Fit In
Why do I feel
Like I need to fit in?
I have a rebellious nature
In other areas
So why do I need to fit in?
Why can't I be myself
Say, "Screw you
If you don't like it!"
Why do I always do
What is expected of me?
I want to have fun
To be myself
To fall in lovea
To do something dumb
To be a flake--
But I won't
Because then
I won't fit in
poetry
Winter Night
empty
lonely
black
cold
fingerprints
on the glass
piano playing
tuneless melody
that's what I
want to be
right now
in my mind
just me, myself
and all my thoughts
just scrambling here
around my head
unrequited love
sorrow for what's lost
sit in the dark
by myself
peaceful and quiet
silent and dark
the winter cold
blankets me
All poetry is original unless otherwise indicated, and Copyright (c) 2002 to Melanie Danforth. It may not be reproduced without my permission. How this works: click on the poem you'd like to read, or scroll down. If you click and want to get back to the menu, click your browser's back button.
Here I Stand
frayed jeans
dirty shoes
hair stuck on my shirt
here I stand
broken nails
bad eyes
frizzy hair
here I stand
loud voice
very opinionated
overly emotional
here I stand
here I stand
in front of you
take me as I am
here I stand
I'll Live
Perfectionist
To a fault
I hate it!
I don't want to be it!
But what can I do?
This is me,
That is you.
I can't change me
Because you don't like me.
Just deal with it,
Get over it.
I'll live.
I will never be the same,
But I'll live.
Do you even care?
Sometimes you act
Like you just might.
Other times you sit there
Like you're staring off into space.
Is there something about me?
Or are you just bored?
Just tell me,
I'll get over it.
I'll live.
I will never be the same...
But I'll live.
Song
A silent smile
You look at me
I look away
I feel your eyes
You're watching me
My every move
I hear you breathe
I feel your breath
I see your hand
Upon my desk
Drumming a beat
To be a song
Flying away
No thoughts, no cares
No worries there
I want to be
The Song you play
Thrumming beneath
Your fingertips
Possessed by you
Your creation
An emotion
Flowing into
Your sacred heart
To wait until
You find me there
Write on your heart
My sacred name
My song is now
Your holy tune
You'll worship me
Eternally
Winter Wind
The lonely winter winds blows past,
Making my hands and face tingle.
The sharp icicles hang off of trees,
Like the nails of a horrible beast,
Keeping winter here just a little longer.
Snowlakes fall, blanketing the ground.
The lonely wind whips them around.
I watch the swirls of snow grow higher.
One solitary tree stands along in the field.
The snow swirls slither around its trunk.
It shivers from the cold isolation.
I shiver too.
Forgotten
I sit in my room, night after night,
No one to talk to, nothing to do.
I'm despised, forgotten,
Left behind in the dust.
What happened to the happiness
Of last minute?
Where did all my friends go?
I'm not good enough to look at them.
They won't even sit at the same table.
Friends...?
Who said they're my friends?
They left me!
I have a right to be mad,
To be sad and cry.
So why aren't they?
Don't they realize that
Without them
I have nothing?
My Kingdom
I sat outside, in the backyard,
on a shiny metal lawnchair.
The sun shone down on the green leaves
of the tree I sat beneath..
I felt myself in an emerald gown,
an emerald cape over my shoulders.
I sat on a glittery silver throne,
that sparkled in the sunlight.
My subjects in the tress (little winged ones)
made me a golden crown.
The little brown pages scurried around
simply to do my bidding.
But then, to my disdain,
as I reclined in my throne,
It toppled over...
and suddenly I was me again.
The tree took back the emerald gown and cape,
and the crown too.
I was left without
a single loyal subject.
I stood up, picked up my lawnchair,
and decided to wait for another day
To go back to kingdom
and fight for my lost throne.
The Perfect Summer
The warm pavement
Under my feet
The green shadows
Falling through trees
Golden sunlight
Warming my hair
The strong scent
Of sun-tan lotion
The cool blue water
Against my skin
The dark sunglasses
Resting on my nose
Sitting on the front porch
Making bracelets
Sitting on the deck
Eating supper
The red rays of sunset
Falling on the ground
The cool green grass
Between my toes
Watching the moon rise
Beside a million stars
As Northern Lights
Dash around
Self-Portrait
I look at my hands, resting on my lap.
