poetry · Writing

Red

I picked my red dress to wear today

Not sure why

It felt like a red day

Found that red heart necklace

Clasped it ‘round my neck

Stood back and smiled

Put a red bracelet on my wrist

Might as well complete the style

Thought twice about that poem

About answering that prompt

Because what if even just a little breath

Is enough to cause its death?

The red of the notification

Finally arrived

I wondered what had happened to time

I clicked on the app

Called Snap

Saw a red heart next to your face

Smiled and thought I’ve moved up a place

But the words that I read

After seeing so much red

Were not words I expected

I sent you a chat

I heard nothing back

I realized then

When I breathed it life

This delicate thing

Would not breathe again

It’s not cool that I said all that

It’s not chill that it’s in my head

It’s dead

Isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

💔

Red, Taylor Swift

Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street
Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly
Loving him is like trying to change your mind
Once you’re already flying through the free fall
Like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all

Losing him was blue, like I’d never known
Missing him was dark gray, all alone
Forgetting him was like trying to know
Somebody you never met
But loving him was red
Loving him was red

Touching him was like realizing all you ever wanted
Was right there in front of you
Memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words
To your old favorite song
Fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword
And realizing there’s no right answer
Regretting him was like wishing you never found out
That love could be that strong

Losing him was blue, like I’d never known
Missing him was dark gray, all alone
Forgetting him was like trying to know
Somebody you never met
But loving him was red
Oh, red
Burning red

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes
Tell myself it’s time now gotta let go
But moving on from him is impossible
When I still see it all in my head
In burning red
Burning, it was red

Oh, losing him was blue, like I’d never known
Missing him was dark gray, all alone
Forgetting him was like trying to know
Somebody you never met
‘Cause loving him was red
Yeah, yeah, red
Burning red

And that’s why he’s spinning ’round in my head
Comes back to me, burning red
Yeah, yeah
His love was like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Taylor Swift

Red lyrics © Sony/atv Tree Publishing, Taylor Swift Music

daily prompt · poems · poetry · Writing

Delicate

Write about your first crush.

They’re all bunched together now

In my head somehow

I can’t tell you about the first one

Without telling you about the second one

And so on and so on and so on

So let me bring it to now:

I don’t want to write about it

It’ll get jinxed

I won’t breathe it into life on the paper

Or the screen

If you’ve ever tried to keep something safe

You’ll know what I mean

It’s not cool if I say all that

I think it’s chill that it’s in my head

But

I don’t wanna share

It’s delicate

Inspired by the song Delicate by Taylor Swift

This ain’t for the best
My reputation’s never been worse, so
You must like me for me
We can’t make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink

Dive bar on the East Side, where you at?
Phone lights up my nightstand in the black
Come here, you can meet me in the back
Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you
Oh damn, never seen that color blue
Just think of the fun things we could do

This ain’t for the best
My reputation’s never been worse, so
You must like me for me
(Yeah, I want you)
We can’t make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink

Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you’re in my head?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate (delicate)
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it too soon to do this yet?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate

Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it?
Isn’t it delicate?

Third floor on the West Side, me and you
Handsome, you’re a mansion with a view
Do the girls back home touch you like I do?
Long night with your hands up in my hair
Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs
Stay here, honey, I don’t wanna share

This ain’t for the best
My reputation’s never been worse, so
You must like me for me
(Yeah, I want you)
We can’t make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink

Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you’re in my head?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate (delicate)
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it too soon to do this yet?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate

Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it?
Isn’t it delicate?

Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep
Are you ever dreaming of me?
Sometimes when I look into your eyes
I pretend you’re mine all the damn time

Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you’re in my head?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate (delicate)
(Yeah, I want you)
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it too soon to do this yet?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate (delicate)

Is it cool that I said all that? (Isn’t it?)
Is it chill that you’re in my head? (Isn’t it, isn’t it?)
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate (isn’t it delicate?)
(Yeah, I want you)
Is it cool that I said all that? (Isn’t it?)
Is it too soon to do this yet? (Isn’t it, isn’t it?)
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate

Isn’t it delicate?

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Taylor Swift / Max Martin / Johan Karl Schuster

Delicate lyrics © Taylor Swift Music, Mxm Music Ab, Songs Of Universal Inc

Official video
daily prompt · poetry · Writing

Halt

What are you good at?

I am hijacking this prompt. Another ego-based prompt? No thank you.

This poem is dedicated to all of the men out there who think the space I take up in the world is theirs in which to encroach upon.

Who do you think you are?

All of you

None of you

Were invited

I don’t want to hear any niceties

Any hello, I miss you

Stop thinking about me

Stop writing about me 

Stop talking about me

Stop contacting me

Stop showing up

Stop

All of you

There is nothing for you here

I am not Mother Fucking Teresa

I am not always nice

I will show no mercy

When I sense a threat

I don’t want to know you

I want to forget

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved

daily prompt · fate · finding the muse · Love · poetry · Writing

By A Poet

Daily writing prompt
Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?

