Core 4

9. Acrostic

Draft One

That girl is looking for something or someone,
Hiding from the soul that’s buried beneath her poor choices,
And I do not know who she is,
Though her eyes reflect my pain as if looking into a mirror.

Girl, what are you doing?
Ignoring the flashing danger signs,
Risking what I spent four years to accomplish,
Like tearing down delicate, preserved wallpaper.

Is she getting her revenge, destroying my city,
So that she can rebuild it from bottom to top?

Maybe she needs to be saved.
Even she may prefer that.

Draft Two

that girl is looking for something or someone,
hiding from the soul that’s buried beneath her poor choices,
and I do not know who she is,
though her eyes reflect my pain as if looking into a mirror.

girl, what are you doing?
ignoring all the red flags,
risking what I spent four years to accomplish,
like tearing down delicate, preserved wallpaper.

is she getting revenge, destroying my city,
so that she can rebuild from its ashes?

maybe she needs to be saved.
even she may prefer that.

Draft Three

that girl is…

that girl is looking for something new,
hiding from a soul that’s buried beneath poor choices,
and I do not know who she is,
though her eyes reflect my pain as if looking into a mirror.

girl, what are you doing?
ignoring all the red flags,
risking what I worked four years to accomplish,
like tearing down delicate, preserved wallpaper.

is she getting revenge, destroying my city,
so that she can rebuild from its ashes?

maybe she needs to be saved.
even she may prefer that.

10. Anniversary Poem

Draft One

She was as hot as the flames of
The baking sand and whooshing Malibu waves

And the beachgoers sauntering like swans swarmed her
Cornered her until she was blinded from her escape

She believed it was only a vacation
And she swam away promising she’d never return

But like the seagulls who fly out to sea
The wind eventually calls them back

Many years later and from miles away
She too is beckoned

And now she sits in the sun washed up on shore
Rotting among the seaweed and foam

Draft Two

female, 17, washed ashore

She was flaming hot
like the baking sand and whooshing Malibu waves

And the beachgoers sauntering like swans swarmed her
cornered her until she was blinded from an escape

She believed it was only a vacation
and she swam away promising she’d never return

But like the seagulls who fly out to sea
the wind eventually calls them back

Many years later and from miles away
she too is beckoned

And now she sits in the sand washed up on shore
rotting among the seaweed and foam

12. Free Poem #4

Draft One

Oh little home up on the fourth floor
With your squeaky door that I have to jiggle shut
The way you echo when bare feet hit the floor
And go quiet as the train whistle sounds from Main Street
Head lights from below cast shadows on the wall
Your clutter drowns me in sleep
Swallowing me whole into still water
Where the view to the outside is blurry
And I can only sink deeper into the warm darkness
Here there are new creatures new plants and a new life
Floating lifeless with the liquid
I don’t panic as my body struggles to breathe
Don’t even notice
Don’t even want to escape
I’m pulled from the depths to a morning chill
Where it’s suddenly turned misty and bright
But I’m still crowded by the love of this little home

Draft Two

Oh little home up on the fourth floor
With your squeaky door that I have to jiggle shut
The way you echo when bare feet hit the kitchen tile
And go quiet as the train whistle sounds from Main Street
Head lights from below cast shadows on the wall
As I’m wrap me into warm bedsheets

Your clutter soon drowns me in sleep
Swallowing me whole into still water
Where the view to the outside is blurry
And I can only sink deeper into the darkness
Floating lifeless with the liquid
I don’t panic when I struggle to breathe
Don’t even notice
Don’t even want to escape

I’m eventually pulled from the depths to a morning chill
Where it’s suddenly turned misty and bright
But I’m still embraced by this little home

Draft Three

Stay The Night

Oh little home up on the fourth floor,
with your squeaky door that I have to jiggle shut,
the way you echo when bare feet hit the kitchen tile,
and go quiet as the train whistle sounds from Main Street.
Headlights from below cast shadows on the wall
as midnight embraces us,
making me stay, as he wraps me in warm bedsheets.
Your clutter drowns me in sleep,
swallowing me whole into still water,
where the view to the outside is blurry
and I can only sink deeper into the darkness.
Floating lifeless with the liquid,
I don’t panic when I struggle to breathe,
don’t even notice,
don’t even wish to awaken
from the depths of this little home.