Details |
Elly Sawyer Poem
In the morning, I wait outside for a bus,
To take me somewhere I can’t wait to leave,
And I breathe into the not-quite-sunrise morning,
And let my relief fog up the darkness.
I wish to stop breathing now and then,
Thankful for the too-cold-to-be-comfortable air,
That, with every deep breath,
Causes me to cough.
I’ve always been imperfect,
And when my breath freezes inside,
And then freezes outside,
I know it’s those little inside scars that cause me the most trouble,
Because the outside ones are just a visual.
When you’re in my head,
There is nothing that will get you out until I satisfy the thought,
Until I torture myself with every could-be and what-if,
And until all those wasted I-love-yous give me so much grief,
Until those wasted love-you-toos are so many, they leak out my eyes,
To relieve my tired mind.
Until I overwhelm myself with every word you ever spoke,
And every smile directed at me,
And all those not-quite-sure-what-to-say glances,
Until everything I remember and think about you, and me, and us,
I will have no relief,
Not even my exhalation is relief enough from those cold, air bitten scars.
But even when I am so exhausted that my tortured my mind gives out,
Even when I am so sick of the very thought of you,
You have to know,
That I’d go through it a hundred times more,
A hundred times worse.
Just to spend another insignificant moment with you.
Even though that little moment,
That small, insignificant moment,
Would cause me nothing but grief.
Copyright © Elly Sawyer | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Elly Sawyer Poem
Her mouth is full of rubies,
Dripping out,
Like precious words to tell you,
You are all she needs right now,
She whispers sweet things to you,
Her breath tickles your ear,
She says she wants you forever,
She'll tell you what you want to hear.
But that girl,
She doesn't mean it,
She'll tell anybody anything,
As long as they want it,
This girl plays the only game she's ever known,
And you'll fall for it,
Dripping rubies, precious stones,
And you'll love it.
This girl, she'll use you,
So as long as you don't mind,
She'll make you hers,
If you show her a good time.
Copyright © Elly Sawyer | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Elly Sawyer Poem
How sweet life is,
That you can put jewels on your head,
And declare yourself ruler of men,
But that when you dance with death,
Your jewels mean nothing,
And the man who served you hand and foot,
Is on the same level as you,
Not king,
Nor servant,
But human.
Copyright © Elly Sawyer | Year Posted 2011
|