Dec. 25, 2017

Dec. 25, 2017

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Short texts.

Shaky breaths.

I'm hurting.

You're quiet.

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Untitled

Untitled

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

A few months ago, I told someone that the only bad thing about being with you was that happiness gives me writers block.

Never fear.

When you left me, the words came back.

I guess I'm not that alone after all.

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Not According to Plan

Not According to Plan

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

And so it goes...

Right place.

Wrong time.

Complicated.

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Bet

Bet

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

You will find yourself in between the lines of Shakespeare;

Tucked into the corners of letters and standing atop the punctuation marks.

Take your blinders off.

You are not Pandora's box.

You are fingerprints on windowsills;

Loud and boisterous laughs.

You're the minor keys.

You are quiet footsteps and shadows that stand ten feet tall, depending on where the sun is.

You are broken. As are the rest of us.

There's nothing wrong with that.

You can't expect to come out of this life without a little wear and tear.

You are crossed arms and raised eyebrows,

and sometimes really stupid jokes.

Find the good. Run towards it.

There's no need for a map.

Stop waiting for one.

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In Response to Maya Angelou

In Response to Maya Angelou

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

She knows why the caged bird sings,

and I know what it's like to have clipped wings.

I could pull myself up, but I need a breeze,

So please go on and breathe on for me.

My wings are stiff and sometimes tired;

Yours are ones to be admired.

I think that you and Atlas conspired

to make the skies your own.

So help me leap off of the roof;

in the clouds, will I find silver-lined truth?

As I'm falling slowly, I won't confuse

New beginnings with the ground.

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Downtown

Downtown

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

The twinkle lights reflect in your hazel eyes, and my sweater dips off of my shoulder.

I breathe in, you pull me closer.

We kiss at a street corner and then in the parking garage.

Your laugh is loud; your hands are strong.

I bury my face in your neck.

If only a moment could last forever.

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Message: For You

Message: For You

A poem by Brigid Cooley

You aren't a loose end I'm worried about anymore.

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Apologies in Advance

Apologies in Advance

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

There is a part of me that I know is shutting down right now;

Even though everything is wonderful and you make me smile and feel content.

A part of me is saying that I should run fast and far away from this shot at happiness.

I want you to know that I'm trying not to.

It's just a hard process; learning to trust again.

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After

After

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

When I cry, my eyes get puffy and my lips turn red.

I wouldn't have expected you to know that.

You've never seen me cry.

That's because I only ever do it when you're far away.

In theatre, being punctual is imperative to success.

If you're not early, you're late, and if you're late, you miss your cues.

Well, if all the world's a stage, you arrived 13 years after your call time.

Or maybe I was a decade early.

I hope you're scribbling in your notebook right now.

Or maybe you're typing away at your phone screen,

Looking for the right rhythm for a stanza and for words that rhyme with me.

Someone told me once that to write is to heal.

It happens slowly, with first drafts and scratched out lines, but eventually, you heal none the less.

So that's what I'm doing.

Or at least, I'm trying to.

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This Is Why We Couldn't Work

This Is Why We Couldn't Work

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I caved and texted you today;

Just to make sure that you were okay.

You responded with one word sentences only.

Somehow, that was worse than not knowing.

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Perspective

Perspective

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

The second star to the right can be any star you choose.

That's why J. M. Barrie worded it that way;

So that you could learn to appreciate your own perspective.

On nights like these, I find myself wondering how many different stars have been my Neverland.

When I was little, I would leave my bedroom windows unlocked so that the boy who lived forever wouldn't have to waste his time trying to pick the locks.

Sounds unsafe.

But, sometimes faith is synonymous with taking risks.

So many people have told me that I am too old for fairytales.

To them, adulthood means forgetting your dreams as soon as you have them.

I'm devastated at the idea that they've given up on their own.

You know, if you really think about it, the Lost Boys weren't all that lost.

Displaced, maybe, but aren't we all?

I suppose it all depends on your perspective.

Get it now?

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Getting Better

Getting Better

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

My arms are a lot bigger than they used to be.

I only cringed a little bit as I wrote the previous sentence.

Full disclosure: sometimes, I scroll through my old Facebook profile pictures and wonder if other people see the subtle differences between then and now like I do.

My waist is a few inches bigger than it used to be.

The veins in my neck are less prominent.

My jawbone looks a little bit softer now.

You can't count all of my ribs anymore.

To me, all of those things are not-so-tiny victories.

It pains me to think that others see them as setbacks. 

Or that they don't see them at all.

I ate two whole pieces of pizza while I was out in public the other day.

