My Honest Poem
(Inspired by Rudy Francisco's My Honest Poem)
Hi.
My name is Madeline Downie
but I go by Maddie
because Madeline drinks her tea with sugar
and Maddie likes her coffee black,
bitter.
I was born in Boulder, Colorado,
but my memory slipped from that town
like smoke from a joint
and landed somewhere in the mountains
as mist over a lake.
I was raised alongside fawns in the forest,
moss growing between idle toes,
nineteen years later
I escaped to Nebraska,
but I left my footprints in the dirt
and my past read them like a map
and followed me there,
no matter how fast I ran.
My feet have become addicted to moving
and being in one place for to long
makes me feel like a goldfish
swimming in a glass half empty:
claustrophobic and depressed.
I tend to take corners slow
because in fourth grade
another kid and I collided
running too fast along
interlacing walls,
leaving my nose bleeding on cold concrete,
and now and again I wonder
if the kid I ran into
peers around corners in hesitation as I do,
feet moving faster than mind,
ready for the change in direction,
but afraid it will leave me bleeding in the end.
I’m a poet,
but I love silence,
and I spend more time making my words look pretty
than I do saying what I want to
but I get more compliments on my handwriting
than I do my metaphors.
I used to dot my i's with hearts
until I realized love isn't so easy to come by.
I want to buy a nice pen,
but I’m afraid I’ll lose it like I do other pens
just like how I want to invest in a nice person,
but I’m afraid they’ll slip from my backpack
and disappear on classroom floors,
hiding beneath the chair of a girl prettier
just out of reach.
And I tend to fall for boys who have dark eyes
like ink,
because I can use them to write poetry
about the way they make me feel inside.
Cliché, I know,
but I’d be content rephrasing what has been written before
if only to prove their truth
over and over again.
My favorite things include
hiding from the world
under heavy, denim quilts,
stories of how couples met,
and when the blinker aligns
with the beat of a song playing on the radio.
I spend my time
trying to explain the world
in similes and imagery,
and watching sunsets diminish my existence
into an epiphany,
an afterthought in a world of greats and glory.
It scares me
that one day I will regret what I haven’t done
and that Time will brush my life
off of its shoulder like dust,
and move on.
But I read popsicle stick jokes
like novels
and toss wandering thoughts into battered notebooks
hoping someday someone will beg me to read them aloud.
Hi.
I’m Madeline Downie
but I go by Maddie
because Madeline is afraid of scars
and broken teeth
but Maddie likes her coffee black,
bitter,
and her fingernails chipped and dirty.
I don’t know much,
but I know that birds sing only when they forget I am sitting there.
There is music in stillness,
but there are birds I’m afraid I’ll never hear sing
if I don’t find them.
So I’ll pack my bag full of bird seeds and notebooks
and hope to hear a symphony along my way.
