Aug 9, 2016

Sunny days, summer haze

Poetry Project time! The line was Sunny days, summer haze. Wrote this one alongside my gf, Crystal!

(ok, what is this poetry project? Well we both write a poem using the same line! You can suggest a line or I can suggest it, and then we get writing!)

Here we go!

Poem #1 (hers)

Sunny days summer haze
Treetops swaying in the wind
Green grass pretty flowers
All abloom on the hill

There you stand by the stream
Throwing rocks in freely
How I wish I could be
Carefree as you seem to be

Butterfly floating by
Jumping from flower to flower
You chase it through the grass
Laughing happy as can be

Growing taller every day
Maturing in front of me
How quickly childhood flees
Gone in the blink of an eye

Time passes so briskly
It won't be long until
I'll yearn to ponder these
Sunny days with summer haze

Poem #2 (mine)

She retreats to her favorite spot,
A loungechair under a rainbow printed umbrella,
And blissfully soaks up the heat.
Her long blonde hair and sunkissed skin absorb the sun, while
the aroma of her favorite flowers float through the air.
Condensation runs down a glass of iced tea, while she hides
her big curious eyes behind oversized sunglasses
A folder full of paper and a pencil rest on the arm of her chair,
waiting to be opened.

For there is poetry deep within her waiting to be discovered.

Oh how she loves sunny days, summer haze. 
A time to sit still and reflect,
to write and to heal.

She takes a sip of her chilled tea, 
blinks her curious blue eyes, 
takes a deep cleansing breath, 

and opens the folder.  

We hope you enjoyed!!
xo, \

May 5, 2016

her soul was the color the sky

Poetry Project time!!

It's been a while! I am excited to start this up again! If any of you want to get involved with my poetry project, drop me a tweet, or message me on my fb page!

This time around I wrote with my sister Krystal. She is a talented soul.



Red Hot and Spreading
Her Wildness is contagious,
like fire
Red Hot and Spreading.

Her Wildness burns you to the core,
Leaving you no choice but to
succumb to her,
and fly into the sky,
ashes mixed with air.

Freedom teases you.

but you cannot escape her either
for her Soul is the color of the sky,
decorated with fire,

Red Hot and Spreading.


Lies spewed from her lips that she truly believed
of scenarios and facts that she skillfully conceived
Her lack of true fact lay hidden under dust
while onlookers believed her and all the words that she thrust
Her soul was the color of the sky
when the clouds opened up and decided to cry
so she made up these stories to make her feel good
but they never felt as happy as the truth naturally would
Soon she was the joker and everyone knew
Her words were just lies to make her look cool

Let us know what you think!! 

Feb 4, 2014

When she's scared

She's doing that thing
she does
When she's scared.
She's survived hell,
and then come back.
Not for more.

Where is the long awaited happy ending?
The life long commitment to peaceful bliss?

Unsure of it's possibility,
she does that thing
she does
when she's scared. 

Nov 27, 2012

but sure.

she sits in the dark,
at the end of the day.
Tea in hand,
her favorite song playing.
and she is proud.
Another day survived.
Her fire is returning.
slow, but sure.
Slow, but sure.

Nov 26, 2012

the spark

there was once a spark.
in it's place, a hole.
she can't recognize
who she is now.
or where the spark went.
pieces of her broken heart,
salty tears.
anxiety filled panic
fill its space.
a crave to be herself.
a heavy sigh.
tears roll down her face.
words spoken,
weight lifted.
she will find that spark.
one day
she will find it.

sad metaphor

a toy
in despair.
a sad metaphor
for a sad truth.
a girl,
thrown away,
reeled back in,
played with.
a toy.
alone in a dark corner.

Apr 16, 2012

the beer goggles were on

This poem was written by @AthenaDDixon. She had mentioned she wanted to join in on this poetry project of mine and I'm excited to have her! The line I gave her was "the beer goggles were on"

These small things remembered:
   the rending of thin metal,
    a carbonated hiss,
    hollow clatter of fingers
    against glass,
    and how the small rivers
    escape the corner of lips and
    slide into the darkness of his
    chest. Adam’s apple bulged mid-
   guzzle, the beer goggles
    were on.
We were:
    the cramped corner pinball love-
    making machines. The high pitched
    jingle of pocket coins and record
    scores. A rumbled rhythm of two
    feet banging the floor, the wall,
    each other in time to a six pack.