poems of childhood

“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you.

Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word home means to you
and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name
just by the way you describe your bedroom
when you were eight.

See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,
and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.

Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman,
would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms
or would leave your snowman armless
for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would,
would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you
every time you kiss him on the cheek?

Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?

See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,
and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy
when she spoke it for the very first time.

I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.

If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”

Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?

See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?

I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling bad.
I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty
could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.

If you ever reach enlightenment
will you remember how to laugh?

Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me
if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?
And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry
I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me
who have learned the wisdom of silence.

Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do —
I want you to tell me of a meadow
where my skateboard will soar.

See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,
and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes
from other people’s wounds,
and if you dream sometimes
that this life is just a balloon —
that if you wanted to, you could pop,
but you never would
‘cause you’d never want it to stop.

If a tree fell in the forest
and you were the only one there to hear —
if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,
would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,
or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?

And lastly, let me ask you this:

If you and I went for a walk
and the entire walk, we didn’t talk —
do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?

No, wait.
That’s asking too much —
after all,
this is only our first date.”

—  Andrea Gibson
I used to fantasize about the existence of a never ending hole
huge
and full of nothing but darkness and wind and freedom
big enough to jump into
and fall forever
fall so long I forget that anything can touch me
so long I forget that anything exists outside of the air licking me
and if I felt lost I fantasized company
someone to do backflips with and laugh
silent cause the air grabbed the sound and held it
if I didn’t I was happy
I was a child and this was all I dreamt about
endless wind and air and dark and abandon
I am no longer a child
I wish that freefalls would consume my dreams
just one more week
— 

A.O.A.M. - Freefall

(hi guys im back hope ya didn’t forget about me) 

Why losing a best friend can hurt the same or ever worse than any romantic relationship

Sometimes the bond between the two of you is stronger than words can describe
She was my ride or die
We were always together and when we weren’t it didn’t feel right

Friendships usually last longer than most romantic relationships and you aren’t told that friendships end as well
I never saw us parting because we were two peas in a pod
We were basically sisters and family doesn’t quit on eachother
But that’s the thing
We didn’t
We just faded
We grew in two separate directions that sometimes have cross streets
But that’s not enough
I want to grow on our own but have every cross street possible
I don’t want our roads to be parallel
I want them to come back together at some point
I miss you so much and I hope you miss me too

A lot of times you can get over a breakup because the relationship wasn’t that long or you can convince yourself that they were a horrible person deep down
But we all know our former best friend was the best freaking person to walk the planet
That’s why we loved them so much

So thank you, my former best friend, for showing me what it means to be a great person. For showing me how to love other people as much as I love my family. If you ever see this please know you can always call me. Because family is forever.

—  An open letter to my former(ex) best friend
6' 3"

when you were born
the doctor said
how you’d be six foot three

from that day forth
i fantasized
of all the big you’d be

you’d touch the stars
with fingertips
all words of wisdom
from your lips

she didn’t lie
that you’d be
three,
six feet: just you, your dad and me

that’s when we learnt
that you were really,
rather, very sick

something even a
six three can’t be
strong enough to fix

it was so fast
so cruel
so wrong
so soon to say goodbye

to our teeny tiny
giant hearted
lovely little
life

because I do believe
that all of you
was so much more
than me

though I understand
that giants need
a lot more room
to breathe

your fingers touch
the stars and I
realise my dream
came true

then cry for
not all dreams
happen the way
we want them to

I miss you every day // A.S

(a disclaimer: I am lucky enough to say I myself have never lost a child, I wrote this for people who have, and who have been unfortunate enough to experience such a trauma. I hope you each find your peace.)

If you see a child
good with colours, attracted to words
poor in attention-span

please note
that creativity is his strength
and arts his forte

kindly spare him the horrors of academics.

—  Afreen Razvi, Eroding Creativity
vimeo

And here comes “Tides”, a visual poem co-directed with the one and only @simon-duong. It was supposed to be a CG exercice at school, but we decided to do something else. We put so much love and work into this… I truly hope you will like it. Put your headphones on, press play and enjoy! Don’t forget the subtitles if you don’t understand French.

Loosing himself between memories and fantasies from his childhood, a sailor remembered his encounter, friendship and love with the sea.

“I first saw them from the top of the cliff
Some days I watched them sliding on the sand
Coming and leaving as the days went by
The wind carrying their scent on my face
We were good friends back then
I observed them in silence
Behind the barrier of sand
One of them pulled me into her run
She was fiery and fast
The other, peaceful
Unveiled her treasures in the sunrise
You never stopped calling my name
Carrying my body on your swell, pulling me away from the shores
I’m sailing today come hell or high water on this sea with two faces”

I used to write about other things, besides love –
Colors. Colors I see every day in the form of barely-alive leaves beneath willowy trees, sunsets and sunrises, an explosion of different hues in ordinary situations.
My parents. I used to write detailed, thoughtful cards for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, write about how much I loved them and the world.
My friends. Before I moved away to the cold, unforgiving North, I had a tight-knit group of friends in the deep South – we were all children of summer, cheeks always rosy and freckles visible all over our bodies.
Books I read. I used to have a stack of classic fairytales next to my bed, read them until sunrise. Repeat. Every single day until I finally, finally grew up.
I dearly miss my innocence, my childhood, my freedom and endless optimism. I miss being able to think about everything and anything, not being distracted by someone who won’t even glance at me. I miss colors and my friends and good books. I miss being able to write about things in life that really matter, instead of being confined to trivial topics like ‘finding my soulmate.’
Is that why I always apologize first, desperate to see you again, to touch you again?
Stop pretending to be someone you’re not. Stop pretending that you’re kinder, and smarter, and a better person, because you’re the same as everyone else.
—  i am the worst of hypocrites // suzy
16 Years

I keep you hidden
Buried between each of my ribs
In an eternal sleep.

I am scared to spill you,
Like ink on parchment,
Or paper,
Or a clean surface that has never been
Corrupted with the rawness of your being.
I keep you buried there,
And I’ve tried for so long to cover you up,
And lull you into a slumber with my
Steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing.

But, you’re stirring now.
I know you want to see the sun, but it hurts
To let you out into the world.
It burns to allow you into the sunlight.
To let you out would be to break my bones,
And to break open my rib cage with
Restless speed.

I feel you longing for the golden rays
And for the freedom that comes with
Being alive.
But to let you live is to say goodbye to
Another part of me that I’m
Not ready to let go of yet.