Messages from a Girl Who Writes Poetry

*the way this is written is not meant to be grammatically correct. yes, i will forget capital letters but only because i prefer writing that way. tomorrow's post will continue with your regularly scheduled posts*

i bet you didn't know i write poetry. i bet you didn't know that i sit at the computer in an endless phase of write and delete, dissatisfied at the clay that refuses to be shaped. after all, how can a girl who uses words as knives write anything that sounds less than a crime scene? i don't know the difference between poetry and prose. when to use a comma and when to use a semi colon. ask me the definition of an limerick and i would ask you to spell it first. but most importantly, i can't make you feel anything. so what's the point? words only become poetry when they make us feel something and i can't even make myself feel anything more than disappointment.
"i said i write poetry. i never said it was any good." nova l.z.

This is how I feel about my life endeavors in a poem. It's a border of a self esteem issue and being critical. And yes, I don't think my poetry is any good but I want to write it anyway.

This poem actually won a contest. I wrote it based off the idea of insanity and all from a wattpad novel - The Monster Inside of My Bed. The last line is a direct quote from the book, which I give full credit to the author to.
Surprisingly, this one was so easy to write. I wonder what that says about me.


i wanted to love myself but was taught it was wrong,
that we should never be satisfied with what we've been blessed with all along,

"my brows are too thick"
"my eyes are too small"
"my voice is too deep"
"i think i'm too tall"

and there'll always be someone who wants what you don't,
when what they've been given is what you make your "goals."

do you wish for things that cost millions of dollars?
or find yourself yearning for hands you've never held?
perhaps the reason we want what we've never had,
is because we hope it'll bring the security we've never felt.
"famous artists considered the human body as a thing of beauty so why don't you love yours?" nova l.z.

this poem is honestly so important to me. quality-wise, it isn't my favorite but the meaning is there. it's one i've been playing with for a long time and the way it came out makes me feel pretty proud.

yes, this one i had to make a graphic. it was just too much to write. i actually worked with another poet to create this where the other poet wrote the same poem in the perspective of the male. unfortunately, the other half of this poem will never see the light of day since they didn't want to post it and it isn't in my place to do it for them.
i see it as a realistic version of the story of the good girl and the tortured artist. this is in the perspective of the girl, if that wasn't clear.

even though it was a fire that stole your mother away, you had a strange fascination with candles. at first, no one noticed. but you would religiously stock up on the same pine scented candle. i used to wonder why you chose that scent when it paled in comparison to others like banana nutmeg or watermelon lemonade. i'd always assumed that it had to do with the way your hands desperately clutched the same pen as if it was the only thing anchoring you to this life. or the way you wore an antique, rusty ring even though it turned your skin green. they called you an arsonist because when you looked at fire, you had this look in your eye -like you'd never seen anything more beautiful. no one believed you when you said that fire reminded you of your mom. but i did. she was a beautiful dancer - full of energy like every day was her last. and no matter how bright a candle burns, eventually, it'll run out of wax to burn. you didn't cry when your mom died. you cried when the smell slowly disappeared from her clothes which is why your candles have to be lit at all times. so the smell doesn't leave like she did.

"a flame dances when it comes in contact with thing that can put it out so why do we cry at funerals?" nova l.z.

this one, i wrote last night when all i had was a candle and the haunting music of Daughter playing. the title is very important to me and if you didn't get it, i'm talking about wind as "the thing that can put it out." i have a fascination with fire but only because i think it's really pretty and i feel like i really needed to write this.


Alright! So that's it for me. If you'd like to see the poems I have, you can check out my instagram account, here. I don't update the account too often as poetry hits me when it does. But if I do write something, you can bet that it's going to be up there!

I know this post is a lot different but I want to be spontaneous! Tell me what you think.

Do you write poetry? Read it? Who's your favorite poet? Fave poem?