This is perfect.

For Elena, or http://schmeisicle.tumblr.com/

One of my best friends.

Melancholy

The Earth speaks in whispers. Her call

is dead leaves, ponds icing over, a child leaving home.

She cries: We are all together! You know my name,

but you have forgotten it. Your love of Spring does not heal.

Your love of comfort does not soothe. Your teeth bite, they ache,

and you trample layers of growth. You are mean,

friend, and you see no beauty in the cold. You see only hell,

and wander namelessly, lonely, forgetting the others. Your cell

is an avalanche of doubt… You forgot: in this place, we are all holy,

all Paradise lost and regained. We are all comely,

visible, and extraordinary. It is up to you: stop being coy

and remember: we are all together: simple, plain, elegant, calm.

This is for Celine. Her favorite quote is: “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

I am sick. Heart-broken coughs rattle my body and the

cold burns everywhere. Sickly sweet, this sickness is the greatest

pandemic. I am in love. And what a love! The thing

is, it causes palpitations. My sinuses are stuffed. You’ll

laugh, sure, but I am bed-ridden. Each and ever-

y night I shiver in cold, flu sweats. And my body has learn-

ed to adapt. My aches and pains are caresses. Is

that not the definition of ecstasy? To just

lay writhing in the ache? To wish for a beginning? To

feel as if every pore is bursting? Yes, love

is an illness of the worst kind. Incurable, fatal. It is cancer and

it is also the cure. The radiation emanates, be-

ing both chemotherapy and chemoempathy. I am loved

and it is the infection that will kill me. It tears apart my cells. In

our bed, I leave you with everything, and wait for sleep to return.

Sarah followed my website: http://highestformofwhit.wordpress.com

so she gets a poem! Her favorite word is “Aesthetic,” so with that, I word jumbled it for fifteen minutes, took the twelve words I liked the most, and wrote a poem. The last word of each line is one of the words I brainstormed.

Aesthetic

She stands silent: staring at the sea. She hates

the hold it has on her. The waves tease

her spine, sending shivers that scathe.

She lost herself here: the water cast

her about, tumbled her body in the chase

to get to the sand. The water lies. It acts

anonymously, anchoring malevolence and teach-

ing brutally. Barely breathing, she steps forward and cheats

water with her toes. Her heart rate quickens, thoughts no longer chaste

and she runs into the waterwall, the force erasing her aches.

Her breath becomes battered, but stronger. The current heats

her soul. She is on fire. Taking a breath, she dives into ash.

Wow. Hi, everyone!

Since you took a moment to follow this here blog, if you would do me the honor of checking out my website, http://highestformofwhit.wordpress.com and following that if you like it, and liking it on facebook, and telling friends about it… I’d probably propose to all of you.

Or bake cookies and send them to you.

OR! Or. Totally write you a poem. That is something I would actually do. SO. If you want a customized poem written to your specifications, please:

1. follow my website
2. like it on facebook (feel free to add me there, too. You’ll find me pretty quick), and
3. tell everyone you know about it.

I will then write and (if you want me to) email or mail, or post on this here tumblr, the poem I wrote for you.

Pretty, pretty please. This may sound like I’m whoring myself out and… well, yeah, I guess I kind of am. But it’s for my career as a writer. In order to get published, I have to look marketable. And in order to look marketable, I must have an established following.

So join me on my super secret quest of awesomeness. And check out my website.

ETA: Oh! And once you have accomplished at least two of the three tasks set out for you above, comment or message me what you would like your poem to be about. :)

So I wrote a poem. If you steal it, you will be mauled to death by unicorns. I’m not kidding.  They will find you, and they will maul you. to death. I haven’t written a poem in a while because I’ve lacked inspiration, time, or what-have-you. But this one came to me in the middle of the night a week or so ago, and I like it.

Ignore the stupid -s. Tumblr won’t let me format this poem the way I’d like to, so I had to improvise.

My heart is full, but empty:

a balloon.

Inflated with the breaths I give it,

rising and rising and rising into the atmosphere.

-

The ribbon let loose from a little girl’s hand,

she watches it soar higher, disappearing into

condensed moisture, expanded air,

where she cannot hear it

-

-

pop.

you write a line of poetry, post it on tumblr, and your roommate makes it her facebook status without crediting it as your writing. And now you’re sad because other people liked the line, and they don’t know it’s yours.

I miss the little things:

your tv-dinner tables

pre-sleep mumbles

and your middle-of-the-night pecks on the cheek.

I miss holding on to your arm

for dear life, just walking down the street

egg-in-a-hole on a skillet

folding your laundry (incorrectly)

and the click your lamp makes when I turn it off.

That is a VERY rough draft of the poem I’m writing in response. Very rough. Don’t judge me for how rough it is. :)

I don’t go looking, I let love find me. I’m happy, and I don’t mind whether or not I’m in a relationship. I’m working on loving myself so I can better love someone else.

here’s the story I told you I’d link you to. It’s… mostly nonfiction, just fictionalized with a few details added for spice (the names have been changed). Keep in mind, I wrote this story four years ago. It’s in drastic need of re-writing and editing, but I think it’s still funny. http://sporkingitup.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=48#/d1v4lnb

Another new idea! I’m going to post a line to a poem I’m working on daily. Or as they hit me. Usually daily.

Today’s:

I feel like orange juice: sweet but acidic, treating your taste buds and searing your stomach.