Tag: poem

Baby Blue

Posted on by Alanna Higdon

Baby blue tastes like American Spirits and cheap liquor too,

Looking at him I know there’s nothing more I can do.

His jokes are growing stale, his laugh is the quietest in the room

Looking at him I know he’s accepted his own doom.

Baby blue is one more drink, one more mistake from fading away,

And I can’t watch him spiral anymore so he tells me that I can’t stay.

I kiss him on the cheek on his stained leather seats

Choosing to walk alone, willing to bear the Summer heat.

Baby blue has the prettiest eyes even when he’s yelling at me with anger.

I know his longest love will be his lifelong infatuation with danger,

but Baby blue thinks I’m the villain, so he’ll hate me until I’m a stranger.

Reality

Posted on by Alanna Higdon

When I was a little girl if I had a bad day,

I would simply close my eyes & make it all go away.

I’ve always had this special talent of disappearing into my head

Shifting reality to fit into the story I created instead.

When I opened my eyes again everything was brand new,

I wasn’t really me and you weren’t really you.

With the snap of my fingers I was an actress in a role,

I never used it to be cruel, I just used it when life was dull.

Even as an adult I make up these universes in my head

To escape the monotony, the reoccurring dread.

Every once in awhile I have this sobering, sudden fear

That I’ve slipped far into the role, that reality’s become unclear.

New York City

Posted on by Alanna Higdon

I have a love for New York City,

The streets are too crowded, my pictures never turned out pretty.

With every one moving so fast day to day,

No one cares what you do. No one cares what you say.

I have a love for New York City

And a troubling romance for the vodka I carried with me.

I woke up at midnight and I walked there all alone.

I always hated it there but I couldn’t go home.

With a stomach full of liquor and 50 dollars in my pocket,

I stared at a Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Mirror wondering if I’d lost it.

I have a love for New York City.

A love I visit when I’m lost, not a love I carry with me.

I Grieve With You

Posted on by Alanna Higdon

I wrote this poem in a healthy safe mindset, as more of a comfort to those who are going through a struggle that I’ve been able to relate to at one point in my life. I have so much love for the women in my life who have raised me, empowered me, and helped me heal. If you ever need to talk to someone please reach out to your loved ones or know that it’s okay to use your resources. I’m going to leave the hotline for the National Sexual Assault Hotline 1-800-656-4673. Never feel weak for reaching out for help and building your support system. 

I understand why she cut her hair so that he couldn't grab it.

I get why she drinks herself to sleep, the nightmares are so graphic.
I accept her even though she is unfriendly to every stranger,

and I ache for the girl who repented thinking a higher being could save her.
I grieve with her, I scream with her, I too can feel that anger.

I battle a misplaced resentment not protecting myself from danger.
I was revived by a sisterhood of women, each one living my pain.

We do the best that we can to survive, we've given up on staying sane.

Love Is Logistics

Posted on by Alanna Higdon

I love you so much and I’m really gonna miss it,

But let me tell you a secret dear, love is logistics.

When I’m up every morning and you wake up late at night,

When every discussion about religion is ending up in a fight

When every talk about the future makes us dig our heels in,

We have to face the music, no one’s ever gonna win.

I know we were raised on fairytales and magical love stories,

But we should have listened to the facts even if it was boring.

I’m always going to love you so let’s end it while it’s good

Let’s give each other the respect of walking away when we should.

I love you so much and I’m really gonna miss it,

But let me tell you a secret my dear, love is logistics.

Hollowed Out Lovers

Posted on by Alanna Higdon

There’s a boy and a girl,

Sitting at a bar.

They don’t speak.

They don’t laugh.

They don’t kiss.

They sit there at the bar,

And sip their drinks quietly.

Strangers pass them by, confused by this.

The strangers come from a warm love,

Where you speak,

Where you laugh,

Where you kiss.

And you barely notice your drinks,

Because you’re lingering on your love’s every word.

But the boy and the girl don’t find it odd.

The boy and the girl don’t know a warm love.

They know a silent understanding,

They know a mutual discomfort with touch,

They know a shared trauma,

That make them shrivel up

When the pressures of expected affection are placed on them by strangers.

And they know,

There’s plenty of love,

Layered over by exhaustion and fear,

But they’re strong enough to love each other anyways,

In the ways they’ve taught each other to.

Content with being a pair of hollowed out lovers.