Lauren’s Pocket Journal @accordingtolauren - Tumblr Blog

Hello all fellow readers and writers and observers alike.

I’ve been trying to find the right words to express a sincere introduction to my page and my presence on the poet/writer side of tumblr, and I hope this suffices (funny how I’m some form of a makeshift author and yet struggle to write a simple welcome note). So, I figured a quick awkward rambling and greeting would do the trick!

a wandering albatross

like a wandering albatross, I have roamed snowy plains

(A glistening snow has now kissed the grand lakes, leaving them frozen-over and trepid in its wake)

in search of some untidy nest, some warm home in the depths of your stern grip

you had beckoned me with faulty fingertips painted faint blues by discarded watercolors

that had ornamented your most recent artistic venture

self-exploration into the deepest layer of an egotistical finding

I never even corrected you when you called me the wrong name

one, two, three times under a single starry night

for I wore the stranger greeting like a name tag

A declaration of the simple fact that you noticed me

a badge of honor in the highest degree

of uncertainty that I may be worth more than to be understood

for if you don't, who will in this wild world?

full of bending roads and wet-hot tears and breaking bones

I have fallen upon concrete one too many times

As I paint my skin purple

and etched new scars where the past had faded and marked me with a reminder

that I am forever a mortal being

with bones to snap and tears to cry and a heart to break

-lauren a.p

(An alt. version of ‘What If You Never Understand Me?’)

Would you wait for me?

As these weary miles turn to dredging months

And my tired eyes wander through golden fields

Of promising tragedies, of telling sins

Bathed in a hopeful sunlight

For complacency has never been mine to hold

Far too fragile of a belief to hold within ruinous fingertips

Slipping through the cracks of a wordy disposition

All to say I am unable to control this sacrificial life

That’s never been mine to offer to whatever holy being lurks amongst the clouds

Constantly calling me to a higher place

Would you wait amongst the roaring tides of my wavering mind

Pull me back again and again and again

Forgive me, for I have seen the treasures within the deep blue

and I beg to remain in the solace of these untraceable times

unknowing where I end and you begin

in an abyss haunted by an aching elation and a promising belief

that all may be well within the slumbering tides and the slowing of waves

-lauren a.p.

Alt. Version of ‘Treasures in the Deep Blue’

I would have died for your forever

Wasted by my sorrows

For I may not echo your name once more, your musings die upon my tongue

I would have plucked the feathers from my wings and lept from my golden-etched podium

Fallen through the skylines and into an unforgiving abyss

Forgive me, for I have seen the treasures in the deep blue

And I cannot be saved

as I am lost between a dependency for suffocation, and your cavernous unknown

I would have cut off my limbs, torn them apart from the seam and carved an offering from pure bone

a sculpture of my devotion to what was once a part of my own flesh and blood

and I would crawl before the limelight, declaring your name with hands stained by an iron red

bathed by a unwavering faith for some half-formed unthinkable truth

an unfounded adoration for such a precise face with holy features

with fingers that taint all who they bless with an infectious rot

and yet I would plead to be a singular note in an unruly symphony

written to the tune of your own monologue, a soliloquy for a villainous nature

an annotation to your penmanship, as you turn me into a believer

and I cannot recognize myself in the mirror

-lauren a.p

A Revolting Muse

I am perfectly poised upon this podium

Supple under the spotlight, lithe amongst the fabrics

that outline of a man-made sculpture, a wholly etched effigy

By designer hands with well-intentioned fingertips

That have bruised my marble and chipped this exterior of vintage charm and divinity

For once I was so pure, so unsullied in my standing

Velvet-drapped and softly shaped

As I now wilt into ruin, cracked by the weathering tides

And an unforgiving artistry

I will never fit into your golden-etched portrait

Hung upon these unutterable halls, forever

-lauren a.p

She gently crashes upon corroded shores

And violently strikes hills with an electric touch

She crawls upon the cobblestone, slinking though the night upon her belly

And makes herself known as the harsh chill in September’s breath

And the upheaving roar of the eye of the storm

I’ve heard she’s back again to find the cure once more

Lovelorn and esoteric, perhaps it’s only you and I who can sympathize

With her cataclysmic being

Ripping open floorboards and making artwork with scraps from purloined memories

All in the name of a disregarding stranger, an invisible force

For she shall always remember, and is cursed to never forget

Haunting every town, every corner of the Earth for a certain peace

That can never coexist

With her bloodthirsty hands

And a blighted heart

-lauren a.p

A new year, a continued search.

