Biography of Aria Siren
I have been writing forever. My earliest poem I remember writing is with chalk. Thankfully I have moved on to more sophisticated writing materials and (hopefully) more grown up subject matter. I love writing and it is a big part of who I am. My poetry is at times a detailed diary entry, a quick punch of what I'm feeling, a detailed observation...
I feel like more than anything though, it is a mirror of who I am inside. Sometimes that reflection is not pretty. Sometimes it is awkward. Sometimes it is angry or confused. But sometimes, and only sometimes, it captures the most perfect moment in the best way I know how.
Aria Siren Poems
Dancing With An Elephant-Sonnet Ii
Shuffling through old letters and devotions Buried muse screams for me to let her float Painted on skin deliquesced in your ocean Elephant in the room sits on my throat
I Write In Dreams
I am a dream I walk in the billows I dance in the exhalations I swim in the clouds
As I watch My family ravage their marriage Screw up My heritage
Asking You To Stay
if i keep f a
9 Days Clean
I was 9 days clean of you I washed myself free of you I burned your name away from my parting lips I chopped you from my hair with brash clips
Haagen Dazs Contemplations And Complicat...
if you could see me right now from wherever you are hiding you would laugh to see me at the freezer section
Fists swung in the air Dashing pink hopes Bleeding red Feathers from pillows
Clumsy, Silly, Me
i am clumsy when i love but did you know im clumsy when i walk? i have no filter when i talk?
Irony's Bite (A Sonnet)
Dearest friend-your death washes over me Nineteen days after the unanswered call I walk through shivering tree's scabby leaves Chilled with loud whispers of an early fall
I Am Clumsy When I Love
I am not smooth and fine Like other girls With floating steps Bitten lips and perfect curls
Looking In The Mirror After Crying
I was never a pretty cryer-like movie scenes depict They weep beautiful tears-I weep until I am sick I scream and curse and sob and yell Until my head throbs and my eyes swell
Fighting You, Fighting Me
I keep going through Phases of common sense That shock me with a clear view Until you reappear in a hazy lens
The Butterfly Is Dieing
After the fall I am left cold, shivering, a mess And as the leaves crawl I am naked in winters cold breath
the fire had struck the building with such force no one whispered about survivors the windy day blew the flames around like trick candles on a cake