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What is love? Baby don’t hurt me. | Poetry in the Margins

https://poetryinthemargins.wordpress.com/2015/07/25/what-is-love-baby-dont-hurt-me

Poetry in the Margins. Snap back to reality, oh there goes gravity. →. Baby don’t hurt me. July 25, 2015. She pushed through the swarms of people at the bar, needing desperately to put distance between him and herself. “Sorry,” she whispered after stepping on Blondie’s foot while speeding out of the court yard. The car lit up and she praised God that the parking space was right outside the stone walls. Does he only plan the big things like my career, or my ultimate soulmate? Ever since I was in high scho...

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Poetry in the Margins | Page 2

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Poetry in the Margins. Newer posts →. Us when we grow up. September 6, 2015. When I was younger, I had a file folio where I kept every folded note, every birthday card, every candy gram. They say there wedged beside the multitude of programs for musicals I was in and concerts I sang at. Through the years (and many episodes of Hoarders later), the files got smaller and smaller as I realized that some things just weren’t so necessary to keep. Counting bruises and broken bones. September 1, 2015. So there I...

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Darcie Jenkins | Poetry in the Margins

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Poetry in the Margins. Author Archives: Darcie Jenkins. Love everything, but be attached to nothing. June 9, 2016. Mom picked me up from the airport that summer. I had just graduated high school but wasn’t quite ready to claim independence yet (cue: “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman”). I laid my head against the window as tears rolled down my face. I had only been in Oklahoma for a week, but somehow, coming back to my small town felt like a prison sentence. 8221; that make all the difference in the world.

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A Girl's Life in Ink: March 2015

http://girlslifeinink.blogspot.com/2015_03_01_archive.html

A Girl's Life in Ink. Tuesday, March 31, 2015. A Letter To You. Stop looking at your feet. It won't matter, in the end of times, whether your hair curled perfectly when you took the wand to it; it will matter how your heart stood up against the fires of a world gone awry. Cry it out. Don't stifle what your heart wants you to feel - the universe doesn't get to label you weak or broken. Feel your hurt. Your anger. Your loss. Let it wreak havoc if it will help you stand back up, again. Life is not so long.

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Flecks of gold in a world of grey.  | Poetry in the Margins

https://poetryinthemargins.wordpress.com/2015/06/18/flecks-of-gold-in-a-world-of-grey

Poetry in the Margins. Ignorance is bliss (all the beautiful elements of a strangers wedding). All these patterns like fancy brickwork. →. Flecks of gold in a world of grey. June 18, 2015. 8220;But what happens when your happy can’t make you happy? I couldn’t sleep that night laying there clutching at the comforter trying to make patterns of the ceiling tiles. How does someone become that hopeless. I wondered sadly, praying that I would never get to that point. We need happiness to last in moments to rem...

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All these patterns like fancy brickwork. | Poetry in the Margins

https://poetryinthemargins.wordpress.com/2015/07/05/961

Poetry in the Margins. Flecks of gold in a world of grey. Jameson and Jack. →. All these patterns like fancy brickwork. July 5, 2015. 8220;You are my friend. You’ve always mattered.” If those words were a lie, they’re the prettiest lie you’ve ever told. Patterns. Like the two large books you forever kept on your dining room table or the ripped up jeans you would throw on during your mornings off work. Like the watch you so carefully laid out at night, or the bed you made so neatly after waking up. You ar...

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Ignorance is bliss (all the beautiful elements of a strangers wedding) | Poetry in the Margins

https://poetryinthemargins.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/ignorance-is-bliss-all-the-beautiful-elements-of-a-strangers-wedding

Poetry in the Margins. Because I told your roommate I would write about you. Flecks of gold in a world of grey. →. Ignorance is bliss (all the beautiful elements of a strangers wedding). June 8, 2015. The flash of something blue sparkled against the ancient wood of the dance floor as the tulle danced in waves down the aisle. Her arm sat laced in her fathers and a single tear rolled down his cheek as he prepared to give her hand to the only other man he entrusted with his baby girl. I won’t ever kno...

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Jameson & Jack.  | Poetry in the Margins

https://poetryinthemargins.wordpress.com/2015/07/17/jameson-jack

Poetry in the Margins. All these patterns like fancy brickwork. Baby don’t hurt me. →. July 17, 2015. Most of the night was a blur. To be honest, I remember so little of it that I woke up the next morning thinking I had been drugged by a stranger named Brian. That’s the night I learned not to take shots of Jameson and Jack… Bunch of assholes. Was it the touch that gave me away, or the shimmer in my eyes when he told a joke? I took the pink highlighter and marked another X over July 17th this morning....

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I’ve always loved the ones with suitcases. | Poetry in the Margins

https://poetryinthemargins.wordpress.com/2015/01/05/ive-always-loved-the-ones-with-suitcases

Poetry in the Margins. We will all spin in circles, pretending to be as unique as snowflakes. Because I told your roommate I would write about you. →. I’ve always loved the ones with suitcases. January 5, 2015. His falsetto gave and they both laughed, having risen above the fear of outsider expectation. His fingers slowed. Her fingers slowed. And as they looked at one another, the sound dissolved until all that remained in the room was emotion. Gratitude. Respect. Pure, raw emotion. You are commenting us...