poetry – Page 4 – brittany given.

journal nineteen.

I am an open book, I said. I’ve had countless fingers picking at the edges of my cover, flipping through my pages. Both familiar and new. Some attentive and engaged. Others clumsy and disinterested. Had one too many crease a corner, swearing they were bookmarking the chapter for later, to never return. But I amContinue reading “journal nineteen.”

journal seventeen.

Isn’t it gratifying? To hear the words they say? The praises they sing? Who are you trying to kid? We all know. You care what they think. But how could you not. Children, we were born this way, fingers scrolling on digital screens. We don’t touch grass anymore. We watch it, behind a sheet. WeContinue reading “journal seventeen.”

journal fifteen.

When did you know you were done? And why didn’t you tell me then? Was it while I carved our initials in trees? You waited until I carved it in my skin. While I dreamt of you as I slept And spoke your name into the wind, You left my presence behind closed doors WhileContinue reading “journal fifteen.”

journal fourteen.

I cannot wait for the day My daughter is born When she gets a bit older and says I know, mom She’s quite confident, too I’ve heard it all before is expressed I’ll smile her way Pull her close and reply Of course you do, my love But to myself, I’ll think Sweet child ofContinue reading “journal fourteen.”

journal thirteen.

I love looking at the sky I catch the fullest of breaths in those moments Oh, how clean the air tastes Away from the suffocations of our man-made life How many miles of space must exist between me And the no end in sight? I bask in that feeling of falling up Surrounded, I amContinue reading “journal thirteen.”

journal twelve.

And I think what hurts the most is the forever I imagined — that forever with you. I think back to all those talks of being side by side forever, to all those jokes of our eventual, inevitable “I do.” Now all those conversations of exploring the world together, of growing old together are noContinue reading “journal twelve.”

journal four.

We don’t fall in love with people. We fall in love with moments—with the calm of hands running through hair, with the tickle of laughter against skin, with the warmth of a body nearby. We don’t fall in love with people. We fall in love with moments—with the hours that feel like mere minutes thatContinue reading “journal four.”