I didn't try to hide it, and I stood tall when I went back for seconds.

No one said a thing, but my mom smiled proudly at me.

Look at how far I've come.

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Saturday Evening

Saturday Evening

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Silly boy, don't you realize that you are gasoline and I am a fire that is in need of more fuel?

Together, we burn bright. 

That's true.

But if no one is there to supervise,

we could reduce entire forests to ash with our mistakes.

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Heartache and Paint Stains

Heartache and Paint Stains

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

You know what I hate about this crummy town?

It is stained all over with the colors of others.

It's like a canvas after someone knocked over the paint bin.

Once, a blank slate; now, a masterpiece. Or a tragedy. Sometimes both.

There are some things that you can't get stains out of, no matter how hard you try.

Sidewalks

Jungle gyms

coffee shops

picnic tables

libraries

lips

That's just to name a few.

No matter what you try, you can't bleach fingerprints out of them.

You can throw away soiled clothing, but memories are a little harder to get rid of.

My friends say that time will bring me clarity.

I don't need that.

What I need is space that is free of hand-me-down mistakes, so that I can make some new ones.

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Mr. Mark

Mr. Mark

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Once, a blind man sat next to me as we waited to board the same plane.

I helped guide him from his seat and to the check in desk when no one else would.

Out of all the stories sitting close to me, his was the one I wanted to know the most.

I wondered where he was going.

I wondered where he called home.

I wondered who he loved and who loved him.

He made me realize how much I rely on sight; how easily I take for granted the ability to see the people I am talking to; how careless my steps are.

I wondered if he ever wishes that he could see, or if he is content in a world made up of voices and soundbites.

Maybe he wouldn't change a thing, even if he had the option to.

His laugh was loud and boisterous.

I hope he thought that mine was as well.

I had been worried about not wearing makeup, but he helped me to remember what really mattered.

"Thank you so much. Sometimes people don't want to help me."

Not me, sir. I want to help you again and again.

I want to make you laugh that boisterous laugh and smile that bright smile.

I want to be a window of generosity to you.

I want to give you a glimpse of what is good and right in this world.

You have absolutely given me one.

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Poetry With Meaning (Not Just Words)

Poetry With Meaning (Not Just Words)

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I want you to be blunt and to the point when you speak to me.

Honesty is something that I search for in people.

But at the same time, please be gentle when you tell me things.

I have taped myself back together so many times that I need to be handled with care.

I am sorry if I am asking too much of you.

I am aware that I can be a handful.

It's just that sometimes, my heart aches at the idea of having to live a life without you in it;

that's why I'm trying to slip you cheat sheets in the form of poetry.

It would probably help if I told you that they were meant for you, huh?

I am not always good at honesty, but let me give it a try:

I want you to understand me.

I want you to see me for who I am.

I want you to want to see more of who I am.

I want you to want to know me like the back of your hand.

I will give you all of the answers.

Just, please...ask me the questions.

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Imperfection, So Perfect

Imperfection, So Perfect

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

If you Google search images of the Grand Canyon, you will see proof that the Earth, in all its beauty, has stretch marks.

Go YouTube videos of Mt. St. Helens erupting during the era of Michael Jackson and shoulder pads.

Nature has mood swings too.

In the winter, birds leave their homes and look for a place that is warmer in order to find comfort.

Sometimes, you have to leave in order to find comfort.

Clouds cry.

Winds can be destructive.

Branches fall when they are being weighed down by too much.

Approximately 5 million people a year travel to see one of Earth's stretch marks so that they can gasp at its wonder; yet, we continue to cover up our own.

Are we afraid that someone might look at our imperfections and think that they are beautiful?

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Holding the Sky and Other Extreme Sports

Holding the Sky and Other Extreme Sports 

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Do you ever sit on the floor of your bathroom and just cry?

I do.

I let the water run so that the tears can run down my face.

Then, the ceiling collapses on top of me.

In Greek mythology, Atlas was condemned to a life of holding the Sky on his shoulders for the rest of forever.

Some people think he held the World, but no...the Sky weighs much more.

I understand his burden.

The moon is 238,900 miles away.

If I could make the time, I'd fly there.

Envision storm clouds clashing with sun rays.

That is how I feel.

A juxtaposition of a soul.

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What I Think About: An Answer to Your Question

What I Think About: An Answer to Your Question

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

The statistical probability of failure.

The way the ocean laps against the beach every moment; all the time.

Words that rhyme, and words that don't.

How close the end of the summer is.

How I sometimes have to tiptoe to reach the things that I want.

What I will be doing tomorrow.

What I will be doing in 5 years.

What I will be doing when I am 57.