I am lost upon fruitless roads that bare nothing of a poignant future

Winding and curving and bending and breaking

Into a dead end, foreboding and prohpesysing of the lurking days

Plagued by shadows and fruitless rains

As winter comes and spring fades

Into an endless summer

I frolic through garden beds with dirty knees

And roll in strange satin sheets with even stranger beings

And trek through the wreckage of desolate doors as I pry countless open with my bare hands

I knock on the wood, desperate for some sign, a faceless voice behind great oak

Until my knuckles bleed and my fore arms are painted an iron red

And force myself through them, along my treacherous path of a vengeful hunt for some meaning

It's a fiery longing, a burning desire of acknowledgement

the backbone to a languished figure, a motivation for scraping splintered knees upon wooden floors

Can I be yours? The words are poisonous upon my parched lips

As I lay upon your altar, strung out upon the ivory steps

decorated by the gifts of other lost souls: wilted flowers, matted combs, fraying innocence

what's forgotten behind guarded gateways and golden arches

can be found amongst another's tongue

amongst the following seasons that stall within humidity, that ache during the chill of burdening bones

a skeleton weighing heavier with every year that the Sun manages a mighty revolution

around our weeping Earth

-lauren a.p

the drowning of a nightingale

This mirrorball has revealed infallible reflections

of my face in different hues

of a wayward longing

as I sing the song of a siren

desperate to be handcuffed to the seabed

a thousand feet deep in your troubled waters

Perhaps you have built me from some junkyard scraps, a wreckage on the shore

and into that of a misshapen happenstance

born from boredom of a tedious every day

a hobby for busy hands

These thoughts dance within my mind

since I've slipped into the void

trapped amongst an unfailing belief of a faulty heaven

and the Hell on Earth that I have crafted with my own two hands

For I would haunt your five senses, if you would let me

petrichor would plague a wayward breeze

as I stained your fingertips maroon with every touch

and transfix a passing gaze with sound truths discovered amongst delicate flesh and hidden beneath silken sheets

silver-tongued syllables fall upon deaf ears

and torment your taste with the bitter stench of fading nicotine

I would write hymns in your name

and praise the maker's hands that dreamt up such a divine creature

as you'd fold me like an aged receipt

and tuck me deep down within a denim pocket

Yet, how complacent it would be in the arrid dark

For I am honored to be able to feel the heat from your skin

and blessed to be forgotten by a holy touch

How does it feel to be God?

To be worshipped by hands that have been broken and stained and maimed in an effort to be cleansed of the lurking sins that reside within the weaker beings

despondent in their standing, desperate in their pleas

to reside in your golden solace of wayward sun rays

that have brought flames to my Earth

and brought cinder and soot in its wake

And, still I remain, amongst these mourning willows and with a melancholy tune

desperate to be relinquished from the chokehold of an unrequited love

for an image of a hallowed being, a sanctified being

that were nothing more than delusions of grandeur

For you are just a man, and I am but a lonesome figure

putting pen to a page in an effort to curse your name in a higher degree

far beyond what's worth of its nature

and I shall craft prose from your memory and lyrics from the remnants of what was

And time will come and time will pass

time will haunt my bones until they’re ash

yet still I persist, chained in place to the seabed

forgotten under your treacherous tides

-lauren a.p

Escaping Autumn Upon Your Coast

It’s the second of October and I am still standing upon the shoreline

scrutinizing the force of nature, every inch of land and sea

The sounds that echo from the crashing waves

Are reminiscent of you and your standing

Roaring yet calm, a dark looming blue in the midst of crystal clear

Reverberating the lyrics of a fading summer

Humid and crystal blue and humming your name

I can hear you speak to me through the breaking of the sea upon the sand

Questioning the imprints of my feet

As I chase you further into something I can’t quite understand

upon the shore

I settle into the footprint, one that’s almost your size

Watch as it envelopes my own, smaller and fragile

Could this have been you, in a past life?

And what are you whispering, I wonder as I stare far into the horizon

As the breeze nips my neck and the fading sun still stings my bare skin

As the day dwindles into some dark, lonesome dream

You had an adamantine heart

Imperishable when held by my faulty hands

clawing at the cure that had been seemingly locked within your ribcage

A perpetual thirst haunting my tongue

as the ocean heaved me back onto dry land

With salt in my hair and despair deep within my bones

stranded upon a seaside, with nothing but the memory of you

traced into an outline by dainty fingertips, a coastline memorial

until I build up the courage

to explore your now-murky waters, to wander where I can no longer stay afloat

to drown amongst your presence and beach upon your shoreside

I may be torn apart by the hungry riptides

and scorched by an envious sun

However, I may be able to escape this looming autumn

and sink back into June, once more before its light dims

and touch your skin once more

You have burrowed yourself into the fabrics of my sheets

With a nicotine trail stitched into every thread by gentle hands

You haunt my surroundings with an echoing laugh

Hearty, it radiates throughout these halls that I reside

Shaking the portraits I have hung to honor your name

You bring a warmth to the chill in September’s breath

Slinking through the nighttime streets, you’ve surrounded me in a solace

Of a singular presence and an esoteric explanation

For I do not have the words to speak, or prose to write, or lyrics to sing

That could paint you as ornate as a masterful artist

Or as rib-achingly comical as a well crafted monologue

Or as beautiful as the crashing of waves as dawn is born into daybreak upon the empty shoreline

