The Beginning of Love (An Original Poem)

Under your skin,
just below the surface,
where you hide your disdain
for normalcy,
sparkles a
near imperceptible
glimmer of
Passion.
It twinkles at the corners of
your mouth
when you say my name,
as if the
mere utterance of that combination
of vowels and consonants
cracks through
the stormclouds
above the chasm
where you hide
your heart
(like lightning)
allowing the love
to trickle up,
reverse raindrops of
ineffable joy
that water your smile,
still only a smirk
but wholly genuine.
Though the words have been
surrounded by
a barrage of sarcasm,
know that it is ever so evident
what you mean to say,
and know,
I love you, too.

Pistanthrophobia (Original Poem)

The Pirate and I had… a misunderstanding… or something. He was having a bad day, said I was being smothering, which I can see, and possibly agree with, but to me, the “why” is always the key. Why was I being smothering? Because something didn’t feel right. I have not been able to read his intentions, or what he thinks about me, and while he says with his words that he finds me interesting, and wants to keep me around… he’s shown no interest in ME, my life, my past, my hobbies. Every conversation goes back to the topics he’s interested in, or stories of his life. 

I found that it bothered me. I found that I wanted some sign, that wasn’t asked for, that he was actually interested in ME. As such, I couldn’t back off like he asked… I never seem to be able to do that, because it makes me nervous. It’s happened before, and it will probably happen again with the next guy, as I’m sure the Pirate is done with me. And several people feel that I should be done with him as well. I think I was building up to that, maybe? I don’t know. I know I’m sad at the thought. 

He posted a word on Instagram, one I did not know, and it (plus my actual feelings) are the inspiration for this poem.  Continue reading

Alliterative Verse: Poetry for my Aspie Mind

One of the things that I’ve been trying really hard to work on lately has been to write more. Writing is a major part of who I am, and who I want to be. I keep telling myself I want to write fiction, and I am, but I’ve also been writing a lot of poetry lately…

Unrhyming, seemingly free-form poetry. It lacks meter and rhyme and has no discernible format.

Or at least that is how it must seem to a neurotypical person.

When I read it to myself, I hear it sing. I feel the lilt of the syllables and the pacing of the words as they roll around my tongue and into the air. It’s slight, but there is some sort of form to it, and usually it can be found in the alliteration.  Continue reading

Sleep beckons (Original poem)

Sleep beckons to me
with candied whispers
of dreams so sweet,
Not of sugarplums or fairies
or kisses under the mistletoe,
Not in this Texan
near May heat.

Instead he tempts me
with visions of love,
loyal and true,
Not like the charlatans of old
hawking their fairytales and snake oils,
But something special,
sweet, and new.

Tired though I may feel,
Still a dream I know
it has to be,
For men no longer wish for love,
preferring luscious and swaying hips
To intellect and
honesty.

And yet he beckons.
His gentle touch soothes
my weary mind,
Removing more than just my clothes,
Sleep delivers me of all my doubt
So I may leave the
day behind.