How the world is so broken and how I feel like I have to fix it.

The fact that I can't fix this broken world by myself.

Every second, 2 people die.

Every second, 4 people are born.

The glass is only half full.

The plan.

The lack of plan.

Missed opportunities.

Mistakes that I regret.

What the correct choice is.

The second star to the right.

Someone who could be wicked, but wouldn't.

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The Poem in Which I Kiss a Boy

The Poem in Which I Kiss a Boy

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I kept my eyes open at first.

He doesn't know that.

I had to, in order to believe that it was real.

When I closed my eyes, I laughed into his lips.

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Starry Night

Starry Night 

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

My eyes keep darting from freckle to freckle, like I'm trying to solve some sort of connect-the-dots.

There is a whole galaxy in your eyes,

speckled constellations on your cheeks.

I can't even imagine how beautiful your mind is; the Aurora Borealis in motion.

You are a universal beauty.

Black holes, meteors, shooting stars, and all.

I am only hoping that one day, I will no longer be looking up at you through my telescope;

that one day, our solar systems will collide.

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Yellow Light

Yellow Light

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

You make me think of that quick little moment before the yellow light turns red.

The moment that can make even the meekest among us bold.

That moment where you decide to either commit full on or to jump ship.

You remind me of the turn of the century.

How suddenly, the number 99 makes people realize the weight of time;

when suddenly, the unknown seems more dangerous than the mundane every day.

You make me think of flirting with danger;

something I've become rather good at.

I run yellow lights all the time.

I was born in a 99.

But I can't find a conclusion: not for this poem, and not for you.

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Virginia, Goodbye

Virginia, Goodbye

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Goodbye for now, but not forever.

I promise I won't forget you; never.

Your rainy days on DOG street,

your shell pathways crunching under my feet.

Waking up with you was easy, no worry,

and nothing ever felt hurried.

Hidden bookstores and half finished tea;

those are things that will never leave me.

So, Freedom, felt strong and clear,

I will revisit you another year.

Virginia, goodbye for now, but not forever.

Please don't forget me, ever.

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List

List

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Once, you told me you had a list of facts about me saved onto your phone.

I wonder if that disappeared once I did.

I am sorry; I am the only thing that has ever been completely my own.

I wanted to be the person you dreamed that I was, but why pretend something if you already know it will never be real?

I am not afraid of heights. I am afraid of falling.

No,

excuse me...

stupid auto correct.

I am afraid of failing.

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To The People Who Look for the Invisible

To The People Who Look for the Invisible 

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

The soft look in your eyes contradicts the way they can cut through the bullshit.

You have the eyes of an eagle, but with the grace of a swan.

While some of us only ever see the shadows, you look knowingly towards the sun.

You are a warrior for others; someone who Life drafted into the business of saving.

I marvel at the way you notice the faded scars on the wrists of busy-bodies. 

I revel in the way you can detect the patterns that piano fingers quietly beat onto tabletops. 

I have learned life lessons from the way you can read between lines.

I have discovered that unearthing the muddy truth is not something you try to do; you are simply doing what you were made to do.

Speaking as someone who is good at hiding: thank you for respectfully invading my privacy.

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Sunflower

Sunflower

A poem by Brigid Cooley

You shine so brightly, Sunflower;

your colors are brighter than most.

Don't hide yourself from the April showers;

those tears just might bring you hope.

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Little Feet

Little Feet

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Little feet and grown up voices.

David, your world is full of choices.

My wish for you as you grow old:

I hope that you stay loud and bold.

I hope you paint the world anew,

As you become a better you.

This world needs a little spice,

To stop and make it think twice.

You can be that if you dare,

And change the world because you care.

I know that you will paint the world anew,

As you become a bigger you.

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Gina

Gina

A poem by Brigid Cooley

When you go out and gold pan for people who are worthy of your love,

please do not be afraid if you come up short.

It is a long process; to unearth things that glitter.

Do not be discouraged when your hands are empty.

It is not failure that you see...it is learning that things of importance take time.

Understand that your boots will be muddied before you are done here;

Understand that sometimes you may have to move a little further upstream.

Though sometimes the water is murky, have faith that the dust will settle.

One day, you will find people who are priceless; people whose hearts beat in time with yours.

And if that day doesn't come fast enough, take a break long enough to look down at the sunflowers that are growing by your feet.

You are surrounded by beauty,

and isn't that the best feeling?

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Claire

Claire

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

If I could give you anything, it would be the promise that there will always be a romantic movie at your disposal, and a good book in your hand.

I am grateful to have witnessed the way your blue eyes light up at the thought of first kisses and yellow scarves.

