Sunburn

We burned brighter than the sun until the day you left—left me here with nothing but the memory of you, stinging like a sunburn. 
You were untouchable; the person I once was had so much to learn.

I craved your affection like my body craves the warmth of the sun,
so why did you have to run? 

I’ve tried to peel your ghost from my scorched skin but you were determined to leave your mark. 
You set me on fire, then left me here to burn in the dark.

So, like an insatiable itch that won’t go away, 
you haven’t left my mind to this day. 

I often ponder about what we could’ve had, 
If only I knew then, it would hurt this bad.

I shouldn’t have ignored all the warning signs, but I did. 
Can you blame me? I was only just a kid.

It took some time, but what I know now, 
is that I’ll never let another break me down.

Now here I am, a freckle-faced girl with a brand new glow,
someone I could’ve never been without the tear stains written in your name on my pillow. 

I used to see the golden sun in your eyes,
but somewhere in between tender tan lines and little white lies,

I’ve forgotten your name. 
You’re fading now, so there’s not much more to say. 

I once thought I was at the point of no return, 
thankfully the pain you caused was only temporary, much like a sunburn. 
~~~
When you’ve never experienced romance nor the heartbreak that can stem from it (thankfully!), as a writer, sometimes you have to rely on other familiar experiences, pure imagination, and some dramatics to create stories. As is the case with this poem, the idea of which was inspired entirely by an actual sunburn I obtained this summer (that I still have tan lines from). Pretty neat, right?

No Name

I’d rather have no name, than never know what it’s like to let you see into my soul. 
The leap of faith I’d take blindly, just so you’d latch on to every tale I’ve ever told. 

Of my name I’d beg to be stripped, 
if I could ever see my own thoughts in print.

On the dusty decrepit shelf of the bookstore, I don’t care,
just bind my scripts in lily-white sheets, where I’ve laid out my spirit bare.

I’d hope you dissect and ridicule every letter marked in ink.
Because without my musings I’d just further sink,

into a whirlpool of creations itching to get out, 
of this skin and bones where no one can hear them shout.

I’d choose being nothing but a mere no-name to you, over never falling in love with words.
If only by the world, mine could finally be heard.

Please, give this no-name a chance, 
and I’ll fight as if every move is my last dance. 

I pretend I don’t but I do, 
so badly just want to be something to you.

I’m not after fame,
yet I’d do whatever it takes, all for a stranger to know my name.