Memory Poem #10: Jillian: Dressing Up

Jillian put on the pink, lace dress
that softly caressed her body,
hugging her waist, her hips, her chest.
The wind blew against her bare legs.
She felt naked without her pants.

Perhaps a beauty fail,
she threw her hair
into a ponytail.
A little foundation, a little blush
will make the boys fall into lust.

Eyeliner and mascara
will make her look fairer,
except she looked like a terror
instead, or so she thought.

Dressed in a gown,
she felt like a clown.
Staring in the mirror,
faking a kiss,
she had no idea
how made-up girls
felt confident.

Walking awkwardly
in platform shoes,
strutting like a man,
she had to finesse
her steps, cuz after all,
she was a lady in a dress.

She threw a punch in the mirror
and laughed at how silly she looked.
She may be a pink rose,
but she definitely had thorns.

Today she had to fit in
as she la de da’ed
to the gardens
with the other girls.

jillian1
image from Google

Read more memory poems here.

Memory Poem #9: Lance & Mina: Morning Breeze

Watching Mina draw
was as soothing
as watching the birds
without the need 
for binoculars.

Her long, dark curls
danced in the wind
as her eyes shifted
from the ocean
to the canvas,
from the canvas
to the ocean,
and back.

The tip of her colored pencils
pressed against the canvas
back and forth, back and forth,
in a crosshatch pattern,
sometimes gently, sometimes not,
just like the ocean waves.

He loved how their lives
intertwined like the lines
on her sketchbook,
adding depth and beauty.

He watched her cheeks
glow a rosy pink
under the golden sky.
Her cream-colored blouse
billowed in the wind.

She smiled as she sketched.
Her lips – a soft, smooth
magenta pink,
and he wanted to kiss
her right then.

She took a sip
of her coffee,
leaving some lipstick
behind
and interrupted
his thoughts.

“What’s your story?”
she asked, looking at him
with her inquisitive eyes.

morning-breeze
art by Sung Kim

Read more memory poems here.

Memory Poem #8: Cyan & Jillian: Morning Run

Cyan met Jillian in the hallway
for their early morning run.
She looked sexy in tight-
fitting sports attire.

He recalled her knocking
on his door late last night
while he was satisfying
himself and how he told her
to go away.

A little embarrassed, he said,
“Sorry about last night,
I was tired.”
“It’s OK, no prob,”
she said, turning pink.

Confused at the time, 
she had called Jess,
who had suspected
what he would’ve been up to
after an unfinished
make-out session.

Cyan stretched his arms and legs
while enjoying the morning breeze.
Jillian followed suit,
listening to the music
of the ocean waves.

She glanced at Cyan –
his hair ruffling in the wind,
and she smiled to herself.
Doing something she loved
with someone she started to love
was a beautiful gift.

“I’ll race you,” he said.
“You’re on.”  Jillian sprinted
along the beach, kicking sand
behind her.

Cyan watched as she ran
gracefully, happily
through the sand.

He admired her buttocks
moving forward and back,
but forced himself to focus
on her ponytail instead
swinging back and forth
like a pendulum.
Cyan was hypnotized
by her.

Jillian felt electricity
shoot through her body,
tingling her heart,
as Cyan brushed
against her arm,
catching up to her.

“Hey Beautiful,
what are you running from?”
he teased.  She blushed.

Cyan slowed as they jogged
by a juice stand.
“Let’s stop here,” he said.
Jillian tilted her head in question.
“They have the best pineapple juice,”
he chirped, like a little kid.
Jillian grinned.

Realizing that his pocket 
was empty, he looked at her
sheepishly.  
“Can you spot me?
I forgot my wallet.”
Jillian paid for the juices.

He was right.
The juice was sweet, magical,
refreshing.
The liquid slid down
her throat, flowed through
her veins, and touched
her heart.  She savored
every last drop
before they kissed.

StockSnap_MYTDB6EMBF
image from StockSnap

Read more of their love story here.

Memory Poem #7: Cyan & Lance: Guy Talk

Late in the evening,
Lance heard three knocks at the door
and knew it was Cyan
probably goofing off.

Cyan had good looks,
but Lance had never seen him
look like a celebrity heartthrob 
with his hair disheveled,
shirt unbuttoned
and abs exposed.

“Can I come in?” he asked.
Lance moved aside,
closing the door behind him.

Cyan sat on the bed,
looking flustered.
Lance raised an eyebrow.
“You were with a girl,
I presume?”
Cyan nodded.
“Jillian,” he said

Lance’s heart
skipped a beat.
Jillian was a sweet girl,
he even had a little crush.
But his friend was also
a great guy.

“You guys didn’t…
did you?” Lance asked.
Cyan shook his head.
“No, she’s not ready,
but, I really, really want to,
but I also don’t want to
because I can’t commit.
I don’t know what to do.”

Cyan let out a sigh
putting his face
into his hands.
“I’ve never seen you
so flustered before,
especially over a girl.”

Cyan chuckled,
“Tell me about it.
It’s like I can’t get her
out of my head.
When I’m not with her,
I think about her.
When I see her,
I just want to touch her,
hold her, call her mine.
What is wrong with me?”

“Sounds like you’re falling in love,”
Lance laughed.  Cyan groaned,
“But Europe, in two weeks…”

“I haven’t seen you this happy
with a girl, ever, not even
when you were with Bri.
You can walk away, protect your heart, 
or follow it, and see where it leads.
Taking chances, living life,
that’s your motto, right?”

Cyan looked up
and met his eyes.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
He stood up,
tapping Lance’s shoulder.  
“Thanks, bud.  I gotta go.”
“To see Jillian?”
“Nah, I might scare her off
with my raging hormones.
I’m just gonna, uh…
satisfy myself,” he winked.
“TMI!” Lance joked,
closing the door.

heartthrob
image from Google

Read more of the love story here.

The Long Walk

I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week.  This was written during Poets at Play.

The Long Walk

She remembered hopping off the bus
some sixteen years ago
carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack
filled to the rim with binders and books,
something she bore on her shoulders
5 days a week, even in the rain.

It was raining then, water drops
came crashing down.  The wind
pushed her left and right.
It was as if Mother Storm
slapped her in the face with spit.

She opened her portable umbrella,
The useless flimsy thing
was no match for the wind,
being pulled inside out
this way and that way,
a broken fragile puppet of the wind.

She struggled to maintain control,
so it wouldn’t fly away,
while crossing the street
looking like a helpless mess,
as onlookers watched
from the safety of their cars.

Raindrops streamed down her face.
Rain pelted her clothes
from slanted angles.
Little drops of water
on her jeans 
were like dark blue dots
that grew into patches
that eventually covered the leg.

Her once dried socks
were wet and squishy.
Her once bright mood
became cloudy like the storm.
She made it home, soaking wet.

It was one of the longest

10 minute walks she’s ever taken
alone
with her friend, El Nino
during high school
in the early millennium.

Flash forward – 2016/2017,
the storm is coming,
school is closed.
Children deprived
of experiencing
these memories.

a-girlwalkinginrain
image from angelgran’s photobucket