Ravyn LaRue

joolabird:

Sometimes in community prayer, my Dad thanks God for the color green, and cries. In front of everyone, he cries. For the grass, and for the trees, how he is so in love with the earth, sometimes I cannot understand. Sometimes when I tell my Dad about what I love, he cries. In front of me, he cries. My Father is a beautiful beautiful man.

joolabird:

Thank you Minnesota.

‘Vanessa’s’ by Ravyn LaRue

ravyn-larue-s-poetry:

For what it’s worth
I really love playing diabolical
I belted out ‘Girl With One Eye’
repeatedly
for about an hour last night
And it’s too bad
that the archetype I fit in
Isn’t often portrayed as villainous
which might be why I have so many
darkish sanity slippage poems
If I can’t play characters
I’ve noticed I tend to fall into writing as them
Thankfully
my beloved role
falls under the diabolical category
as well as the maternal one I reside in
But until then
(and I believe steadfastly it’s a “when” and not an “if”)
But until then
I’ll keep on belting while all the world’s asleep
and I’ll likely write more Vanessa poems
really, whether I would like to or not

‘Regret’ by Ravyn LaRue

ravyn-larue-s-poetry:

I feel like I don’t know what poems are anymore
but I have this deep and profound longing to write emotion
because when I read emotion, I feel it to my core.

I found a thing in my inbox tonight
from Jen asking whether I had any regrets
and I haven’t answered, because I’m selfish
but the question makes me want to cry
still, I say my answer is no.

I have a soreness of the soul
I would never wish to use it to lessen others
since in the vast cosmos
my pain equates to nothing nothing nothing
still, I like that I can hurt
because aching in my soul and in my heart
prove that I somehow still have both

I was reading a poem written by a friend, earlier
she spoke of saying goodbyes
and packing up optimistically to begin the journey to college
and I don’t think I could ever explain
the sort of agitation that causes me
because I’m still hurting

I dreamt last night
my best friend entered the war-zone
and I went with her smiling
because I don’t deserve her, and I wanted to help
but we kept coming upon things familiar to me
I panicked and buried my face in her shoulder
and she didn’t mind me, which meant a lot
but it didn’t help me to herald her onto her dream

Longing is what I would describe this stage
I want things to be like they used to be
but I know that cannot be
so I’m longing for the glory of the future
but it all is so unknown
so for now I’m stuck pining in purgatory

As I lay last night
hoping to get some sleep
I ran my hands over my chest
imagining how nice it would feel
if I could scrape off my flesh
and give my heart to someone

I really must be extroverted
since I was Joey’s ticket taker
and I went to a party
both today, and my soul seems happier
but I miss profusely when this wasn’t a rarity

there were times in my life where I’d see these people
everyday at school
and every Sunday, because that was how we lived
but as we grow older
things are bound to change
and you’re a loser if you fight it
so I just have to float with the current a while
even if I’m not so keen on swimming forward

Last Summer life was beautiful
truly
and I worry that life will never again live up to that magnificence
I mean, I was blessed profusely by something
I had beauty around me
and I was expecting beauty ahead of me
but in spite of my better efforts
I’m more reluctant to presume there’ll be beauty in the future

Yet I have a dream
I’m just too cowardly
I can feign intensity all I want
but as my dream showed
as well as real life
when terrors come
I’m all too quick to run away or hide
and that isn’t the sort of behavior that wins happiness

As much as I long for heroic Intervention
I know she’s busy with her real babies now
I’m so scared, and I never used to be

I suppose
to answer your question, Jen
I don’t regret Columbia itself
I regret what I let myself become because of it

‘The Eventual Play’ by Ravyn LaRue

ravyn-larue-s-poetry:

I want to write a play
but after I’ve written the final draft
who knows what’s to become of the thing
I’ll just inconspicuously leave scripts
at theaters after I see shows
or I could start my own in an alley
either way I’ll write it
so at least I’ll have something written

joolabird:

Deeply attracted to emotion.

‘Golden’s Deli 2/28/14’ by Ravyn LaRue

ravyn-larue-s-poetry:

The sweet blonde barista
who wears tribal print
and has a lisp
gave me chai tea, iced coffee
and 10 whole cookies
all free, for no good reason