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.