Skirt Over Jeans

I had been reading poetry all day so naturally, a new poem.

Skirt Over Jeans

Skirt over jeans,

the redhead wooed me first,

with her sharp tongue but gentle touch

I wished her to love me

As she loved the girl with the jet black, short hair

And I cried

And I yearned

And I dreamed and imagined

For a day that I would be that girl confined to a wheelchair

Only to have the spunky redhead tend to me

and love me

In her flowing skirt over jeans.

I must have been a girl of less than fourteen

Not understanding but a single thing

of what I felt when I saw her

light up my eyes as she lit the screen before me.

I watched her, religiously, for 120 hours,

Deliciously, for one year and 8 weeks

and over again

as I went to school,

in both seventh and eighth grades,

with my skirt over jeans.

I ignored stares and murmurs

for I had a stronger force compelling me

to the charming, fictional redhead

who existed, not in my world

but in someone else’s,

smiling and speaking wittingly,

to her young female companion,

who had needed her only slightly less than I did

when I devoted myself

to that redhead who preferred her skirt over jeans.

In the years since,

I must have forgotten her,

lost her in the shuffle of fleeting infatuations

that I had concocted for myself unintentionally,

trying to fill the void she left within me,

that astounding redhead

with her knee-length skirt over a pair of old jeans.

Steam

Two poems in one day, aren't you lucky?! This is an acrostic poem I wrote in response to this week's prompt on Poets United & Poetry Blogroll in hopes that I can get some more writing out of me. I may have used a bit of poetic license with this one, I'll admit, but in my defense, I haven't written an acrostic poem since perhaps the third grade.

S he silently slips her hand around me from behind

T houghts of mine are interrupted as I turn to her timidly

E ager, I take her hand and lead her to the shower

A ching for love, I press her against the cold tile wall

M y hands move up and down her wet figure as I maneuver myself through the steam

My Lady in Green

In attempt to increase my post frequency, which has been rather low lately, I will post this poem that I wrote just this morning, though I am not sure if it has completely earned my approval yet. Here goes...

My Lady in Green

And here I am

subject to this hit once again

favoring the past

over my present shade of reality

Wishing myself years back

to the life of us

“For just one day,” I pray

Because she must have loved me then, right?

Because she must have hugged me, touched me then, right?

Because I must have felt her then, right?

I assume

but I cannot remember

I miss my Lady in Green

though green she is no longer

And I

I am kept oceans away

letting myself be carried up by her wave again