You are a friend to the past,

a lover of the vintage.

I am not claiming to be a fortune teller, but I predict that your future will be full of coffee stained notebook pages and quiet little glances that can easily be taken for granted.

I cannot give you everything. I cannot give you even half of what you deserve.

But I can promise that I will always have a place for you; that I will always think of you when I order chocolate croissants and when I secretly tuck movie ticket stubs into my purse.

Isn't it wonderful, to give love freely, and with the confidence that you will receive it back?

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Lines from Half Written Memories and Forgotten Feelings

Lines from Half Written Memories and Forgotten Feelings

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Once upon a time,

there was a girl who loved more than most and cried harder than many...

I've got to get back to rhyming,

And working on my poetic timing...

I want a "stay in the car until the song ends" kind of love...

Picture this: I'm walking through a mall on a Friday, and suddenly, I smell you;

the smell of old leather boots and aftershave...

If you wonder where she'll be,

you can find her by the sea...

It's cute, how your tongue gets twisted on your own jokes.

There is no such thing as silence. 

Somehow, there will always be noise...

If a piece of clothing could tell a story, I'd love to hear its tale...

What if the world wore a paid of glasses, for just a day?

I don't think things would be the same...

I write fairytales and first kisses that I don't believe in... 

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Polaroid

Polaroid 

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Just because your colors are muted,
Doesn't mean that you are dull.
It doesn't matter what he concluded,
As long as your heart is full. 

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Definition:

Definition:

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I have a Pinterest board dedicated to words.
Eccedentesiast: noun; someone who hides pain behind a smile.

I believe that words define people, even if we don't want them to.
Lacuna: noun; a blank space, a missing part.

We are all walking storybooks.
Solivagant: verb; wandering alone.

We all have lines that need to be read between.
Lypophrenia: noun; feeling of sadness, seemingly without any cause.

But we never stop long enough to find them.
Adronitis: noun; frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.




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Serendipity

Serendipity

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I was born on a rainy day in January.

My grandma says I was a winter rose.

That was almost my middle name.

I grew up on mud pies and country songs;

I became a hoarder of books.

And now, here I am...puddle jumping to conclusions.

I wish I could fly.

I wish I could feel the raindrops against my wings as I look down on skyscrapers.

When I find "the guy",

I do not want him to promise me rainbows.

I want him to promise me that when it rains, he will leave the umbrella at home;

he will ask me to dance in the street and twirl me around so that the light of the street lamp close by blurs into a sunny horizon.

I do not want the polished, the put together.

I want the refurbished, the broken made new.

I want the rainy Wednesday's spent sitting in the car, listening to the music the storm around us composes.

Just for us.

I want to count the raindrops that are trapped in his eyelashes and to kiss away his tears.

I need grey skies and melancholy lullabies.

I need sopping hair and goosebumpy arms.

Leave the umbrella behind.

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Worth

Worth

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

You deface a dollar bill and you commit a crime.

Yet, at the end of the day, that bill will be fine.

You can cut, you can tear, you can break it down;

You can burn, you can crush, throw it to the ground...

yet that dollar bill is still worth all that it's worth.

Green and soft, stamped with the faces of History.

How it can go through so much and not degrade itself is still a mystery,

but that dollar is still worth all that it's worth.

You deface yourself and you commit a crime,

and unlike a dollar, you will not be fine.

You cut, you starve, you put yourself down;

You burn, you cry, you fall to the ground...

yet you are still worth all that you are worth.

Beautiful and bright, a part of History.

How you can't see it? To me, that is still a mystery,

but you are still worth all that you are worth.

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Smelling Like Smoke

Smelling Like Smoke

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

He,

smells like cigarettes and wasted dreams.

She, 

smells like a bonfire and a million regrets.

Both of them,

burning.

Two different outcomes.

Two different stories,

but they both smell like smoke when they get home.

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The Poem About Crater Jumping

The Poem About Crater Jumping

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

The dust in our eyes must have come from the same star.

That's the only way I can explain how you manage to see me so clearly.

Lesson one: the universe has an abundant supply of options.

It will always have something, someone, to spend its lifetime with.

Moonwalkers have it a bit harder.

They struggle to keep their feet on the ground; their shoulders like the way they look when they are clothed in clouds.

Starlight and fireflies look the same from a distance,

but once a view becomes familiar,

Astronauts learn to tell the difference.

You thought breathing was hard?

Try crater jumping without the assurance that someone if there to catch you.

Your eyes are cloudy, but I know that they see past the meteor debris.

Your soul understand what my metaphors mean.

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