Verbatim Ultimatum.

Would you be so bold?

So bold as to approach me

With purpose and distinction,

That I would not doubt you?

Send my fears to extinction.

Would you be so bold?

Could you be so sure?

So sure that I could see

Your resolve in your walk?

That I could hear it

'Fore your lips part to talk?

Could you be so sure?

Should you be so steady,

In the distant future,

I would welcome conversation.

Attempts at understanding

Not met with hesitation.

Should you be so steady.

Alas,

even I 

am not

consistent. 

Shooting Stars.

Do not leave me here,
shivering with cold;
Every inch exposed
for the universe
to mock and scorn.
I reach up to grab
a distant star,
hoping against hope
that it might not
shrink back from
my tender touch.
Everything runs.
Like my mascara,
or Aiden's Dad.
Like a watercolor
painting with an
excess of water.
Like my t-shirt
I dyed with Rit
my Senior year
of high school.
Predictably,
the star fled
from my open palm.
But it was not
how I imagined.
What I regarded
with such disappointment,
was not a star
escaping from my
greedy reach,
but one that was
in pursuit of that
which I could not
supply.
Taken aback,
I understood.
"Follow me,"
whispered the tiny
celestial body.
It urged me to
Pursue.
Seek.
Find.
Sometimes running
is not a way
out.
It is a way
towards.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012

Contentment is...

It is a beautiful night

to be completely

solitary.

I'll bet it's a perfect

evening back home.

I'll bet the sun is 

sinking into an ocean

of magenta waves.
And I remember....

The scent of leaves

tickles my nostrils.

The trees are whispering.

A slow smile plays

on my rosy lips.

My acoustic rests

on my cozy frame.

I am fingering the

comfortingly familiar

chords, humming softly. 

I sink deeper into the 

front porch glider,

kicking off with 

my right foot. 

Swinging,

singing,

swaying. 

My oversized sweater

hangs loosely, and I

feel every current as

the breeze caresses me.

I have caught a chill,

but this would not be

the first time.

Sometimes it is 

refreshing to feel.

As the stars fight

against the city light,

I pause. 

I stare up at infinity,

wishing to be.

Wishing to understand.

Wishing to be understood.

But I am perfectly content here.

A cup of coffee and guitar

are all I need.

I am wiser than last autumn.

I am not afraid anymore.

Yes, I am sure it is a

perfect evening back home.

But it is a perfect evening

in Chicago, because I am

exactly where

I need to be. 

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012 

My "L.O.V.E." parody. A classic standard with a modern twist.

"L is for the way you lie to me, 
O is for the only one I flee! 
V is very very, troubling; unsatisfactory! 
E is even more emotional than Titanic's score... 
'Love' is not to be said til it's true; 
mostly when you're over 62! 
Two "in love" might fake it; 
give your heart and one might break it! 
Love: use carefully, you fool!!!!"

nothing.

Can I be nothing?
Can I be
evaporation;
hesitation;
deprecation;
mutilation?
Can I be something?
I'm so apologetic
in the static
for I don't understand
how all I'd planned
could be so damned
and all I am
is in the can.
Who are you?
Nothing.
Your words of
disapproval,
removal,
gone to the grave
just like you.
Can I be nothing?
Guess not,
because the other day,
he told me I'm
everything.
But that means
absolutely


nothing.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012

Cyanide.

A tiny heart;
a tiny frame.
I wish I could
forget your name.
The way we were.
The way we are.
The way it all
became a scar.

I wish for sleep,
solace and rest!
My mind repeats
in its protest.
"I would never!"
How could I?!"
Remembering
how it all died.

You don't know
the pain I feel
because your love
was never real.
You will never
comprehend;
that hurts most
in the end.

I could scream it
til I'm blue.
I would not
get through to you.
Play the victim,
play the saint.
Whatever picture
you will paint.

This is getting
old so fast.
Trying to
escape the past.
I can't trust.
I can't try.
My opium
was cyanide.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012

"When You're Broken."

Call me when you're broken,
and the pieces can't be found,
when in the words unspoken
you feel yourself so bound.
I have been through valleys;
I've climbed those same hills.
I understand the torture;
incurable, dark ills.
I know the sleepless longing,
the burning in your bones.
You wish someone was calling,
but nobody's home.
The present seems consuming,
the past a distant dream.
The future now seems looming,
in Its eyes, a sick gleam.
You're afraid of failure,
more scared of success.
You just want salvation
from the cruel helplessness.

Call me when you're wasted,
lying on the floor.
I know the pain you've tasted,
knocking on death's door.
Even when they leave you,
and the rumors start,
I could not forget you;
you'll always have my heart.
Let me drive you home now;
why not stay with me?
We can talk this out tonight,
and end the misery.
Don't you dare deny me
the right to comforting
someone who means the world to me
in their suffering.
I may not always answer
the first time you ring,
but I hope you realize
I would do anything.
Anything at all to spare
from undeserving hell,
the one I've always come to,
when everything fell.

So call me when you're broken.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012.