I found this poem in a trash can, in high school. Why had it been thrown out? Did it reach its reader, who then scorned it? Did the author decide not to send it after all?

I think I know who wrote this, but I'm not going to record my guess. I'll just say that the handwriting was typical of a certain kind of female student -- bubbly, curved, and the handwriting was too. Let the other details be shrouded for her privacy, but I like this poem too much not to share it.

my heart pounds
as if ready to flee the
cavity which it is
held in and your hand
flows down the side of
my slender soft body
and your lips as with
your tongue aroused my
senses and your fingertips
feel all at my hair my
body stops as if to see
and to ask of what we need
and hope we had and
our mind joins with our
sexual desires and we feel
the blood rushing to our
head and our breath
starts to shorten and
sighs of pleasure are
escaped and as if
mechanical your force
begins to strengthen and
your arms pull me
closer to your body
which desires mine
and we continue to
engage in our moments
of pleasure and our
memory runs wild and
we think of what we
are doing and we stop
only to be pulled as if
by regret together
again to taste our
selves to enjoy each
other and we breathe
grasping to the energy
still in our bodies and
as we live and learn
to go about what we
have to do our body
as if drained of its
soul droops as we
slowly begin to go
back into reality
and face our wonder-
ful life.

Empty
Glass shatters on the floor,
spilling milk everywhere...
'don't cry, don't cry, it's all right'
glazed tears frost over and dry
crystallized in the night.
her hand,
got caught in the door
blood was running down her fingers.
but she didn't cry, she smiled
and said it was alright.
but i remember it,
i thought about it all night.
i don't know where her strength came from,
or how to make it mine.
sprawling, broken on the ground
as they're soaring on the sky.
the fears they've overcome,
would have made my spirit die
never really had found
how they got so high.
'unclench your first, it's ok, it's ok'
i stare down at my white-knuckled hand.
what the hell is wrong with me?
wish i could understand.

no strength no assurance,
like a trust game gone wrong,
falling backwards
but no one will catch you
or break the impact of the fall.
you lie winded on the ground
when others laugh on the edge of the sky.



Maybe she was depressed when she wrote it. Maybe she was just thinking depressing thoughts. Maybe this actually happened to her. I found it. So I will share it.