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My Own
This room is my haven from all those
Around that strive to cause the pain.
I shed one tear that stings my cheek.
But it is one of many,
That you'll never see.
Right now I am the child and
I bear the anger on my skin.
Got to be strong, won't give in just yet.
Though I have fear it looks me in the eye.
Defeat is not here tonight.
You would think the walls are screaming,
But the sounds eventually fade because
That world melts away as we quietly play.
STOP.
There it is: the stomps, slams, yells, curses,
And slaps are all too familiar.
Then she looks and asks, "Have I been bad?"
Blaming herself again, I respond, "Mommy's just mad."
Her head so low, she sheds that tear.
The same one I comfort to sleep,
Only wishing her the sweetest dreams.
The sun rises and gleams the pane
Into my eye and illuminates the panorama
Of this miserable life.
Then from deep inside I hear a growl.
I mistake my stomach for my soul,
And then go to the kitchen,
Wondering with what,
I will fill my bowl.
Not Much. Cottage cheese and some Oreos,
Is all our lonely pantry has to offer.
I walk around the glass shattered on this floor.
Wondering how the argument went the night before.
This house is too quiet, why?
Oh, he isn't up yet.
Better find her so she doesn't make a noise.
Then my feet leave the ground and I for once am feeling safe.
Smile so warm, arms so wide.
I can fit my heart inside those eyes.
That look over what imperfections we have.
Sitting on his right, with her on his left,
We watch the glass that shows us the problems out there,
That I believe are here too.
Then I let out, "Have we been bad?"
His calm words out, "No angel, Daddy's just sad."
He gets up, goes to the jar, takes a few coins.
And we take a walk down our way.
The change makes it's fairwells as it falls into the vendor's palm.
There's a bench we take our seats upon, and my sneakers kiss the sidewalk,
My small hands brush the greasy strands of hair from my eyes.
Simple happiness.
It is what we live for, what we can afford.
All we intimately call our own, and not even Mommy...
Can throw that away.
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The Stranger
The Stranger
I tried to write our names next to each other like I used to, and they just don't look the same.
To myself I ask what stranger decided next to mine,
To put his name.
Took down our pictures off my wall,
Those people no longer hang together in these halls.
I cry and hurt but that pain will heal,
In the ways that time does.
Memories will fade,
Only to be remembered as what is and what was.
The past is left where it stands for a reason,
And today's not the day to waste my time in hate.
Because the future is lookin' so bright,
I'm gon'na need a pair of shades.
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False Teeth (for my Grandfather)
When I was little, I used to think he really didn't like me.
Though when it was bedtime, he's the one I would have a story from until his leg or I fell asleep.
He would take me fishing, and one time I caught a baby alligator.
We've had a million and two adventures all these years, but I'll have to save those for later.
I was a bright eyed kid, wild and crazy,
And he's my great-grandpa with dentures, even-tempered and lazy.
Quiet spoken, and not too many emotions to spare,
Hugs, conversation, and goodbye-kisses were often quite rare.
One Florida day, when news in the family was shaken and sad,
As I sat on the steps outside crying too, he picked me up and told me it couldn't be that bad.
Every time we come to visit, I sit to listen to what great wisdom he has to say.
And when we leave, the only thing I wish for is one more day to stay.
Some kids my age could hardly care what stories and experiences their elders have to share,
But me, I'm definitely different, I find room to pull up a chair.
Of all the things he's said over the years, I've found each one to be true.
But one thing I know is false like his teeth is when he kisses me on the forehead,
Then says, "And I don't even like you."
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The Type of Girl
That has a heart as big as her arm span,
And can still manage to have room for all she loves in it.
Who walks on the beach at night alone,
Looks at the sky full of connect-the-dots,
And asks for guidance to help me connect my life.
A girl that secretly loves the old cowboy and indian movies on the Hallmark channel,
And watches them with her great-grandpa on Sunday mornings with a bowl of popcorn full of salt.
That sits on the wooden porch in the morning rain,
Eating Ramen noodles and seeing angry clouds,
Painting her nails as the the tin roof sings.
That dances like a disco-freak while she cooks,
And sings too loud in the shower,
Puts too many marshmallows in her cocoa,
And still prays to the angels before she goes to sleep.
Who isn't afraid to speak her mind and opinion,
Emotions can be expressed, but at the end of the day,
She isn't above asking for forgiveness if she did wrong,
Who stays up all night waiting to see the moon,
Hoping the person who's on her heart,
Is seeing it too.
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Drifting Away Into the Sea
Eyes filled with water, I'm drowning in this sea,
Of what is, what used to be, and the future reality.
You stand tall, like the lighthouse on the coast,
Directing me through the storm, telling me where to go.
But you're gone, and there's nothing left to say,
These tears rolling like a river down my face are never going to change,
The way you feel; Together we cry.