How can they look so calm and collected
When I'm a jittering mess?
The green polish chipping off,
They still look okay.
The tops squared off, trimmed neatly.
They are much better off than me--
I'm suprirsed they're truly mine.
I look at my mouth, silent for once.
An unusual asset for an ugly girl.
I have a very nice mouth.
The lips are full, and gently curved;
Firmly steadfast, like my silent strength.
But where did the fullness come from?
They're not like everything else.
Must be a mistake.
I look at my hair in the mirrior.
Now that seems more like me:
Frizzy, curly hair, flying in a halo
Around my head, uncontrollably;
Anxious, nervous, easily excitable.
Ready for anything, yet ready for nothing.
I pull the thick curls back from my face
And prepare to face the day ahead.
I can see him standing there,
His white-blonde hair slicked back,
That crazy smile upon his face,
His teasing laughter down the hall.
I can hear him...
But he can't hear me.
I'm a whisper amidst a stormy wind,
A firefly in a world of lightening,
A moth blending into an old gray tree.
I can find him...
But he can't find me.
I watch him, every time he walks by--
The muscles tight in his back
As he watches the football game;
The intense look of concentration.
I can see him...
But he can't see me.
I'm opaque in a world of solids,
A ghost in the world of the living,
A blade of grass in a world of trees.
I can feel him...
But he can't feel me.
Hiding
I have this spot,
Deep in my sould,
Where I hide
All that I know.
I hope that someone
Finds it soon
And lets my
Lonely spirit go.
A Last Goodbye
Goodbye, Grandma.
Nothing can ever
Take your place--
I've a hole in my soul.
There is nothing I can do.
I'd give anything
Just to have you back--
My grandma,
My comforter,
My heartwarmer.
I love you...
Goodbye.
-Dedicated to Elvira Dettman-
i wrote a lot of my poetry my sophomore year of high school, during Coach's geography class. this one was written later, around 2000, while looking out my dorm room window at the snow.
this was written sophomore year. was having a bad day, and people were giving me a hard time for being different. and i was afraid to be me because of it.
this one was written sophomore year for my english class with miss juroff. it was supposed to be something light and fun. and of course, i make it a tragedy in the end. yikes!
this was written my senior year of high school, about the guy i liked. i'm not saying who. most people that would care already know. no one else needs to know. m'kay? we are SO not going to go there!
summer between high school and college. determined to be myself when i got there, and not let everyone's opinions rule me. *snicker*
written my freshman year of college, concerning the guy that i liked. no one ever knew who he was, so he shall continue to remain nameless as well.
near the end of junior year in high school, getting sick of school, wanting to be outside, imagining and remembering perfect summer days...
sophomore year, when Amanda and Kim and those guys wouldn't talk to me or sit with me at lunch. i was stuck all by myself. it wasn't fun. and for the longest time, they wouldn't tell me why. oh well. it's LONG over.
written for sophomore english again. notice the alliteration? miss juroff loves stuff like that!
have you ever written a really long poem that you thought was really good? and then went back and read it, and hated everything except for one little bit? this is that little bit from the epic. it was written in 7th or 8th grade.
although this wasn't written about Nick, it could very well be about him. guess what i spent most of my time thinking about in high school? this is another poem about the guy that i liked. it used to have a title, but it had his name in it. and i'm never sure who's going to read these, so it has been removed.
i like this poem. i wrote it during high school, but i can't remember what year. i don't think it was during geography, but it might have been.
my favoritest grandma died my sophomore year of high school. i had a very hard time dealing with it. i was depressed a lot, hence the proliferation of poetry. i didn't write anything beyond that first month...it was almost a year before i wrote anything else. and this was it. i was bored at work, in my little floral department on a sunday, and it started pouring out. and i cried while i wrote it. the whole poem is imagining what it would have been like to be there with her, as i would have liked to have been. unfortunately, i was not there, and did not want to confuse or anger anyone, so i just pulled the end of the poem here.
