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Sun-Drenched Ribbons and Skylit Eyes

  My eyes grow porcelain shards and cerulean crevices  as your lightening shock reactions on all I am is starting to sink in. 
                                I.
I want to believe I can hate you but I know I can't. All my memories of you are wrapped up in laughing at anvils and bad jokes and making oreo smoothies that I tried because you liked them.

It registers in echo spines that when someone's hand brushes my arm I feel it more so, and I'm wary because of what you did to me. But I can't hate you because my memories of our closeness are more powerful then the way you stole from me.

                                          I. II

Barriers are woven into each miasma thought in my spinal brain- I block out pain as much as I can so if I lift my gums to drink the sky I don't feel the alcholic taste stinging my lips. I look at baby pictures and amarathine images but its hard to sift through the years we spent growing up together- each time I gingerly scrape the pain oozing from , I think eight year old memories, my mind shoots rubber bands in the form of hours spent demonstrating how to bark for my nine week old puppy, from notched triggers.

                          I.III
        I never understood why my parents wouldn't let you in my room- although you'd read plenty of Magic Treehouse books to me showing off how as a third grader you could read, when I was a kindergartner, and just learning to write my name. Even though I learned to hate snakes because your mom couldn't escape childhood memories of seeing triangular tails and parallel fangs sip breath from withered lungs.

She passed on her fear to me- this ability to hate at six years old a creature who would probably never hurt me- she raised me but still if you were ever in my room, my door was supposed to be open- although I had collected eight years and you eleven broken ones.
          I never cared though that much- your imaginary games of mermaid treehouses and demon puppies were the oxygen rushing through my veins carrying molucules of adventure to my ribs.

                I.III

Memories fade, waterlogged by drowning or time siphoning air from its lining. Segments of closed doors and being afraid of the dark games, breathe somewhere within my soul- but that's the most solidarity I have- I have one memory but the rest I can't place in any shadowed category.

      I know somewhere there- your fingertips played melodies of growing up into my shoulder blades in patterns I should have never been tattooed. I can feel it in the way I can't trust older guys around me, a part of me is disgusted and cautious over whether they'd dare to hurt me.
          My neighbors sprayed water guns in my face and dissolved balloons in breaking pieces onto my bare skin and pink shorts- I opened scratched plywood back doors and ferrocious year old puppy trapped them behind a tree but I was never close neough for them to do that to me.

                    I.IV


                I idolised you and would have done anything you told  me- because anywhere we went there was musty rock dams to build or carribean forts to create as the enemy which most of the time was black and white spotted fur and fluffy ears tried to lick us or herd us to her pen.


                It doesn't hurt that you opened doors of grey and wrong into my childhood- not in the way being the victim of silence and isolated months creates a silly putty condensed clot within my collar bone.

I don't really know how to be angry at you- because you were three years older and probably didn't mean to hurt me. It could easily have just been a game for you, when years later I'd be scarred, interlaced scabs of shooting star infusions and trust issues rotted in my skin.
          I know you stole from me- a part of an innocence that can't be replaced, something I've been looking for , for part of forever- to the point that upon realising it was gone subconsciously I closed my ears and raced into tomorrow, believe that maybe I could get there before everything else caught up with me.
     


                      I.V
        When I was with you- I was your partner in crime- this barefoot princess whose ideas created swing set wings and monkey bar feathers under tan bark skies. But I was always second- always slightly more hesitant.

    Maybe for so long- when I danced under the rain , drinking the sky to quench my hunger- as I built paper thin wings out of fairy villages and adrenaline highs- the girl I believed I was and wanted to be- was my escape from what you did to me.
     
If being thermal energy atoms and cobweb sticky buns meant loneliness didn't hurt, and I could always be in control of me without answering to anyone- then seeing her face in the mirror transported me across eras and galaxies from who I was to you.

                      I.VI

  The trippiest emotion- poetic blood spilling into hang nails and chipped eyeliner- is that I have to question what pain I feel and its reality because I imagine so often, because what I've been through never measures up to how much it hurts.
   
Neon wave lengths stumble drunk and uncordinated into my kartwheeling eyes, peeling back layers of train rides, and grilled cheeses and gravitational carousels to a stretch of years full of games that taught me to live, and games who dwelled in tiles and shower curtains and uncertainity. 
     

                  I.VII
I don't remember what happened- but I remember the only times ever being afraid of you.

We don't like to fear the ones we love- its a form of ethanol toxin lining our veins, so maybe that's the kinetic energy behind my strength at blocking those memories out.

      Denial is easier- then accepting I'm not just over dramatic because I'm unable to trust anyone, emotionally or physically half the time . Because I'd rather date guys who are younger than me, whose eyes aren't always clouded , then guys my own age or older, whose potential to touch those scabs, and crack the gauze is greater.

                        I.VIII

Summer drenched the ribbons of innocence in something different- and carnival lights flickered out but my search for gravity ended in carousels and city lights- like fireflies they burn out briefly, but they always come back.

Today my eyes are street lights- traffic lights- and county fair cotton candy kisses- innocence shrouded in different emotions.
     
      My limits are rare- and I was in seventh grade when I went the farthest most but not all of my friends would go till high school- guts wasn't ever something I lacked, because the way I figured I had little to lose.

    You taught me to live like there's no tomorrow because in an instant everything could carreen to a stop- not just jaded breath and scalding lungs but cycles themselves. However I've been reckless- trying to reclaim in short periods of time what you took from me.

                      I.IX


        My first kiss wasn't with you- but it should have been.