As a girl I looked up to Beauty never knowing there was a beast,
Regardless of such things, you became the world to me.
The hurt that is felt, covers up the pain,
Because this longing soul can make it any way.
My words are gone, I keep them to myself now.
The flood is over and the dove bears the branch,
I am strong, for I know that in the end, I live in your memories.
Turning back the pages of time, there's no mistaking; Together we cry.
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Our Tale for the Faeries
I wonder if we'll make it all the way, to the finish line, and back around.
I ponder my life, as I tie it with yours, with my feet still on the ground.
Our heads were in the sky, next to those clouds,
But then I looked, and saw it was a long way down.
I used to think love was for fairytales, only possible in a world of dreams.
That happily-ever-after was still in style, but reality came through tearing at the seams.
We'll re-write the ending, and publish it for all to read,
Our story of star struck'd lovers, with Romeo and Juliet rooting for the home team.
This life can be so cold, can be so cruel.
Especially when we defy laws of gravity, and break all of the rules.
They'll never understand as the can barely see, blinded by pessimistic habits,
Through my eyes of green, my heart I give to you; to safeguard and to it be true.
One day you'll wake to find you don't feel the same anymore, we'll wait and see,
And when that happens, dear, wrap it and return the passion to me.
You will survive, oh you will survive, 'cause as long as you know how to love, I know you'll stay alive.
For now I will close this chapter, keep it shut tight.
I'm going to lock it away, and throw away the key.
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December's Face
... is that of an angel.
Wearing a white blanket across her form, I bet you couldn't tell.
That when she opens her arms so wide, the world itself can fit inside
Her coldness, brings the warmth.
A bitter heart she does not have, everyone around is so glad
When she blesses the earth with sparkling snow from above.
Of "'Tis the Season" to be jolly and the occasional Fa La La's,
This mistress with beauty undenied looks in from the outside.
Frosted panes and footprints that follow, December knows a time of rebirth while nature is resting.
To have the stars look down upon and see in the ice their reflection, in this particular season,
The angels like December can recognize their faces.
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The Shitty Day Survival Guide
Hello, and if you decided to click on this note to read it's contents, you my friend are in for a treat! I have devised the perfect guide to get you through even the shittiest of days. Have no fear! For when on days such as these, there are still some saving graces.
When you get to school and things are all a muck,
No matter where you go, to or 'fro, you always seem so stuck.
For in your days of teenage months and years,
You are bound to have those certain days that crack you down to tears.
I cannot emphasize how much these facts are true,
But have no fear for the darkness will end and your skies WILL return to those of blue.
Today for example, could not have started any worse,
I left the house in a stomping storm, from my mouth I began to curse.
The one's I love seemed so concerned why on my face there hung a frown,
When on any given regular day my friends and I acted like such clowns.
But it's okay,
Cause at the end of the day,
No matter how bad people want to make things, no amatter how hard they try.
I won't slow down, and I won't cry.
Because at the end of it all there are indeed a few things that you can make go your way.
Like, get all comfy and read a book.
Just lay back and relax, and forget about all those quizzes and tests you took.
Go light a candle, ask for a back rub,
And if you've got enough time, take it all off and put some bubbles in the tub.
Try and survive for now,
Because some way, and somehow,
I know that everything will be alright.
Tomorrow's a new day and this is the best advice I've got, put on your fuzzy pajamas and brush your teeth, climb into bed,
And turn off the light.
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Takes More Than 24
How I wish I could meet Father Time, and his dear wife Mother Nature.
So I could introduce myself, and tell them this rhyme:
"Everyday there is a feeling of needing to accomplish more,
But even being Wonderwoman with Superman at her side, saving the world takes more than 24."
So many things to do, and not enough time.
If I could live a thousand years, I wonder the changes our planet would see through.
I'd add a few more hours to the face of that clock; turn them back, forward, or stopped,
The hands keep on teasing me, keeping the beat of ,
Come inside and lock the door, and start preparing for tomorrow's adventures.
Today's minutes and seconds are over, because we know that we need more than 24.
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While You Are Sleeping
Anything becomes everything, and everything can be perceived as reality. In your wildest dreams, a world is created where all is achievable and the only thing holding you back is the ability to turn consciousness into subconscious. "Lucid dreaming" is a phenomenon when the dreamer can control the mechanics of these things. I, myself am a lucid dreamer, and each night when I turn out the light I look forward to another world far away from here.
