Not trying to know, just knowing her place.

No, but really, I'm sorry if this insults you.

I'm sorry to insult you,

But I will not be a Mrs. Anything, but Chapin.

And we will not be Mr. and Mrs. Man and Wife You May Now Kiss The Bride 'Till Death Do You Part, Under God.

Missus Belongs-To-Owner, what was your maiden name?

I'm sorry to insult you,

But I have a legacy myself.

I'm not an adopted dog, name changed by new master.

I've got my story, not history.

I'd like to live and be remembered, not by my husband's given name

But mine, the one my mama gave me.

See, I grew to love myself first

And I learned myself by calling myself Chapin,

Melody Chapin.

So, sorry to insult you, but I can't let a man replace what I love about me

With what I love about him.

While getting my coffee today

UPDATED Tuesday 7/20: Included is a video clip of me reading the poem. The video is awful quality; it's really just for the audio that I uploaded it. Please enjoy, and feel free with your comments.
---

Didn't you know that
You're the reason I choose cream for my coffee?
With less calories and higher fat, it keeps me full for longer.
And you're why I know the caloric content in almost everything I eat.
And you're why I stand in the mirror in the morning, bemoaning my belly which, slim now, will grow throughout the day as I put food into my body.
I even educated myself on America's exploitation of corn farmers, corn, and thus the health of American people.
All because of how you make me feel.
So that I'm aware that the foods I choose will be the best ones to keep me healthy,
But more importantly--
Looking great.
I'd even go so far as to say
That you're the reason I hate delicious foods, all foods,
So I rebel and repent like a yo-yo moves.
You starved my body by poisoning my mind
Until even my soul got weak.
And, well, that made me think of Eve, but,
You know something?
God had no say in this.
It's you who created a weaker sex--
Well, except, people like you really do have a God complex.

Welcome: An explanation

Welcome to this poetry blog. Most reading will know that I don't enjoy naming my poetry. However, in order to choose a good name for my blog and a good name for the blog's website, I chose two lines from two poems I've written--not necessarily my favorites, just two lines that caught my eye skimming through my poetry tonight. Here they are:

On days when it rains like this,
I see
The whole being of New England land
Muggy, cold rain
Rain that drops,
Drop,
Then pours and pours.
Then stops.
Then starts.

It colors that bright foliage wet,
The rain.
The sky is gray and nothing gleams
The worms wriggle on the sidewalk,
Squirming to find the earth,
Like us, wishing to be less exposed,
And safe inside the warm ground.
Yes, I see the New Englander in us today!
We trudge through with our heads down,
Walking brusquely
But resignedly, too.

On days like this—
When it rains—
We are one terrain:
New England.
And we accept this weather.
Sans complaints of the heat,
Over-reactive shivers to the cold.
Just a wade in the water,
A dismal, commiserative nod to your neighbor
A Northern, droopy face that tells your story
Of tiny hardships
The rain weighs down today

Worms grow pale,
Leaves grow dark,
Spirits droop in the
Rain that drops,
Drop,
Then pours and pours,
Then stops,
Then starts.

---

Do I send out a signal that speaks failure?
I must, to be regarded so.
Now, I won’t be taken lightly.
And I’ll take this how I felt it hit me.
Close my mouth and develop my ear.
I’m going to be sincere:

I’ll be a cocoon of energy.
Don’t assume I’ll lose.
I’ll test myself in every way.
Every day.
I don’t need your overseeing, authority,
Believe me; believe in me.

A signal that speaks failure?
Deep down,
I’m too hard on myself, I know.
Time to let that show:
This me will speak darker, clearer, unfrazzled, untied.
The inside, Oh, the inside!--

A signal of Passion
You won’t have known it until me.
[You didn’t know how passionate I was!]
Enough to speak without speaking.
To capture you without your
Undivided (recital-goer) attention!

--I’ll be beautiful in energy.
Yes, my dark eyes are alive and for once not winking.
I’ll sing each language perfectly.
It won’t be a phrase, but a burning plea.
You’ll see what you never saw in me.

But I always knew I was there.