Dancing Alone• Show poetry

okay, let me start at the beginning

i recently found myself in a hard spot, and i was rather depressed...but then my english teacher read a poem, The Piano Speaks byShira Erlichman, and it was the most beautiful thing i had ever heard.

so i began to write my own poetry.
i wrote before when i was in middle school, but it wasn't deep, it had to element to it and it wasn't fulfilling, so i quit. then i heard my teacher read this poem about a piano, and i wanted to cry, it touched my deep inside. so i tried to find a poetry site where i could read poetry and write my own anonymously, and so here i am.

writing poetry has become the part of my day i enjoy most, reading what others think of my poems, and realizing that maybe i have a talent.

so yes, this is me. i guess i could also tell you how friggin crazy i am, and that i am random, and i love to have fun.... and i awnt to travel the world. so i guess thats it...
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The Piano Speaks
Shira Erlichman

I am the mental hospital piano and I have seen hands.
Yes, you would call them hands, but I call them night-creatures
clasping chords in their teeth, translucent spiders cooing dawn home.
I’ve been touched by black boil-fettered fingers fat as tarantulas,
let me tell you about the spiders I’ve seen …
These are not hands, these are sky-scouting web-weavers.
These are not hands, these are teeth and eyes, and fingers like legs,
running, jumping, leaving, they are the quiet legs of children standing after being left,
they are the hospital-socked shuffling arrivals at 2 a.m. come to sleep in aluminum beds.
I have heard them speak in the language of pressed flowers: take me home.

And I remember every single last one of them:
Shamanistic surgeons, they tore music out of me with a rusty knife.
Dogs the color of urine, they howled hymns in neon hospital moonlight.
Heroin-blooded teenagers who wet the bed they were so terrified
of their hallucinations, they smoked me instead and got higher than Jesus.

I remember those towering monuments to loneliness
you call hands. They were peacocks spreading in front of me
and I saw their coats of bruises.
They sang like the dying, sang like mothers to children,
sang like a choir of prophets in jail.

They wanted me honest. They liked me honest which is to say I was broken.
Nobody on staff fixed my raspy keys.
My notes remained sour and they played me like loving:
not quite perfect, unlearned, without a how-to-book—played me solemn,
like tortoises making at loving, slow and fevered and with their eyes closed.
And though some were old, they were all ancient,
they were all legends for sleeping in hell while others walked through and got out.
They played symphonies that tore-down the walls
so drugged up hall-walkers fled their loneliness and joined in the fever.
They played onetime, completely improvised, endless and sky-scraping AIDS cures,
they played healing and they tore off their tourniquets for me to kiss
their bloody wildfires.

I have never belonged to opera-houses or your mother’s cushy living room.
I live with those who bang daylight out of moondust,
now you tell me how you do that unless you are built of magic.
They study their own burning bodies.
They transcribe smoke signals and tear the lightning from their throats.
I have heard five-tongued creatures smash sunrise into pulp.
I have seen rhododendrons blossom thunderously
with the quiet hope and hunger of living and dying
as they play and bloom and smash and burn.
And you call them hands,
you call them hands.
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here is one of my facvorite songs in the world...its by a christian all girl band.


Mirror mirror on the wall, have I got it?
'Cause mirror you've always told me..
Who I am.
I'm finding it's not easy
To be perfect

So sorry, you won't define me
you don't own me
Who are you to tell me that I am less then I should be?!


I don't need to listen to the list of things I should do
I won't try.

Mirror I am seeing a new reflection
I'm looking into the eyes of he who made me


-Barlow Girl, Mirror Mirror


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heres some pics, in case you were curious...

http://s239.photobucket.com/albums/ff244/Baby_Fresh/?mediafilter=images

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**I wrote your name in the sand, but the waves washed it away.

I wrote your name on my hand but I washed it the next day.

I wrote your name on a piece of paper but I accidentally threw it away...

I wrote your name in my heart and forever it will stay!**


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