P is for Poetry

According to www.poets.org April is National Poetry Month.

So in honor of my teen-self, who wrote poetry almost before she wrote anything else, I'd like to share the following. Go easy on the 16 year old girl who wrote this. At the time, I was proud that it was accepted for publication in the National Poetry Association's "On the Threshold of a Dream" (so excited that it's noted in pen below the hand-written entry), but I now know that that publication was a vanity press. I admit it; I fell for it.

You know those frigid days in January? The ones with the brilliant blue cloudless sky? Without further ado...

Jason Days

From the window he looks tender and warm;
and I imagine his arms around me.
But when I run outside his eyes transform;
And the coldness all but blinds me.


How can he look so warm and bright
yet be so bitter cold?
Inside his heart there is no light,
Though his surface glitters gold.


His face glows like the sun of June,
yet January hides in his eyes;
And if you look into the afternoon,
You're trapped before you realize.

The cold wind blows, yet the sun shines on,
until he passes by;
Seasons change and when he's gone,
wake up to warm July.

Teenage me would be mortified that I shared this. Jason was a gorgeous, hot boy who never spoke to me. And whom I crushed on in a very unhealthy manner for four years of high school. Disclaimer: I did not make a lot of effort to speak to him, and to his defense, he probably never had a clue I existed.