Lovelorn, this I hope I am not

For your touch jumpstarted this faulting machinery

And resembled it into something fresh, in order and proud

I’ve dug myself out of the undergrowth, wiped the soil from my eyes and shook the leaves from my dress

For I was never made for dormancy

You have purloined my heart from the depths of a certain darkness

and delicately mended it new

-lauren a.p

A Haunting Impersonator

There are still moments

That I can’t listen to certain artists

Monologues haunted by deviant memories

To a strangely familiar tune

The soundtrack to your traumatizing touch

Painting my innocent frame

Hazy purple and fragile, broken and blue

I hate you sometimes

When the forgiving lenses placed upon my all-knowing iris’

Begin to crack, dampened by age and tears of a past-life

And my chest constricts as I struggle to catch my breath in clammy grasping fists

I lose my footing, spiral down a rabbit hole as I curse your life

An existence far from my own in some other state

Harboring a fugitive, a great impersonation of a man playing pretend

Bowing behind red curtains for your newest subject

Fresh and clean with youth to waste

Unaware that months from this day, or as the seasons bleed into years

And you trick and coerce with sickly-sweet promises of half-truths

With your fingers crossed behind your back

That she too shall wage a war upon your oppressing figure

As you stain and taint every surface you touch

I still will be here, too

Plotting your demise, manipulating the stories

I replay on repeat in the roving theatre hijacked within my mind

Or perhaps I will forget, and learn to breathe once more with the composure of knowing you may never touch me again

Safe and sound in a world I crafted and exiled you from

All but the memory of the gnashing scars you left

Buried deep beneath the bones of my body

Holding my soul captive with an eerie whisper

Of bittersweet lies

And mimics of a man

-lauren a.p

The Woman in the Frame

I manipulated this wasteland

into some sort of makeshift meadow elegantly blooming daylilies and daises

wildflowers sown unto uncharted lands as a gold storm rages upon open fields

accompanied by the butterflies and bees and my roaming soles

like a child I scampered within florescence, stained ivory and mirroring the purity of a bud

roving in an unbounded orbit, cosmic and solace

as though illustrated in an aureated hue by some grand designer

within a baroque frame found amongst some lover's lost collection

I shall forevermore be a symbol of opulence, of virtue in the highest degree

as violet rays decorate my fading skies, and a goldfinch perches upon a finger

Perhaps I will morph into a Madonna, evoking nothing more than a mother's tenderness

Would I look better upon your walls, untainted and refined?

Oil upon canvas, I must transform into this vestal woman with a cream-colored gown and a rosy-cheeked babe

Exiled is that of the child with wandering feet and questioning eyes

who once swayed in the springs, and dreamt in the wilds

-lauren a.p

accordingtolauren

control and compliance

I'm sorry I could not morph you into what I wanted

Some illuminescent being with a soft touch

I ask forgiveness from both myself and you

for I was bested by a control with omnipotent fingertips

All I have ever craved was some makeshift authority

a fanatical over-compensation in place of what I lack

an autonomy to not fall upon bruised knees for any pleading voice

of a deeper degree

for I attempted to dominate my body

the growth of my girlhood into some cursed depiction of a blooming woman

my waist, my thighs, my shoe size

and even that revolted from my rule, escaped from my chokehold in the midnight hours

for now who do I see that looks back at me?

my captor, I am in a locked cage and am groveling for mercy

I tried to hold death in my hands

steadfast and determined

I kissed wrath's palms, wet with crocodile tears

as I burnt my lips on sorrow's flesh

and lust tainted my veins

the moon has now coaxed you to the precipe's edge

steep is the fall, jagged and beckoning

as their departed faces lay upon bare feet

whimpers still echoing throughout the blowing wind

a red ink stain upon the blossoming greenery

they were once our kin, a child's heart

still beating in the chests

sounds of love radiating within ribcages

pink cheeks and sun-kissed faces

far too similar to our own

lost from our being, stolen from our lungs

by some higher-power who found themselves entitled to take what we had created

within our own machinery

come back to my embrace, I shall entice you with a delicate song

of a sweeter touch, an embrace so warm it will melt your armored layers

I will not send you to an early demise, like the others before you

youthful and ignorant, past lives still apparent upon my skin

for I am unaware of how many I may have left

I shall not take you for granted, I am submitting control

to a happenstance that has haunted me since I could comprehend

the fear in the unknown

and the agony in chaos

Perhaps there is peace somewhere lost in the middle of this uncharted territory

-lauren a.p

aging in the present

As soon as I turned 21, two people in my life died

then the taste of life and death grew bitter-sweet upon my tongue

as reality nauseated my senses, rising like bile within my throat

washing my complexion pale

and solemn

Two years I have held my college degree with clenching fists

apologies murmured to a past-self, sixteen and hopeful with ambitions far greater than what I could imagine in my current standing

