I keep on writing

This poem I've been told is "fresh." I originally was calling it "In Between" but how could I not resist changing it?? This is the first draft fyi; I wrote it last night. I felt compelled to write, I couldn't sleep, so I scribbled it on a piece of paper and just an hour ago, typed it up. As always, every poem is 100% original and like the seagull from Finding Nemo, it's "mine mine mine."

xo,

Ari

Fresh

The end of day

when crying completes,

my red, sore, tired eyes

and cheeks pinked, puffy

feeling the sting—

sweet words

honest words

that cut at my heart. 

My tears tonight

mark ending

overwhelming me, 

consuming me

stuck between

grasping and open hands. 

The middle—

an ending uncomfortable. 

Inspired by coffee, a couch and a city

It's no surprise I love NYC, coffee and maybe writing? The poem is from the point of view of the NYU Starbucks couch. if you've visited this particular establishment, I feel you'll fully understand this piece. Don't copy my poem please. Copying or saying it's your own creation (aka stealing it) is called plagiarism and that's illegal, and I'd be super pissed. If you'd like to leave a comment or two, what you like about it, what you don't, if any part of it is confusing, or any general comments, that would be much appreciated.

xo w <3,

Ari 

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NYC Starbucks

Cracked leather couch

wearing bronzed nail heads

sits watching at the window.

A microcosm of the world

like a miniature ant farm,

where the garbage and rusted bolts

of taxis zoom by,

sparkling because

that is New York City.

Spilt coffee, roasted bean dust,

and dye from a thousand blue jeans,

smudged, packed, and stained

in it’s wrinkles,

couch

sits watching at the window.

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Everything I write is 100% original work.

A poem about something ethereal

This is a poem I wrote based off an experience. It's unexplainable, so naturally it makes for an excellent poetic subject. This one, I feel, is nearly done, if not already. The editor of The Cortland Review, ahem, my professor, Ginger Murchison, said it's a powerful poem, particularly the end. As always, no copying my work please. Tell me what you like, loathe and/or general comments. Comments are always appreciated.

xo,
Ari

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Morning

Sleeping in the sunlight,

gold and yellow jewels

stream across the room.

Above, a clouded figure                  

looming there, watching.              

We stare at one another—                      

me with widened eyes,                 

and you,                                         

who are even more surprised,    

flee in fear of being seen

through that wall, 

I close my eyes,

but it’s too late.

I’ve seen you.
Seen you.

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Everything I write is 100% original work.