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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