Cough Syrup- I don't rhyme. A children's Poem?

Mucky purple "grape" mistake,

making me gag, making me cringe.

Metallic, unyielding aftertaste,

if only it were administered by syringe.

Its scent is enough to send me running

It reminds me of my childhood,

not being able to sleep from coughing.

For God's Sake! My dad would bellow from the next room. 

I can't help it, I'd cry, as mom got the medicine measuring spoon.

No! Not that! I'd plead,

Open up, it'll be all better--she'd say--you'll see.

I'd wince, I'd whine, I'd hide behind the door.

Cough syrup is something I'd never wish for.

Those Stubborn Words I Finally Let Go Of-- last stanza needs help

We lay on the floor,

limbs tangled, breaths synchronized.

I don't want to take care of myself,

I said, my chest heavy,

my throat straining to release

the words that cripple, and

the frightening truthfulness

behind them.

I want you to take care of me.

I know you don't, sweetheart;

you said--I think I could hear the longing in your

voice. 

I try to take care of you as much as I can.

And then I made myself silent.

Just last week, I wrote you a poem.

I dripped passion from every pore,

I sent my words to you for the first time.

Beautiful you called it, and you thanked me

for writing something so heartfelt for you.

And then you said you wished you could

write something like that for me.

The struggle to express that which had once seemed inexplicable comes easy to no one,

but the few who approach that beast head on

can at least say that they had no regrets about what was said, and wasn't said.

If I left you tomorrow, 

would you wish you had tried to write me that poem?

Would you wait as the words fell from your pen onto the page,

or would you still say I cannot?

Weight- revised

Somewhere nearby

there is someone else cutting their losses.

To sever that part which no longer

functions in conjunction with the mass

is always the strong way--

Preferential to being saddened by the

slaughter of your fairy tale ending after it's too late, anyway...

but it's not easy to let go of that glorified dream.

My window sills still have a few inches

of sleeted snow on them—the debris from

the downfall—and the sight

of the pane is making me stop

and think about it all--

about how I want you to be the crux of it,

the hero who kisses the sleeping princess,

and saves her from the dread and the villain--

but you are too stubborn, and I

am wanting to sleep

because I can't run out and distract myself

from my livelihood or lack-thereof

like I usually do.

The branches on my trees outside

are weighed down by the aftermath of the storm,

and so am I.

Until It Fits...

   

The Goddess of Wisdom-also needs revision

The goddess of wisdom brushes soft, waved strands from her shoulder

as she walks across the shoreline.

The rain whistles slightly as it meets the wind, before the drops mesh with the ocean,

whispering words you have never heard before, but you think, maybe one day you could get to know them.

A white lily is tucked behind the goddess' left ear, as 

garlands of irises trail behind her.

She is dressed in pure white as she approaches you,

the sand between her toes as she glides out of the fog.

Her lips pursed just slightly, you notice,

as if she knows something you don't.

You shudder, just barely, in awe. 

Although you'd like to think of home as a place to lay your head,

sometimes its the discomfort in not knowing exactly what

that is the most breathtaking.

The Doubt I Never Wished For

This is the doubt I never wished for,

and swore I'd never consider.

The steadfast believer, I came to your door

with home-cooked meals in spotless tupperware

and pin-straight blonde hair. Not a fault or folly

could be found in 

Me, the pinnacle of trying for permanence.

I waited for the reciprocation, doe-eyed,

ears perked. My patience would be the death of me.

Your flat response turned my heart to tar

with each and every one-word answer.

Now, chivalry's absence seems more obvious

and tomorrow's infatuation ceases to be a promise.

Once there was an undeniable pull,

 a gravity which drew me to your hand, to your lips,

but as time passed, the force lost its poignance,

and now--

The mature thing to ask is,

Is love just a combination of chemistry and convenience?

As much as I long to believe that this longstanding fortress,

said to make life worth its salt

is all fate and no coincidence,

I suddenly realize with age that I'm no good to my suitors unless I'm convenient, and they're not worth it to me unless they're persistent, romantic, fuel for my ego.

And now that I found this out for myself,

Love becomes a beast that has no feeling behind it.

It is just a matter of initial attraction which eventually yields to the selfishness of both parties. 

Plummeting...(to be revised)

I was young, probably nine years old. I was ice skating for the first time. With my brand new, stiff white ice skates, I cautiously stepped onto the ice with my dad. We did a few laps with me holding onto the side. After a few minutes of warming up, my dad started to create more distance between us. It was like teaching an infant to walk, almost. My mission was to skate just far enough to reach him, so I could grab onto his arm before stumbling. After he had skated the appropriate distance, I let go of the wall with the intentions of getting to him on my own. Two boys, a little bit older than I was--probably twelve or thirteen--skated by me, clearly advanced skaters. Just as they passed, I lost my balance. My skates skidded out from under me, and before I knew it, I was sprawled out on the ice. I sat there for a few seconds, thinking about what the best way to proceed was. Suddenly, a hand appeared, as if sent from the heavens. It was the hand of one of the boys who had just passed me. In that fateful moment, his blonde hair appeared to have a golden halo. His blue eyes cut into my very soul. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I can't remember what I said--I can only hope I managed to get out a "yes" or maybe even a head nod. But I do remember that mystical aura the boy took on as he helped me up after my embarrassing fall. It is times like those when a female realizes how influential the politeness of a man can be. This idea of chivalry--men looking out for women out of sheer respect and politeness--can be so refreshing, regardless of how independent the woman is, or her ability to fend for herself.