unplagued by burdens of the next life, an immovable force of nature

with wild curls and secreted anxieties, pestering little worries

that'd haunt foreboding years

a mirrored version, yet with only darkened eyes, but a happier complexion

for you can never seemingly have it all

the balance between the stability of the mind and the stoking of aspirations

difficult to manage with only two shaky hands

As I am getting older, the numbers that surround me seem to dwindle

As I dial my grandfather's number far more than ever before to listen intently to recollections of stories I have heard countless of times

With an eager ear, I call upon my father, and seek his advice

Feet away at the dining table attempting to piece together the image of the man I never truly knew

in a house that I did not grow up in

And I lean upon my mom, a five-minute drive from my street that can somehow seem like an hour

As by now I know full-well that no one can break your heart like your own mother

I see my lips in their smile and my iris in their eyes, ornamented by wrinkles of time, of fleeting years and joyous remembrance and wicked mistakes

I wonder, if they grow lost from time to time within their own bodies, despite the wear and tear outlived and forgotten by past-lives and decaying memory?

For, it is this life that allows me to smell the burning woods and roaring fires

as I drive down the lonesome 17 road, illuminated by only the other passerbyers

drowning in their own captivating thoughts

while this august haze is born into a reminiscent autumn

There's a strange sense of pain in the delight of living

and a curious feeling of euphoria within the suffering

For, I do not believe you can survive without one or the other

Maybe someday I will cherish the present

And no longer may I fear growing up

-lauren a.p

What if you never understand me?

A thought that plagues my trepid thoughts, it haunts my mind and petrifies my conscious into a willful stillness

As I attempt once more to make sense of the fingertips that have crept around my waist, holding me steadfast

they are stained by a light blue, I note the fading tincture

as your grip hungrily marks its territory upon my flesh

discarded watercolors

that had ornamented your most recent artistic venture

self-exploration into the deepest layer of an egotistical finding

I never even corrected you when you called me the wrong name

one, two, three times under a single starry night

for I wore that stranger greeting like a name tag

A declaration of the simple fact that you noticed me:

(perceived, observed, looked right back into my hopeless eyes)

a badge of honor in the highest degree

of uncertainty that I may be worth more than to be understood

for if you don't, who will in this wild world?

agrestal and swelling amongst a dying field

born from a scorching flame that had discarded me into a wicked maturity

an Earth that beckons me back to the warm soil from which I arose

a peaceful residence in burrowed hideaways with the soft dirt and the solemn dwellers

I have fallen upon concrete one too many times

skinned my knees, painted my skin fading hues of plum and reddened ivory

the past had faded into scars upon supple tissue, a stark reminder desperate to be remembered, to be felt with a passing gaze

that I am forever a mortal being

with bones to snap and tears to cry and a heart to break

-lauren a.p

Sustainable chaos

Is what I desire

As I stare out into the greenery

My vision tainted by an August gaze

Perturbed by a golden hue

As perfection is found within the vibrant normalcy

Of this rotting hometown

As ghosts dance amongst darkened roads

Illuminated by flickering street lights

Do I see your face, baby blues staring back at my empty iris’?

Pleading with me not to move, to still those racing thoughts and put down my arms

To sit within the stillness of the quiet night

And wallow in complacency

With our fingers intertwined

But, I cannot stay, my path is unwilling

For I crave to obtain this hungry disorder

And master mayhem

No longer may your silken words coerce me to silence

-lauren a.p

a manufactured mishap

Oh, to be free from the weight of my mind

And the price of my thoughts

Released from the needs of my heaving lungs

And the expectations of my heart

Crying reddened tears deep within my chest

For perhaps you may lay your ear upon my flesh

And hear only the murmur of a stoic contentment

Features that will adorn my face shall be those of elation, of pleasure

And not of the fear for my stilling heart

As I strangle and choke on my spit

As the breath that flows within my being stalls

Faulty is my machinery

Please proceed with caution for I am bound to explode

And wreak a havoc so deadly

Your angelic hands will have no purpose in touching something so sinful, so vile

May you mend me into something new?

With your golden fingertips, mold me into a makeshift good-deed

For my cure may be somewhere lost within the blood in your veins

As the grace of your hold healed the fading violet hues upon my skin

Leftover colors from the last figure who had attempted to translate this broken code

To no avail

-lauren a.p

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