V Fib



Shaking hands and sweaty palms
Beating hearts just worlds apart
The storm before the calm

Corny pick-up lines
Failed attempts at jokes
Your humor an endearing crime

Whispered late night calls
Hour long conversations with no topic at all
Lucky cordless phone never left alone

Failed permit tests and a few regrets
Three years of friendship rings
And a question neither of us was asking

Geometry: A triangle
Definitely isosceles
But you and I are the two corresponding angles

Cold war number two
I cave and you forgave
Doing what we had to do

Unspoken truths brought to light
Breath of fresh air
Fight over flight

Starry nights in a used car
Always going, going, going
But never too far

First kiss was a miss
But target practice was rewarding
We took off before the plane even finished boarding.

Honest talks
Skipping rocks
When did we get so boring?

One carat later
You ask me to grow up
To leave Never Land

Yes, of course
But what about my pre-you plans?
Where do my life goals stand?

Gypsy dreams and wild things
Meet their deaths
At the hand of reality

Lost in each other
I want to run
I want to stay

Grab my hand
Make me a promise
Say it will all turn out okay

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Submitted on May 01, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

1:04 min read
20

Quick analysis:

Scheme XXX XXX XXX XAB XXX CXC DXD EBE XBB XXB FXG XXG AXX FXH GXH
Closest metre Iambic trimeter
Characters 1,119
Words 216
Stanzas 15
Stanza Lengths 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3

Rachel

I can't write about myself in third person, so let's make this an autobiography.I'm Rachel. I'm a nineteen year old college student. And, well, I'm pretty boring. I'm awkward, and I'm selfish. I'm both too serious and too whimsical. I'm hundreds of conflicts contained in a girl. I've only had one real love and I've been head over heels since I was fourteen (He's too stubborn to leave). Most things I write have a little of him between the lines. I'm trying to find my way through growing up and constantly fighting my instincts to pack up and runaway. I think too much and terrify myself. Life scares me and sometimes I forget to live. Insomnia and feeling lost led me here (it also led me to start blogging: http://growinguplostgirl.blogspot.com/)I'm here to grow so please critique anything and everything I post. The structure of my poems would probably give my old high school English teachers a heart attack. My punctuation, or lack there of, probably wouldn't make them feel any better. I get that people are very protective of their creations, but you can tear mine to shreds, as long as you respect the emotions behind them. Harsh criticism wont make me sob into a pillow, promise. more…

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