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How To Be Lonelyi.
The first step to acceptance is to be like others. Like a flower, almost, in your pleated skirt and saddle shoes, starched white blouse radiant, you stand in the coat room of Mrs.Lund's first grade classroom and wish you had worn something, anything, different. Afraid to venture in to the snarling maw of children that would encompass you and swallow you whole, you stand shivering in the musky stench of rain boots and plaid coats until the teacher, fed up, steers you by the arm to the office and insists to speak with the principal. You know he'll phone your mother, but for some reason you don't care as you gaze in to the sticky circular pa

How To Be MelancholyThere is nothing special about me.
I was an over protective mother. I didn't let my daughter out of my sight until she was at least three. After three, there was still a twinge in my heart if she rounded a corner with me not close enough to closely follow her with my eyes. Four to ten was a whirlwind of schools and activities I could not participate in, save the driving. I called that my weaning stage. Ten to twenty was our falling out, my beautiful young princess slamming me with curse words and acne creams, adolescent fury at it's ironic best. Twenty might have been good for her, I don't know.

I haven't spoken to her in eleven years.

I w

How To RememberI have no advice that was handed down to me from sage lips, or dying maternal grandparents. I don't know how to deal with neurotic night time episodes where if I listen closely, I swear I can hear farmers in their fields after midnight, shooting gophers when I don't live anywhere near a field. My window is a cavernous maw, opened wide to swallow my tousled head and suck the garbage of dreams from my soul. On those evenings, I can not look outside.

Insomnia has always wrapped its icy fingers around my limbs and tugged at me, one way, then another, ever since I can recall the need for sleep. It is like breathing, or eating, to me. It is common

How To Say GoodbyeDear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;

When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.

I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water

You're Daydreaming, Tooi.

The end of your driveway is home to a lady made of twigs. She comes out at midnight and sits, stagnant, peering through her branches at your bedroom window. In August she is made of bones.

ii.

Your mother had a stillborn, boy, blue as the sky. She named him 'William' and buried him in the garden. The ceremony was legitimate, but you still hear him cry at night. So does your mother. After she carried him for nine grueling months just to have him die, she decided there would be no more ice cream in the house. If she was suffering, nobody was exempt. Still, you steal it from the basement, where your father keeps it in the ice box, and you

Shades of Youi.

When I was younger I used to stand with legs akimbo, breathe in gasps and wheezes, state formally and without hesitation that I was surely dying of cancer. Eating its way through my insides, purging itself through my system in the way of sunburns and scraped knees. I was dying, dying...fading.
The monkey bars were my witness, the entire Grade Five class my jury, presenting me with the guilty verdict, the dodge ball the gavel.

And now here you are, in your shades of violet and beige, you speak to me in concentrated whispers about your lungs, how they are folding in on each other, this vile disease rampaging through your body, sucking you

Another Man's Treasure I keep a box in my hallway closet. I've labeled it 'Life' and inside of it there are a certain amount of dreams and failures, romances and disgust. I never take this box out, I barely even acknowledge it's existence. Sometimes it's better that way, as the honeysuckle nostalgia beats down on my head like a hot summer day whenever I crack the lid and my stomach churns and I feel like I am missing out on something important. Sometimes when I think about the past and what it contained, I feel like I am going to be sick with such a sense of urgency I don't know how to contain it. I see moments that I can not grasp again, friends that have passed

For Your ConsiderationConsider this:
We're going to go on a date, nothing fancy. Perhaps a burger and movie. Afterwards, I will let you walk me home, or vice-versa. There will be no touching, we will remain as pure as driven snow for this night, this glorious evening which will consist of red checker table cloths, Italian food (we nixed the burger idea, or we will at any rate. Linguini with mushrooms and white wine sauce is a little more elegant, wouldn't you say? Lady and the Tramp, they knew where it was at - we'll just push it up a notch) and coffee, followed by an action movie, any action movie, any movie will do. Consider that.

Rewind:
We met in a cloudy b

Feast on WhitmanDear Ambrosia, you
Mince words and take your tea
In the garden at midnight

You feast on Whitman and
Dry toast but you can't expect
To swallow properly

With stones in your throat

My sweet lady, you...
Dress to impress but you are
One hundred years late

On the latest fashions

Your fingers are electric
They jolt and jitter and
Plug in to the base of my spine

Your dinner of Lord Byron
Means nothing if you have
Turned your eyes in to the sun

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cinnamon

by ^pullingcandy, Jun 21, 2011, 9:20:01 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

i.

you've removed your hands
to make room for the darkness
the empty space between
your torso and floor seems
limitless now

ii.

in a hospital room half a mile
from your house somebody who
you inherited your smile from
sleeps hooked to wires and beeps
consistently into twilight

iii.

like a torn valentine you post
yourself in the mail with an open mind
and hope you do not get returned to sender
the last thing you need right now
is a broken heart

iv.

if you tick the days off on your left hand
it doesn't seem so many have passed and
you can focus on the present instead of the past
and when you make her recipe for apple pie
it won't taste like a memory

cinnamonby ^pullingcandy

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

If even for one moment
One speck, dot, particle in time
I could have you back
I would teach you to make origami swans...

~Rumblephil Apr 12, 2012 Student Writer

Sweet and Spicy.

^pullingcandy Apr 12, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

~BoozeRat Oct 25, 2011

Gorgeous.

^pullingcandy Oct 25, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

thank you =]

`dreamsinstatic Jun 24, 2011 Professional Writer

Your great work has been featured here: Friday Night Features

^pullingcandy Jun 24, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

Thank you, I saw. I'm flattered.

`dreamsinstatic Jun 24, 2011 Professional Writer

~TransientTopHat Jun 22, 2011 Student Writer

Despite the lack of punctuation and limited imagery, this poem is clear and evocative. I especially love the second stanza... wonderful writing

^pullingcandy Jun 22, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

Thank you. Poetry isn't my strongest suit, but like I said in an earlier reply, I'd already written this several times in story form, and I felt that I needed to do something...different, I guess.
It seems to be an anniversary thing, for me. Every year, one literature piece about it, then that's all. I tried something new.

When you say limited imagery, what do you mean? AND -
I wasn't sure what to use for punctuation, so I went without. I'm sure I'll try to revise it, but it was a spur of the moment explosion of words. I guess I just didn't stop to use commas

~TransientTopHat Jun 22, 2011 Student Writer

Well with the imagery thing... a lot of the time I see poets go off on flowery, needless tangents with imagery and wordplay... and for subject matter like this especially, I think you did very well in keeping your images tight and focused. =] If you're planning to revise this and want to play around with it a bit, I'd suggest toying with indenting and spacing out your words... you'd be surprised what extra dimensions spaces can add.

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