Some Never Learn.

To Save A Wretch Like Me

In an attempt to inspire myself to start writing again, I have decided to gradually post the poetry collection I wrote during my last semester of college. It tells the story of two young lovers caught in an unhealthy relationship, confused by the values they've been brought up with, struggling to figure out what directions they're meant to take in life. A lot of the poems are still rather rough and I welcome feedback, but as a whole I hope you enjoy the collection.

Without further ado, I shall present poems from the collection, To Save a Wretch Like Me. To begin, part one: Temptation

Soulmates

I worry that I do not live up to your past, but you tell me the practice is as much fun as the goal. This is not the awkward introduction, but the elusive intimacy that comes with connection. You guide me as a ship captain who loves his boat enough to go down with it. Feel you, feel me, feel we as if no me could exist without you. Lead me, love me. Touch like lightning electrifies my skin. In this moment freeze. Breathe. Release. You make me weak. I wish to hold on and never be free.

Repentance (Part Three of To Save A Wretch Like Me)

The third and final part of the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me, contains the resolution for the lovers as they reach their rock bottom and are left to pick themselves up and find their way back to themselves on their own. 

Equations in Momentum

If one train is moving south

at sixty miles per hour and

another train is moving north

at the speed of still,

will they notice the wind

rushing between them as they pass,

or are their worlds too far apart

to make a difference?

Lone Tree - Rachel Schneider

Medium: 

Calligraphy pens on paper

Lust Song

Is that love in your eyes, or are you just happy to

see me? Me, naked above you, beneath you,

around you. My bible lies open in the backseat,

Samson and Delilah. My legs clench your waist,

pulling you closer, deeper, further into this

stark truth: there’s no hiding from you now.

Every inch of me bare, my ugly flaws and

rosy lies, sketched across my inner thighs.

Am I good for a game? Love and sex are not

the same. There’s nothing to see here past

the hills and valleys of dimples and curves.

To The Once Ingénue

The giver of blood and love is fragile

as it beats faint within the fold of your

broken breast. The giant’s grass of the forest

sways gently in the wind, unaware of your

selfish weight crushing the earth below.

You used to dance with grace as light as a breeze

among the blossoms of spring, but now you

have been stripped and knocked down, lying

heavy in the cold dirt of disenchanted

winter. You bury yourself in the decay of your

innocence as the rain of remorse now pours down

your cheeks. The one who did this to you feels no

regret. You let him take the silver trinkets

from your pain-streaked body and he

hung them from the bedpost that he might

admire those trophies of his conquest.

You have given up that blissful ignorance that you

once held so dear. Now you must stand alone and

face the world, for he is not there to lift you.

There is no changing what has been done.

The Boy That Never Was

There’s a candle in my window for

the boy who never was.

It flickers just as brightly as

the laughter in his eyes. The warmth

inside his heart is matched by nothing

but the flame, and the tiny drips

of melted wax, intricate as his mind.

The candle burns to mourn this boy,

the one I could have loved.

He may have lived - this boy, indeed.

But mine he never was.

Sweetie

Love, your friend:

Sweetie, the roses are all dying now,

They’ve withered and faded beyond repair.

And though you water them I can see how

They still have gone, despite your watchful stare.

Sweetie, the roses have all bowed their heads,

A sign of goodbye in this cold, dark room.

The stems have gone black and their bodies shed

Their petals and leaves far into the gloom.

Sweetie, sometimes I think you are a rose

He’s drying you up petal by petal.

I watch you lie down and as your eyes close,

I see your heart is now withered, brittle.

Sweetie, you know deep inside this is wrong.

Inside your heart is not where he belongs.

The Details

Church buildings and dropped bibles and water fountains, small talk about Jesus and Kit-Kats and you stuttered over each simple word. Such a rush, between joking and fear and excitement and fear. Knots in your stomach, hope to Heaven that things happen, terrified that they won’t. Fear you can’t help but be happy in spite of, because of. You wind up on a couch with a warm arm encircling you stiff as a board because you’re so afraid of messing up you can barely dare to breathe because oh God he’s touching you and it’s just so unbelievable but then suddenly, you relax, because it feels right. Perhaps that was when I loved you, your leg against mine, sock soft against bare toes. Shared secret under the table, innocent.