[x]

Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owen
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.

she pirouetted
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
proved rough.

this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before
its death.

Birth of PoetryI tangled my fingers in the curls of the universe,
pulled. The earth fell out: round, warm, spinning.

Awkward and shy, she wondered how she got here; how
a rock that got wet and grew moss could be significant.

So I scooped her up in my fingers, breathed her scent:

(lilies and oceans and ozone and forests and fish and birds
and whales and rain and the empty elegance in wolf howls)

death and life. I found chaos
and knew beauty.

luhv --verbAs a small child, love was not a word bound by definition. Love was not a word at all. It was my father sitting beside my bed, and our nightly exchange:

"Papa, read me a bedtime story."

"Alright," he replied, opening his hands like a book. He pretended to scan the contents of his palm. My face split into a grin, knowing the next words before they came. "Once upon a time," he began, his tenor voice filled with drama. Already I was giggling. Then he closed his hands with a soft clap. "The end!"

"No!" I squealed. "A real story, Papa!"

Afterward, Papa pressed his whiskery face to my forehead, whispered the same prayer he whispered over all hi

Tyrian PurpleTyrian purple
lips match the blue
fingerprint bruises wrapped around
her throat like the latest fashion.
A thump
and a gulp of air
rushes into the silent stage
of a delectable crime scene.
They prod her body like sushi with chopsticks;
the air tastes stale, unused.
One uniform brushes fingertips
across her velvet skin while
another admires the glossy black hair
missing a single lock.

Bitlet 09 - PoliticsWhen I speak of Carolina, cicadas sing in my memory
and I want to shout so you, little sister, might understand
the way a creature smaller than my hand can stand
with its brethren and shake my arrogance, how each
of their voices alone are just the sliver of a whisper -
but singing together they become thunder.

Dear Teen MeDear Teen Me,

Too often, we lean toward writing to the general audience. I've rewritten this very letter at least three times, and had to scrap it each time because it did not accomplish what it needs to accomplish. It needs to be a letter to you, not to every teenage girl in America. It needs to speak to your heart, your dreams, and your faults. It needs to be about you.

Since we were able to comprehend compassion, we've used it as a shield to avoid ourselves. We've sympathized with the plights of the starving in Asia, the trafficked in India, the raped and tortured in Sudan and Burma. We've given to the Red Cross on behalf of hurricane an

Peeking Greenpeeking green
from firm packed dirt -
leaflet kisses gravestone.

The First Time I Cried...The First Time I Cried While Reading Poetry

You asked if a soul can ache,
watched the tears slide toward
the hollow place in our bed.

I wondered if little girls in Thailand
sleeping in servitude and blameless sin
believe God loves them.

You reached across the sheets,
pressed the pad of your left thumb into my hip,
and impaled miracles on dull words:

"look at us, all agony and grace."

Then rolled away, content to sleep
breathing synced to my sobs.
I kissed your palms, closed my eyes

knew love to be a rabid dog.

The first time I cried
while reading a poem,
you smiled and asked

"does the world make more sense
when it's blurry?

SurrogateI stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.

And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.

To My Younger SelfDear Little Lili,

Never try to cut your own hair. God or genetics or the fates (whatever we'll eventually prefer) blessed us with many skills, but coordination is not one of them. For this reason avoid any sport that requires contact with others. You'll save a few broken bones.

Read everything. Books will be better friends to you than most people, but that is because they are humanity distilled - all of the beauty and none of the beast. Love them accordingly.

Touch the barbs of velvet-petal roses before you inhale their perfume. Get used to the way blood wells, then rolls across the ridges in your skin. Emotions are not so different. You c

Burning LowBirthday candles drip
wax on red icing roses
like melting icicles.

Finish LinesI wonder where the
finish line is when you're a
long distance runner,
and how you know when you get there.

I wonder where long
distance runners are going
and if they're lonely on the way,
knowing they're leagues ahead of everyone,
alone.

EvergreenThe tree was different every year. He wasn't sure when the phenomenon began. He had only noticed in the last decade, when he moved back to his childhood home. Whenever the leaves grew back, it was a different tree. This year was a birch. Last year, an oak.

He hoped it never became a pine.

MuseMy muse is a shadow
licking at my heels, curled up
in the back of my mind.

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Bitlet 09 - PoliticsWhen I speak of Carolina, cicadas sing in my memory
and I want to shout so you, little sister, might understand
the way a creature smaller than my hand can stand
with its brethren and shake my arrogance, how each
of their voices alone are just the sliver of a whisper -
but singing together they become thunder.

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Submitted: December 31, 2011
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Letter to My Younger Self 2by `LiliWrites

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Letters

©2011-2013 `LiliWrites

I really like writing these.

#Letters-To-Myself is hosting their third annual contest! I highly recommend you join in the fun.

~navdepp Jun 14, 2012

Brilliantly done///
thanx, I needed that..

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`LiliWrites Jul 1, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks! I'm glad it could help.

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*BeyondJen Jan 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is brilliant writing. I love the subtle light-hearted humor its laced with. And yet, it's eloquent. You also managed to write this in such a way that anyone enduring a tough spell could read this and take it to heart, as if it'd come from their future self. Nicely done.

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`LiliWrites Jan 24, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much.

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*BeyondJen Jan 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

My pleasure. =]

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=iPawed Jan 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

_{hmm, i think you may have inspired me to do this again.}

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`LiliWrites Jan 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

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=iPawed Jan 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

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~wyldhoney Jan 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It's nice to see you are so well in touch with yourself. Myself and I are pretty much on non speaking terms, apart from calling each other "git" from time to time.

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`LiliWrites Jan 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

lol well some relationships are less verbal.

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