If you were going to peel that much of my innocence and leave me with fuzzy memories as if I've chugged fructose Vodka even though I hate the bumble bee sting of alcohol- you should have come back for me when I grew up.


There to put my pieces back together and teach me that losing innocence can mean being loved- if it had been you , life would have passed slower and I wouldn't have raced growing up, because you'd have come back to repair my wings- creating symbolic stitches that might withhold everything else.
   
     
         

Author notes

66/150
I used a lot of prompts- in other poems for other contests too btw, Great word prompts. I loved the title.

This poem is true- and its something that's very personal because I'm coming to terms with it just recently- having just battled depression and barely beaten it and struggled to redefine all I thought I was.

w r i t i n g 0 f r e e d o m

10 memories

gold

A contest entry

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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Comments

1 - 17 of 17

  • Antebellum
    July 6

    Edit | Reply
    When I was with you- I was your partner in crime- this barefoot princess whose ideas created swing set wings and monkey bar feathers under tan bark skies. But I was always second- always slightly more hesitant. '





    absoultly stunning imagery.
    thanks so much for entering.


  • AshleyAesthetic
    June 21

    Edit | Reply
    Ahmazing!
    This prose style write leaves me utterly speechless its so well done. You made sexual abuse seem both sad and heartfelt with warmer memories. I love the way you wrote this.
    Thank you so much for entering =)

  • XxLoverOfDarknessxX
    June 9

    Edit | Reply
    wow. this left me speechless, which is a hard thing to do. it was amazing! beautiful! just....WOW! you are very talented and could go very far in writing poetry. so stunning, and so perfect. it was amazing!!! WOW! you took my breath away with this piece. I LOVED IT!!! BRAVO!!! every stanza and line were just phenomenal, each becoming more and more powerful, bringing forth more emotions each time, and ending so beautifully. keep up the excellent work!! this was fantastic! a true masterpiece! thanks for entering and good luck in my contest!

  • mjm1495
    June 6
    Edit | Reply
    long but ok Good Luck int the contest


  • Walk-Free
    June 5
    Edit | Reply
    2 words:

    absolutely beautiful


  • Isolatedsouls17
    June 3

    Edit | Reply

    good

    well...i was hoping for something that is poem form..not like a short story...but good luck and thanks for entering


  • liquidmindforever gold member
    May 22

    Edit | Reply

    Expressive

    Dear Poet,

    Thank you for entering my contest: IS IT 3 HOURS
    BEHIND OR 21 HOURS AHEAD with your submission
    Sun-Drenched Ribbons and Skylit Eyes.

    Nice title. Creates an image for the reader.

    Wishing you the best

    until then
    stay

    liquid


  • pinksnowboots
    May 20

    Edit | Reply
    I love all of this part.


    My first kiss wasn't with you- but it should have been.

    If you were going to peel that much of my innocence and leave me with fuzzy memories as if I've chugged fructose Vodka even though I hate the bumble bee sting of alcohol- you should have come back for me when I grew up.


    There to put my pieces back together and teach me that losing innocence can mean being loved- if it had been you , life would have passed slower and I wouldn't have raced growing up, because you'd have come back to repair my wings- creating symbolic stitches that might withhold everything else.


  • decode
    May 14
    Edit | Reply

    yes.

    I see potential in this. you'll have to learn how to condense a bit though.


  • still.she.waits
    May 13
    Edit | Reply
    it's a little much... sometimes less is more.

    yes.


  • libel -
    May 13
    Edit | Reply
    i'm sorry, but no.


  • amaranthine lover gold member
    May 13
    Edit | Reply
    of course


  • heavenbird
    May 13
    Edit | Reply

    yes.


  • Candy Morphine
    May 9

    Edit | Reply
    making oreo smoothies that I tried because you liked them.
    -mmn, they sound yummy :]

    But I can't hate you because my memories of our closeness are more powerful then the way you stole from me.
    -that is great; but then shound be 'than'.

    spinal brain
    -okay so maybe use a different word than 'spinal' because you use the word spine in the sentence above.

    so if I lift my gums to drink the sky I don't feel the alcholic taste stinging my lips
    -excellent. drinking the sky is a wonderful concept.

    Even though I learned to hate snakes because your mom couldn't escape childhood memories of seeing triangular tails and parallel fangs sip breath from withered lungs. ]
    -my god; my breath is stolen and lodged amongst those words.

    molucules of adventure to my ribs
    -brilliant.

    I know somewhere there- your fingertips played melodies of growing up into my shoulder blades in patterns I should have never been tattooed
    -gorgeous; just absolutely gorgeous.

    My neighbors sprayed water guns in my face and dissolved balloons in breaking pieces onto my bare skin and pink shorts- I opened scratched plywood back doors and ferrocious year old puppy trapped them behind a tree but I was never close neough for them to do that to me.
    -i remeber pieces of that in your other poem. very pretty.


    then guys my own age or older, whose potential to touch those scabs, and crack the gauze is greater
    -should be 'than' but othere than that, this is astonishing.


    My first kiss wasn't with you- but it should have been.
    -i LOVE this.



  • xmiasmatik
    May 9

    Edit | Reply
    this, is absolutely stunning. A masterpiece. Its a story that leaves a miasma of danger and memories. Inspires me to no end.

    i noticed a couple misspellings, typos, the usual flaws we all hold in our poetry, but unlike with some poems, it barely bothered me at all in this.

    i completely love this. its amazing. great great job.

1 - 17 of 17