Although I do have many favorite quotes from Zora Neale Hurston, I’m going to try to follow the rules for this prompt. I know, you’re probably thinking, “Why start now?” It’s because I have a favorite quote that I really don’t think of that often but for this prompt, I thought of it.

Years ago, I bought this book:

Filled with requited and unrequited varieties

I don’t recall why I purchased the book, but if I had to venture a guess, it would be because the book is pink, has a heart on it (your girl is obsessed with hearts and collects them – not anatomical hearts, dear reader), and it also has a pink bookmark built right in.

The book contains different chapters, which delve into the many different types of love – requited, unrequited, grief, love for pets, etc. I’m not much of a romantic, but I am sentimental. So I tend towards more eccentric quotes about not just love, but everything.

I nudged this book off my shelf for this prompt and opened it up to the page with the pink bookmark. I never take this bookmark out of this page because this is my favorite quote in the whole book, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish.

Without further adieu, Let me introduce you to my favorite quote:

When I read this the first time, I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. Then I realized there were many ways to interpret it. In fact, I have a new interpretation as I write this.

What is a superstition? (We all know, because we all remember the daily prompt from not that long ago.) Examples of superstitions include walking under a ladder is considered bad luck, opening an umbrella in the house is bad luck, breaking a mirror will give you seven years of bad luck, black cats are bad luck, knocking on wood so whatever you’ve just said comes true or stays safe (depends on the situation), and many more. Superstitions are misunderstood, mysterious, used as protection. In my mind, I always think about superstitions as hovering in the air in a cloud. Superstitions are not part of reality, but they are still given deference and respect. They are very real to the person who believes.

Having said that, I believe Monsieur Baudelaire is speaking here of unrequited love, a love that to him is so precious, he keeps it in the clouds just out of reach. The image of his love stays in his mind, and in his heart is where the cherishing blooms, but his love is so much more than that. He seems to be under a spell. To say you are more than an image I dream about and cherish, you are my superstition, means to me, that you are the very thing that I believe in, the idea of which makes no sense, but I love you more than I could ever love anyone else. And yet, there is a mystery about you. Are you bad for me? If my love were requited, would it be a mistake? Would it ruin everything? Superstition has to stay in the clouds, just out of reach, and so does the love. Dream of it, cherish it, hold it in the highest regard. Be also aware of its mystery and respect the unknowingness of it.

Monsieur Baudelaire was a controversial poet in Paris in the 19th century. He was part of the Decadent era. Knowing a bit about poets myself, I’ve been thinking: is the superstition the muse? Oui.

✨💫✨

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved

poetry · Writing

Brick and Mortar

Art by Kevin

This is my entry for Beginning At Last NTT 4/25/24 challenge

Brick and mortar it is no more

Shiny glass and electric doors

Replace what was once

A place of hope

Of waiting rooms

Filled with smoke

Saw babies born

And elders die

All in the blink of a tearful eye

Lost like a job

I once had

The memories of it all

Live in my mind, ironclad

No shiny glass could withstand

That which I cannot hold in my hand

The place where my life ended

As well as it began

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved

fate · fiction · poetry · serendipity · Writing

September 27, 2063

Art by Kevin at beginningatlast9.com

(Edit 4/20/24: I accidentally moved this to drafts and had to move it back to published. It’s not a new piece. If it’s new to you, that’s great. Thanks for reading.)

This is my response to beginningatlast9.com No Theme Thursday Challenge 3/7/24

Thanks again for the art inspiration, Kevin!

💫

Was it really 30 years ago

When we met on this bench?

We talked of squirrels

And raspberry berets

(the kind you’d find in a secondhand store)

Her smile lit up the sky

As the eclipse overtook the sun

I couldn’t believe my eyes

I couldn’t look away

From her

(Not the eclipse)

I would give anything

To go back to September 27, 2033

Before everything went—

💫

“Went what, Ethan?” she asked. I looked up with a crooked smile. “Are you writing out loud again?” She was standing there glowing, the sun all around her head, her expression open and teasing. She was the solar eclipse, she always has been, since September 27, 2033.

“Hey, Kiddo,” I said.

Like this? Read September 27, 2033 to see how it started.

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved

Flowers · Nature · Nature photography · Photography · poetry · spring · Trees

Letting The Light In

My flowers are starting to come alive now that we’ve sprung into Spring. I’ll have a post about my favorite tree – the Eastetn Redbud – coming soon, but until then, please enjoy these photos of what’s happening around here.

The Gerberas have started to thrive again, though I do still have to cover them at night.
The Dianthus is massive. it’s been like this all winter. The blooms on this are really cool. They might happen as early as next month.
This is my mother‘s Weeping Cherry Tree. As you can see, it is very much alive and soon will blossom. I have written two poems involving this tree. I will link them below.

Cherry Blossoms – a poem about my mom and her beloved tree.

Ashes To Dirt – a poem about spreading my mother’s ashes underneath her tree.

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved