Odyssey Article 5

It's still April which means... another article about poetry! Try out these fun techniques and come up with at least one poem for the month. Feel free to share your poems in the comments of this post or under the article! I can't wait to see what you guys come up with!

6 Techniques To Get You Writing Poetry In No Time

Odyssey Article 4

April is National Poetry Month! Celebrate with me by reading some great poets that you should add to your own bookshelf!

11 Contemporary Poets To Celebrate With For National Poetry Month

I'll be the Little Princess

I want a star.

I want it dull and only visible to those who know where it is.

I want it perfectly above me, I want to see it twinkle

until my last dying breath.

I want it big and blue,

this star, so it matches my eyes

even in the dark when you can’t see them. I want to look out my window

pretending to not hear his soft snores in the bed

that he always swears I make up in the morning

Pretending that the pregnancy test from this morning was faulty. Pretending

that he might actually be excited when I tell him and that I’ll be happy too.

I want to go to bed knowing this house is full of love.

Instead of always pretending.

I want that star bad.

I want it to promise

what I know I’ve read in books. About

girls and happy endings

and about princes in outer space loving roses.

When the time comes, I’ll sneak out to the woods where I’ve hidden

my supplies. I’ll look up and smile at the tallest tree

climbing it all the way up to my star.

And I’ll live there.

Waiting for my own rose to grow.

For My Friends In West Virginia

Drink Your Milk

I walked around like a skeleton last night

Trying to find where you hid me

            The parts of me I liked

Confused and alone.

I fell asleep in the front seat.

            I’m too tall

I feel fucked, but in a good way

Cause not even you could chew through my bones

I've got very strong bones.

A Promise To Myself

You just cant turn the charm on

            Or find any of the right words

I know the drinks from your breath

If I don’t wanna do it

You’re probably just gonna make me

I can never tell when you’re fucking around

Everything im feeling is constant

And I’ve never felt so alone

But I made a promise to myself in the mirror

After the first purple flower you left on my skin

“Promise not to break, no matter how far you are bent.”

Similar To A Heart On Your Sleeve

There’s a gem on my right outer thigh that is perfectly opaque.

            You can touch it.

            It won’t hurt you.

Sometimes I mindlessly wonder

If I woke up one day and it was a color,

                                                            What would it be?

You think pink

            But I disagree.

Sure, from an anatomy stand point.

Perhaps pink or red would make the most sense.

                                                                                    But what if

Maybe

            This gem that is blinding in the sun

                        That people are afraid to touch

                                    That I try and hide so you won’t know my weakness

Is a piece of my soul?

Balls

I stared

at that ugly

flannel

skirt

that I put on this morning,

now bunched up,

maybe torn

in the corner with a collection

of basket, dodge, and other various balls.

The room smelled of sweat,

from both gym balls

         and Jim’s balls.

I kept my mouth shut

out of fear.

What if one of the sisters were to hear?

I wondered how many Hail Marys

I’d have to say for this.

‘Hail Mary (thwap)

full of grace (thwap)

The lord is with thee’ (thwap).

An Ode To the Robert E. Lee Book That Sat On My Bookshelf When I Was A Kid

I never feel more like me

Than when I sat up in that old tree,

Fantasizing about him.

Robert E Lee,

How you give me feelings in an area above my knees,

But momma say it’s not appropriate for a girl like me

To feel so strongly

About the scraggly beard and the confederate flag in your portrait.

In my room I looked at pictures of him and his men

And often remarked on what a handsome man he had been

I wished I’d been Barbie, and he my Ken.

I don’t care if I’m only five years above ten

Because back then,

Would it really have mattered?

Pink Lemon-aide

Im constantly finding myself coming back to this moment.

I stare at the lemon

Cursing the god I know doesn’t exist while I kick

 the fucking knife

I told Tim was unsafe

under the cooler to rust.

I hate blood.

            The smell curdles my stomach and

            The color, how it changes the more your body pumps out

the closest rag

covered in the sickly sweet strawberry syrup that the bees just buzz about

will have to do.

As the rag starts absorb

what my body is pulsating out I pretend

‘its just more syrup’ so as to save my breakfast from the floor.

The lemon has a pink tinge to it now

Tim shouts ‘Pollock you good?’

And I flip him off

Because my thumb is on the floor