Up & Off a Cliff – Poem by Me

My darling, we have expected too much
from the universe. Here we sit, enjoying

its offering on this mountain, watching 
the sky turn cotton-candy colors. If only

we could bite the clouds, lips rimmed 
with candied sugar. We are ready to fly,

but we won't jump. There is always 
the possibility that we could float before

we fall. If only we had more company up
here. If only we had a lot of things---

think about how different it could all be.
Dream up different ways we can rise

into the sky and finally touch those clouds.
Will it be balloons tied to our wrists?

I have always wanted a hot air balloon to
carry me away into the sunset.

We can migrate with the birds and forget
every bad thing that's ever happened.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! Finals are about to hit (my school is on the quarter system this year because of COVID-19) and I’m a little nervous, so writing this was therapeutic. I hope you all had a lovely weekend and are doing well. Hopefully my next quarter will be lighter (and my internship will be ending… Election Day is so close!!) so I can get some bonus content out to you guys. Please feel free to leave feedback or writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

Walks With People Who Don’t Understand – Poem by Me

The air is bitter with the change of seasons,
finally biting at our patches of exposed skin.

The grey skies suggest one must bundle up in
layers, but it never snows and hardly
ever rains here, so we won't. Long walks 
are meant for thinking, particularly in the cold
when it isn't so pleasant to go on walks anymore.

There is a purpose for everything in these times
of not wanting to go outside, and it is easier
to bear the cold with others. It is no longer easier
when that company invades your thoughts,
attempting to influence your beliefs as if 
they are territory to be conquered. 

I am not looking for debates, but a chance
to speak and for someone to understand.

Maybe that is too much to ask from someone
who believes that I talk too much and
am already understood by most, even if she
doesn't try to listen. It is my fault for asking

for too much. After all, you do ask for
disagreements when you speak, and you 
ask for confusion when you hope people
will understand the grounds you're speaking on.

They are just silent sometimes, that's all.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! It was inspired by the walks I go on with my family– it finally got a little chilly last week and I was so excited. When I go on a walk, I take an hour or so out of my day in the hopes that it will clear my mind. Sometimes, I just want someone to listen to me, and as you may gather, that doesn’t always work out. It happens to all of us! I’m aware this poem could possibly come off as whiny, but I don’t intend for it to come across that way.

Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments! Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

Pieces of Me – Poem by Me

I feel like a flower girl at the end of the aisle,
nothing left in my basket but rose petals

scattered everywhere, left behind and never
to be looked at as if they are actually beautiful

again. Someone will sweep them up, clean
up the mess like always. Maybe it will be me.

People ask too much, and I don't talk enough.
That's how you end up being a flower girl,

or anything for that matter-- you say yes, or
you fail to say no. And maybe you won't end

up like me, with pieces of yourself scattered
over an aisle that will be cleaned up by the

end of the night, never to be spoken about
again outside of describing pictures jammed

in frames and stories about first dances 
at the reception. I will always be there, 

but it may never be remembered. I hope your
pieces stay together, and your puzzle is completed.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! It was inspired by a combination of things. I was reminiscing on being a flower girl in my cousin’s wedding when I was only about five years old. Additionally, I was reflecting on the dozens of things I currently have on my plate and how everyone is asking a lot of me at the moment. I’m the one who can control my involvement and say no, but I hate letting people down. Regardless, I know things will eventually get better and this will be a time I remember only vaguely.

Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

Art Critiques – Poem by Me

Surrounded by walls plastered in paintings by
names stored in textbooks we don't remember
reading, I tell you I love Impressionist paintings
and all things light. You tell me art is overrated,
and walking through museums full of art is the
best way to prove it. We can agree to disagree
and agree and disagree again, because it's easy
to blend each piece together after passing through
all these halls, every shade of muted oil paint
melting in our heads to make a rather unsatisfactory
dirt brown. I tell you I'm looking for the paintings
that excite me, the ones bursting with light, 
and you point to the window. The couple next 
to us isn't amused. We ponder how these landscapes
live up to what they're actually are, like humans
doomed to be different. 

I hope you enjoyed this piece! I cannot believe it’s October– soon it will have been a year since I last traveled somewhere new and exciting (I went to Seattle last November and had the time of my life exploring the city with my mom). I’m in the midst of finishing up my second semester of AP Art History online and I’ve also been thinking about all the art I’ve seen when traveling, so it made sense for me to write a poem about art. I’m not the best judge of art, as I don’t even know what I like.

Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke