CaisidePoetry

United States

Just trying to find the words for the thoughts in my head.
Feminist, environmentalist, poet.

Message from Writer

Poetry helps us preserve the present moment, as if we could take a photo of right now and keep it forever.

Published Work

parallel roads

i live in a city of parallel roads
and paths that neither twist nor turn.
a lifetime of decisions made for me
that I try so hard to unlearn.
laid out before me, my future
wrestled from my grip.
my hopes and dreams sit deserted
akin to an abandoned ship
at the bottom of the ocean that is my mind
buried in sand up to the mast
so only a part sticks out, just a reminder
of dreams that couldn't last.

she must persist

even when the wind tears away at her skin
and forces her deeper into the hole she crawled out of
she knows
she must persist. 

a thanksgiving reminder

your family is the solar system hidden in the galaxy I see in your eyes 
significant, familiar 
yet they do not define you.
they exists only on a remote outer band of your life
and there is so much more to you than what they may perceive.

Extraordinary in the Ordinary

smoke

A bizzare scent
yet familiar to all,
how multifaceted is the sense of smoke?
Able to contain vivid
albiet diluted memories
of both happier times and moments of agony.
Gentle in and of itself
how could we ever define
something so boundless?

you wouldn’t know it

you wouldn’t know it from her face 
not with the makeup that covers the dark circles encasing her eyes

you wouldn’t know it from her manner
not when she smiles like she’s the world’s greatest prize

but you’d know from her lows
when her brain catches her by surprise 
and you’d know she fights it every day just to hold on

stretch marks

standing in front of the mirror
not crying, per se, but suffering nonetheless
i make a steady habit of running my fingers along the stretch marks that adorn my hips
outlining each area of myself that i learned was wrong.
i am ten.
walking with my friends and sweating through my clothes
in ninety-six degree weather
because i have to wear a black sweatshirt to cover my arms and stomach rolls.
after all, they say black is a slimming color.
i am thirteen.
shaking as I hide behind my purse at my freshman homecoming
because i choose to wear the same tight dress as all the other girls
but on them,
you can't see their bellybutton nor the girdle they stole from their mom.
i am fourteen. 
stepping out of the dressing room unable to recognize the girl in the mirror.
her shirt shows her stomach and her shorts bring out the marks on her thighs.
she's wearing that belt her sister told her makes her look fat. 
i...

sensitivity

i wish i could pinpoint where in my life
i inherited a sensitivity far beyond that of anyone i know.
how a single comment can cause such internal strife
is beyond me. 

"learn to take a joke,"
they'll taunt, as their words
pierce a hide of oak
i have worked so hard to cultivate.

am i alone in my self-pity?
is self-depreciation just
a byproduct of sociality?
or am i simply the only one who's real?

"inseparable"

do you remember when we were inseperable?
just us, friends above all else
against the world.
what has become of us?
shared glances and stifled laughter?
punctuating each thought with "sorry, you had to be there"?
do you even know what it's like to be phased out of your own life?
everything i've ever known
so many new experiences and memories
lost to whichever unseen force took you away from me in te dead of night.
 

monotony

don't you ever get bored of it all?
the repetition found in monotony,
the ennui found in such a life at ease.
it's a subconscious way of life;
for we get up each morning on the same side of the bed,
we perform our daily routine in the same order.
it is without thought that we default to our simple ways
deprived of a single challenge to make our day worthwhile. 
 

Everyday Magic

ghosts

she falls to her knees
as the ghosts of nostalgia wipe her tears away
with promise of a bright future frozen in the past.

Why I Write

i write

i write to make sense of what my mind can not.
i put pen to paper, 
type words on a screen,
and the world makes sense.
my thoughts are in stanzas and my unconscious speaks in metaphor.
i write to share with others the thoughts I cannot speak aloud
in words i can’t explain any other way.

in theory

you weren’t in my plan.
in theory,
i would never have met you.
i would never have caught your piercing gaze
with eyes of molten amber 
from across the room.
i would never have to feel my stomach churn
when we made eye contact.
i would never have cried
when I told you it wouldn’t work
no matter how much effort we put into it.
in theory, my life would have run perfectly 
uninterrputed 
without you in it.
god, if only you knew. 

barriers

my face pressed up against the bars of the fence
i reach my arm through,
grabbing, grasping
at any hint of you I can touch.
the lock on the gate
rusted shut with time and disuse 
serves as the only blockade between your fingertips and mine.
we give this lock so much power
blinded in our mental state as we are
the ability to hold us apart,
granted only through our own self doubt.

this, in all its awkwardness

who could have guessed 
that a mere glance would have created this?
this,
whatever it is,
with its faults and its skips
with its akwardness and its nervous smiles
that have become so important to us both.
from cautious touches to long nights under the stars 
together 
we take on the world
in the only way we know how.
i mean to say
we’ve never been conventional anyhow.
why start now?
they hold us back but
with hands locked and fingers intertwined 
we leave this cruel world behind.

Unconventional

what’s anxiety to a child?

Remember when we were kids?
Every day was new, and every day was exciting. 
We held all the power in the world.
Rules didn’t exist,
we made up our
own
and followed them
as we
pleased. 
Our imaginations were
bigger than we knew 
chronicles upon chronicles of memories 
that would become irrelevant in only 
few year’s
time. 
the austere reality of the world 
lay far ahead 
untouched by a single thought in our 
minds
a distant future 
in which anxiety 
plagued not a soul
and no
one told us 
what
 
we could and 
couldn’t
 
do.

Ego Audiam

I listen
for in music I am granted the privilege 
of a world all my own.
I can create anything and everything
from the demons that plague my soul
to the angels that make it worthwhile.
I close my eyes
become the author to my own story
with my own soundtrack.
In which I can live a life of my choosing
where I can be myself
instead of the me others created.

She Feels Nothing

a hand on her back,
a soft touch on her wrist,
a gentle shove and a laugh,
and yet
she feels nothing 
anymore. 
 

Environmental Writing Competition September 2018

A Replication of Mother Nature

The whispers you hear in the back of your mind
gentle, yet commanding
are none other than Earth
as she strains her voice to be heard.

She screams and yet we ignore.
We, bystanders to the worst crime on humanity,
pass by her without a second glance.

We destroy her slowly, 
break her down without remorse,
yet we then turn around and celebrate her,
decorate her humiliation in our home and weave her despair into our clothing.

What she used to offer us abundantly is now spared,
her mysteries and wonders protected.

What beauty, you think
as you browse her collection
unaware that what you praise is a fallacy;
but a recreation of what once was.

For all that is left is our fabrication,
as we gaze into the simulation we create in her "honor",
pieced together from ancient art and scrolls foretelling
the horrors we wreck upon our terrene home.

“Beautiful”

One after the other they march
down the line, to be judged by others.
She has been trained her whole life,
taught to be the prim and proper lady she is now.
Strangers will reach out towards her and grab her
and even as she struggles,
they will hold her down and use their bare hands to sculpt her,
to smooth down every imperfection,
force every original thought back into her pretty little mouth and shut it tight.
Until they have created the Barbie doll they wanted,
destroying everything that made her human and keeping the parts that made her "beautiful".

erosion

the same questions 
flow through her head,
wearing away at her brain.
she screams,
conquered by her own mind.
a river interrupts 
and eroded away what little grip she had left
on who she used to be.

Scream in Silence

when the cosmos created You from nothing,
it handed You a voice
just as important and loud as the other voices
but this one was Yours.
"use it for good".
as others attempt to stifle the voice You were given
You scream and shout
to be heard.
even when You are alone
if You stand for what is right
and make Your voice heard,
You never scream in silence.
 

The Silence Of a Drought

a drought happens in silence 
without warning,
and attacks.
it dehumanizes you,
it strips away every piece of self assurance you had,
and leaves you out to dry. 
there is no preparation for a drought.
it’s not until too late that you realize 
you have fallen victim. 
you pretend everything is okay. 
“it’s normal,” you think
but behind closed doors
you suffer,
until you have nothing left. 

The Peace of Wild Things

you’ve never seen the natural world

the nature you find outside your window 
is not that which offers solace.
that nature is artificial,
created by man to simulate the very world man has destroyed.
the nature that comforts us 
is long gone,
lost in the smoke
and the pollution,
and the machines that program our lives. 
real nature can only be found 
in the places we have not yet touched
for once we find it
it is no longer natural.
the true world is isolated, yes, 
but it is the most real thing to exist. 

Define “Poetry”

The life of a poet was not one I chose. 
I just write what I feel, as I feel it.
I write the world around me, as I see it.
I write down my thoughts, as I think them.
If you wish to call that poetry,
then so be it. 

The World Anew

Altogether New

The world around me is ocean, 
gentle waves,
rising and falling tides,
extending out into a endless void.
The world around me is swamp,
deep and dark, 
but rich beyond belief.
The world around me is storm,
harsh, and intense
both deadly and calming. 
The world around me defines who I am
and who I will grow to be.
It is familiar 
but altogether new. 

Unplug

That’s Not What ‘Unplugging’ Will Do

“Without the Internet,”
they say,
“society would collapse.”
Little do they seem to understand,
the Internet is just a different format for ideas that already existed.
“We would not compare ourselves to others.”
Yes we would,
for we had magazines.
“We would not see all this depressing news.”
Yes we would,
for we had television and newspapers.
“We would not waste so much time.”
Yes we would,
for we had games with which to procrastinate.
The Internet has this skill
of making it seem as though all these problems 
were invented in the last two decades. 
No,
they were already there
and ‘unplugging’ can not rid of them.

Without

She had been in a home without water.
She had been in a home without food. 
She had been in a home without electric or wifi, 
but never had she been in a home without love.

my opinion

you say you care about my opinion 
until you hear it.
then, 
i’m “out of my place”
a burden on society 

He Was My World

He was my world
and by that I mean
he had a history far too vast for me to understand.
He was my world 
and by that I mean
I could see oceans in his eyes
the sea of blue that captivated me for so long.
He was my world 
and by that I mean 
his very touch held so much strength 
I would quake under it.
He was my world 
and by that I mean
his gaze would wreck me
for there was so much molten emotion in those eyes,
laced behind a stone cold plate of judgement.
He was my world
and by that I mean 
I thought the best of him
and he took it upon himself to prove me wrong.
He was my world
and by that I mean
he tore me apart
from the inside out
in the worst way imagineable.

what the world tells us

the world tells us how to behave
before we even get to decide for ourselves.
it whispers into our ear
the things others say about us.
it ensures we know 
that we are imperfect, 
that we are to be fixed.
the world controls us
until we lose sight of ourselves 
and conform to the robotics of society. 

 

What happened to friendship?

“Friendship”.
A word etched on an ancient tablet in a foreign language.
We are part of the generation
that turned “friendship”
into “friendzone”.
The generation that prioritizes romance 
over platonic companionship.
“You must want romance to be valid.”
“Friends are your second priority.”
“Friends are just rejected lovers.”
What happened to the time
when we appreciated our friendships 
without wanting anything more?
What happened to the time 
when we could depend on friends
through think and thin?
What happened to friendship?

hard work

oftentimes,
the ones we look down upon
are the ones who work harder than we could ever imagine

happiness

happiness is not defined 
someone else’s happy might not be your happy

happiness is not dependant 
you can be happy all by yourself, regardless of others 

happiness is not finite 
you need not steal others happiness in order to create your own

your happiness belongs to you 
and only you.
don’t let anyone take it away.

He Says

“I should want this,” he says as the stranger grabs his arm and giggles.
“I should want this,” he says as she guilts him into giving her his number.
“I should want this,” he says as she brushes up against him under the table on their first date.
“I should want this,” he says as she pushes him onto the bed, with a look too determined to say ‘no’ to.
“I should want this,” he says as she begs him to stay home with her instead of go out with friends.
“I should want this,” he says when she announces she’s pregnant, even though he knows she lied about her birth control.
“I should want this,” he says when he’s put under too much pressure to provide for a family he didn’t consent to starting.
“I don’t want this,” he says when he decides enough is enough.

She Says

“It’s normal,” she says as the stranger grabs her in public.
“It’s romantic,” she says as he tracks down her Instagram and messages her.
“It’s cute,” she says as he pressures her to go out with him.
“It means he’s attentive,” she says when he wants to know where she is and who she’s with at all times.
“It means he’s committed,” she says as he asks her to move in on the fourth date.
“It’s love at first sight,” she says as he proposes just a bit too quickly.
“It means he loves me and wants a family,” she says when she gets pregnant and he hits her when she admits she doesn’t want the baby.
“It means he’s stressed at work,” she says when he yells every night.
“It’s normal,” she says when he hits and threatens her nightly.
“It’s time for a change,” she says when she decides enough is enough.

the wrong way

“go with the flow” they say
until you realize
the flow is going the wrong way

One Person

It only took One Person to tell me I was worth it
for me to believe it.
It only took One Person to love me for who I am 
for me to love myself.
It only took One Person to tell me I was everything I thought I never could be 
for me to realize I truly was. 
It only took one spontaneous, unlikely, lasting friendship 
to change my life forever.

You could be someone’s One Person.

Nearing the End of a Summertide Night

In my dreams, these nights never end.

The nights where comfortable silence is not questioned
and small talk is a thing of the distant past.
The nights where you grow closer,
connect,
to your friends.
Your family. 
The world.
The nights that can only be found in the middle of a hot summer
when tensions are low
and anxiety is but an object in the back of your mind.
The nights where dreams are shared
and fears are revealed
with comeplete trust and acceptance.
The nights where you would not dare look at the clock
in an attempt to make this moment last as long as humanly possible.

These are the nights you’ll remember.
The nights that you’re nostalgic for before they’re even over.
The nights found betwixt the innocence of childhood and the responsibility of adulthood.

For in the midst of the summertide, 
we’re all at our most vulnerable.

In the midst of the summertide, 
the night is both...

The Only Sun I Know

The planets aligned
the moment I met you.

Suddenly
the world felt different.
Better.
Perfect.

I knew you would change the world.

The first time I held you
I felt like the most powerful being in the universe.
Because I knew
I had the future at my fingertips.

You came with your own hardships.
I remember the tears, the desperation.
The days I thought it would be impossible.

But you had this gravity.
A pull, that kept you in the center of my universe and my mind.

So I kept you close.

You shined from the inside out,
with a smile so bright it rivaled the sun
and so infectious it was fatal.

You radiated this feeling of warmth.
It spread in waves
soothing everyone lucky enough to meet you.

I knew you only as my universe,
my galaxy,
my sun.

"You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine..."