Biography of Lindsay Elise
I am a typical 17 year old girl. I hang out with my friends, go to the beach, and love a boy I can't have. I gaze at the stars at night and find myself too wrapped up into movies- stories of wonderful lives that aren't mine. I have witnessed no life-changing experiences. I am lucky to have the life I live, I have felt no serious hurt in my few years, and yet I write anyways. Many think a good artist must be tragic, he must have lived through something terrible and devastating. But I'm here writing about my life and the world I live in- through the eyes of youth and inexperience. I hope you like what you find.
Lindsay Elise Poems
So there’s this poet in my garden. He sits right by the willow tree. Listening to the words I say, As he morphs them into beauty.
You were so waiting for me to jump into the deep end Where the splash would engulf and wash away Everything I have ever dreamed
Cinderella, with her slippers of glass, clicks her heels three times
They say that she is a beautiful dancer. Her limbs follow the music. Her heart pulses to the beat. Satin-wrapped toes click
If we planted love, instead of flowers, winter would be heartbreak.
Africa- the warm sand between my toes and standing in front of me- an elephant. pink and gold and it shines in the sun,
What You Gave To Me
I see now, that I loved you. “only in hindsight, ” as they say. Because I thought, when I loved you, “no, it cannot be, ”
The summer’s gone. We wasted away the days lying by fires and burying our toes in the sand.
Finding A Muse
Saline eyes drift along the shore Somehow asking for a muse once more They fall upon A barren rock
Give me something of yours To remember you by. Don’t I deserve it? With all the emotion I supply?
The last time words passed between us, I was mumbling with a ghost. My pale skin, reflected in yours As pale as the ashes of something once great.
The Girl Couldn'T Speak For Love
It’s lodged in my throat Like a bullet sticks to muscle And makes a heart bleed And makes a mind remote
He opens his hands, Lets the moths fly erratically About in my stomach. They tremble unconsciously,
Give me something of yours
To remember you by.
Don’t I deserve it?
With all the emotion I supply?
You’re drinking all my memories
With a translucent straw
Because the memories I kept as ice
Are now beginning to thaw.
It’s not fair that you should have them.