Neverland

A ballad in alternating tetrameter and trimeter lines, featuring near rhyme, and following a ABCB pattern. Focused around the fairytale of Peter Pan, with a dark twist.

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Life in Her Haikus

Each stanza itself is in haiku format, yet the wholeness of the poem is read together. I attempted to capture the simplicity of haikus, yet in a much deeper, meaningful sense.

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Ars Poetica

Ars Poetica is a form of poetry meant to describe the qualities a poem should have if it is to stand as a work of art. MacLeish originally wrote ars poetica in 1925. This is my own take on what a poem should consist of. Specifically, my poem takes one line from previous poems I have written to signify that poetry should be linked to the author's other works to create flow and familiarity. In addition, I combine similarly-formatted stanzas because poetry should always follow a unique but properly formatted setting. Lastly, my poem consists of descriptive ideas that are not always explained thoroughly, because I believe poetry is meant to be felt by each person in their own way. 

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Colors of Her Wind

A poem meant to spark a connection between humans and the nature they so often immerse themselves in. The yellow and blues mentioned throughout the piece should mix to produce green, which is the colors of nature. In a sense, the girl is becoming one with nature by combining her blues and yellows. 

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JEALOUSY AND I

Jealousy demands my soul. 

She takes me hostage into her world

filled with broken afterthoughts and unkept promises.

She holds me in a grip too tight and

she won't let me go. 

She holds me captive

and distracts me from the real,

spinning every what-if into a will-be;

I am drowning in my own dreams

oblivious to the insanity that is my world

trying to twist my heart into a shape it is not

I try

to break free

of the punishing grasp she pulls down on me.

But she is stronger than she looks and unfairness 

wins over my lungs

which search for lighter air.

She stomps me flat to the ground in a spinning 

dream of sorrow I cannot seem to escape

because every time I am justified she is in the corner of the room

watching

and when I notice her my hands turn icy and my knees imitate the hurricane

from deep in my eyes I see the impossible.

I know she's not there, I know she's not there,

but her presence haunts me like black smoke trailing from my ears

a never-ending pang of guilt

of what-if

I can't change her mind, no,

I can't win her over.