A Sappy Poem

I wrote this a week or so ago, and it's nothing near literature but it's pretty indicative of my feelings. It's also proof that I actually am writing, yay me. I'm considering putting it in the anthology I'm piecing together, but I think it might be a bit too sappy for that. I think the only reason I actually like it is because I was so happy that it was a true expression of my feelings. Here goes nothing.

Past Four

It's past four in the morning.

A slow cricket is chirping outside my window

        and the air is late spring balmy.

You did love the spring.

I hope you still do

        and that your soul is blooming

                with the pale pink joi de vivre

Darling, I am realizing

        as I lie here in perfect stillness

                that I do not miss you.

My empty arms are satisfied

        not in emptiness

                but at the prospect of new love.

And the space where you once lay

        held soft and close to my breast

                does not miss your warm breath

                        but remembers it, with a fondness as soft as your velvet skin.

A fondness one reserves for past love.

Because

        darling

the birds have begun to sing.

And I am rising with their chorus

        spreading my wings in perfect happiness

                flying away from the ruin of an old heart.

Some Overdue Thanks

Thank you Mary Oliver, for Wild Geese. I have wrapped myself in that poem like a blanket, and fallen asleep in it on cold, lonely nights.

Thank you Fyodor Dostoevsky, for restoring my faith in stories, and in people.

Thank you Neil Gaiman, for a lot, but particularly for the version of Neverwhere you narrated. I fell asleep to it many times. Thank you for making a place where I felt safe, even if it was only the inside of my head.

Thank you Lori, for writing "the world needs your words" at the bottom of six lines a confused seventeen-year-old wrote in a moment of clarity. She has come very far since then, and some days only kept existing because she knew that somebody out there believed she had something worth living for.

Thank you Robin McKinley, for allowing me to carry a sword, and for my first crush (oh those redheads...)

Thank you Summit library, for the section on folklore. That's where it all started, when I was hardly tall enough to reach the third shelf. Now let's see where it goes from here.

Two Lists

I haven't said much lately, and I really can't think of anything to say right now, so I'm going to make two lists. Lists are great, I love 'em!

Things I'm Afraid Of That I Shouldn't be:
-Umbrellas
-Wallpaper
-Finding a corpse in a public restroom or walk-in freezer
-Never being successful enough to move out of my parent's house
-Books going out of style
-Rusty medical tools
-The sun not rising
-Being forever alone
-Serrated knives (not using serrated knives, just the idea of serrated knives. I use them all the time.)
-The possibility that I don't actually exist
-Millipedes (but not centipedes)
-The mail service disbanding

Things I'm Not Afraid Of That People Tell Me I Should Be:
-Walking next to moving traffic
-Going to hell (or, the afterlife in general)
-Large dogs
-Being gay
-Snake and spiders
-Walking through dark parking lots and alleyways
-The denizens of said parking lots and alleyways
-Homeless people
-Drinking too much coffee

So, there you have it. Do you have similar irrational fears? Or are there things you're not afraid of that people tell you should be scary? And is that good or bad?