I found something of yours,

even though your

gone,

something you left

at my house.

I must have

missed it

when I was

cleaning out

your stuff,

for it was too

painful to see

your things

and know I will

never see you

again.

I was sitting there,

holding the

bracelet that used to

lay on

your wrist,

and I didn’t know

what to do

with it.

I argued between

keeping it,

as the last remainder

to what we

had,

or throwing it

away

because I couldn’t

bare to have

a reminder

that you’re

not here to

wear it

anymore.

I realized that

you had my

necklace

before it all

ended,

maybe it was

thrown away

with the rest of

my things that

were in your possession.

Then, I saw you

today,

at least someone that

looked just

like you,

they were even

wearing my

necklace.

But I know

it wasn’t you,

the person I knew

with your face

died

a long time ago.

A soup boal filled her cream, colored fingers. A dull spoon rests on the table in front of her, recently used by the aged woman siting to her left. Carolers walk in the room, but her face remains pointed towards the ground. The hair falling from her head, like water from a spout, gives no clue to its natural hue. I sing of joy brought to the world by an untouched girl, not old enough to drive. This overwhelming good news seems inexistent with one look at her face. It is as if the dye used to stain her hair spread everywhere else, too.

-savvy.b

#poetry #prosepoems

The thick glasses perch on the end of her wide nose. They look like they are about to

.................fall.................................fall................................fall................................

They, along with her constantly quiet deminer make her seem like she is swimming in another ocean in another universe. These warm, dark eyes hold a secret to everything: how to swim, how to drown, how to f l o a t. I feel that if just once, her mouth was to ...........................s l i p........................................o p e n...........................................

all the stars and planets and waterfalls and secrets and answers and everything else you would ever want to see or hear or feel would s p i l l out of her winter teeth and

...................n e v e r......................e v e r...........................s t o p...............................

-savvy.b

#poetry #prosepoems

A shattered clock face concealing

The time you need to know.

It is broken, though

you continue

To hear the constant

Tick

Tock

And it eats away at you mind

Until the fact that the time is there

But you just can’t see it

Drives you crazy,

So you fix the watch face

And see that time continues

To pass. Nothing

Special happened when

It broke, or when it

Was fixed,

It was just the glorious ignorance

that made you want to

Know so bad what was

Happening behind

That shattered glass screen

That was broken when

It fell from your wrist just

as you were trying to

Secure it.

Life is funny that way,

When we secure things,

They end up shattered,

When we fix them,

We wish we could go back

To when they were

Broken and we were

Oblivious to the

Normalcy going on

Beneath the surface.

-savvy.b

#poetry

when i was

5 years old,

i went on

many quests.

i had to

traverse a

rugged land

to find and

save

whoever was

in dire need

this time.

it started by

swinging along the

tops of trees,

competing with

the monkeys.

i would then

walk on

my tiptoes

across a vine

stretching between the

heads of

the tallest trees.

i slid down

rough trunks,

100 feet until

my legs

ached and

my feet finally

kissed the ground.

i saved

dozens of lives

that way.

i was injured

after i

plummeted off a vine,

trying to swing

farther than

my arms could reach.

i didn't save

anyone for a while,

but when i came back,

prepared to rescue

a few more

civilians.

my jungle was

destroyed.

so i sat with

my legs crossed

and ran my fingers

along the

stems of flowers

as they

hauled away

the last piece of

my jungle:

the monkey bars.

-savvy.b

#poetry

In this infinite universe,

Where there is no oxygen

To fill your lungs as

You gasp for relief,

Breathe in the stars

And exhale wishes that

Fall like teardrops

Through the sky.

In this unexplored galaxy,

Where they say no humans

Can reach,

Discover new wonders

That not even a child’s

Mind could think of;

Walk on asteroid belts and

Leave your footprint on a

Comet.

In this familiar solar system,

Where Pluto has been excluded

Among the other planets,

Sit on Saturn’s rings and

Do cartwheels on Venus,

Singing to the first star

You see.

On this small planet,

Where people shut you down,

Bask in the sun because you

Want to; admire dandelions

Because they are beautiful

Buds of fire, and above all:

Be the center of your

Own gravity.

-savvy.b

#poetry

the moon believes in

fairy tales

the man whispers

in her ear

and goes to sleep early

while dreaming of

the surrounding stars

the moon is like

a little star

floating in a world

of its own

oblivious to the burning

going on around her

simply singing about the stars

and naively revolving

around the sun

the moon dances in the night

and plays through the day

all the while believing

that turning into a star

would not be the

worst type of

corruption

-savvy.b

#poetry

when i was

8 years old,

there was a

mighty river

in a

dense jungle.

my sister and i

would climb

across the river

and almost perish

in the

quicksand.

up the river led

to a grand mountain.

we would pack

supplies,

and spend days

trekking up the

mountain,

using only our

witts

to survive.

we would

arrive home

shivering and weak,

but awaiting the time

when we could

do it again.

the summer before my

ninth birthday,

my family left for

three months.

when we arrived back,

houses speckled

our jungle and

mountain.

we could

no longer

roam the forest

and lose our

flip flops in the mud.

And the hill

was no longer

our own personal

mountain.

-savvy.b

#poetry

Yellowed pages

numb to the rejection

of never being turned,

oppressed to the tight shelves

they have come to call home.

Time mutilated by

the labyrinth of writing,

which all looks the same

though each one is different-

different languages, different stories.

Wandering souls

hoping to find the answer

while being lost

in the endless expanse

of scratched wood

and tattered spines.

Ripped pages

anticipating being chosen

and continuing to

proudly present their stories

contained within.

Echos and hushed laughter

being silenced by a look

of disdain,

and not daring to

take on a

librarian’s rath.

New pages

hoping to be read,

asking for their own corruption,

awaiting to adopt

the distinct smell

of pressed trees

stained by

sunlight, hot drinks,

and tears.

-savvy.b

#poetry

When I was just a sprout,

I saw a baby and their family

and witnessed as they took their

first steps through an

open field.

When I was a sapling,

I heard the child’s laughter

as it echoed through the

growing plants.

When I was tall and strong,

The baby turned into a teenager

and carved into my side

with the saplings surrounding

their feet.

When my rings grew too many,

they came back with their

children, who climbed on my

limbs, looking over the

trees below.

When I was cut down,

they would take pictures of their

grandchildren sitting on

my stump, with the forrest as

their background.

When I returned brand new,

only the children and grandchildren

visited me, they sat on my

flat surface and talked about stories

I had witnessed there.

When my nails grew rusty and wood grew mold,

people stopped bringing flowers

and the field had become filled with too

many trees, a worn down bench, and an

abandoned grave stone.

-savvy.b

#poetry