Hopefully you are aware of the widely popular blockbuster film that came out this past summer, and directed beautifully by Christopher Nolan; Inception. With leading role played by Leonardo DiCaprio, the journey began as we twist the logistics of what it is to be in a transitive state of mind. Thoughts that are long past forgotten are awoken and the terminology of "flashbacks" come to life and are made relevant. Some of the craziest memories that have been repressed come alive, and the childhood friends and activities we cherished continue on with us. But even though we experience happy and fairytale thoughts, the concept of a dream is to also remind us of the things that we keep to ourself: fears, thoughts, secrets, habits, and the things that we want to know only to ourselves. Nightmares, not only are what keep us intouch with reality and expand our thought processes, dreams also have a magic potency about them. As one of my personal favorite modes of inspiration, they sure do help you come up with some of the craziest things. It is no secret that "The March of the Elephants", made famous by Disney's "Dumbo", is not every persons idealistic dream, BUT keep on dreaming!
*Tip: When you wake up in the morning from a really great dream, to remember it longer, don't talk. As long as you keep thinking about it, and your mind isn't full of more thought-oriented things such as speech, you'll remember it longer.
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Easy Street
Red and white pills,
Right there in my hand.
Wondering if I will live on, or bring myself to and end.
How these small little friends,
Wound up in my palm I will never know.
They taunt me with fear waiting upon my next action to show.
The reasons are simple but eventually they add up.
You would never know this at first glance,
But the real me behind the mask has been waiting for this chance:
Between the mother who can't get a job,
And the ice clanking in the glass,
The booze doesn't drown these haunting memories from the past.
The dad who yells and hollers,
Each curse can be heard through the walls clear as day.
These torments never cease especially when there's nothing left to say.
All we want is mommy's love and daddy's sweet hugs
Is that too much to ask of you?
It must be because now I have the bruises on my face turning blue.
I look down at the white and red tablets,
And think about how simple leaving this world would be,
Then I remember quickly that my family doesn't live on Easy Street.
I rather reside on Happy Avenue,
Where all the rich ladies play checkers and their men smoke big cigars,
But the damn bus won't take me to that side of town, the ride is too far.
I've learned this mantra well: Life is hard in every single way.
Getting through it alive is a gamble each of us must take,
Though the dice are loaded and the cards are stacked.
Looking in the mirror I examine my plain and broken flesh,
My mind cracks and I feel the tears stain my cheeks,
"No one will miss me", to myself do I think.
Alone right here on the edge of my bed I've planned my strategy.
A last deep breath and faint, uttered cry,
I would swallow these pills, go to sleep, and say goodbye.
The clock tells me 10:33.
The time has come there is no more to waste,
If I do it now there won't be a scream to make,
I look back down at the red and white medicine...
Asking myself one last time if this is what I want;
I throw them away and put on my jacket with ease,
Because I want to keep on living, on my Easy Street.
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The Bayou Diaries (Part 1)
The porch light was the only thing on in the house a person could see from the back country road. The windmill was still and the feeling of suspense lingered in the hot and humid Louisiana night. Winding down the dirt up past the howling dog on the chain to the house, you could hear from the outside in that someone was in a hurry.
Ms. Loretta had lived in that same shanty cottage with her husband since they wed. And with him as a barely paid cotton-picker, 50 cents was most of what they came by. She on the otherhand, was southern housewife with dreams bigger than a rotting plantation and 3 children. She was strictly obedient, and washed and cleaned like her husband expected. As the kids stayed quiet or playing board games, little did they know their momma was crying at the end of the day over her cup of coffee. As one could imagine, she was still in her youth but confined to her responsibilities. She had always wanted to be a silver-screen actress and live it big in the city; the thriving nightlife, and dancing with the marine-boys that'd come back from the war. But in reality, she waited by the door in her robe nearly every night waiting for her husband to come home from the bar or gambling house. And when he did he was the worst drunkard that you ever did see. Hollering and angry, on occasion he'd slap his wife right across the cheek if his supper wasn't warm or cooked the way he preferred. The kids hid out of fear from him. Mainly to stay clear out of his way or to avoid a whooping, but again in reality, it was inevitable that the household was burdened by more than poverty. Each passing day it got worse for Loretta, and she begged and pleaded for her husband to come home at night and sleep in their bed; instead of that of a stranger. Years went by with no improvement shown, and as time marched on, Loretta could only find herself to blame for the failure of her family.
What she had in mind and what she settled for were two opposites that broke her spirit to pieces. 10 years worth of bacon, eggs, and tears, and her alcoholic husband drove her to what she planned to do this night- escape.
The footsteps she took on the wooden floor echoed as she went through the hall gathering her valuables in her case. The children didn't quite understand what or why this was happening, and ocasionally she would murmur reassurances that everything would be alright. She told her oldest to keep the two from whining as she finished packing most of what they needed. Turning up the dial on the static radio to drown them out, she quickly scurried through kitchen looking for the mason jar that held most of their savings. To her surprise it was gone, and in frustration she cursed aloud and thrust his bottle of booze off the counter. Stepping over the shards of glass, she emptied their cupboard and wrapped the bread and salted roast in linens. Then in the distance she heard the pickup turn into the drive, the signal that they needed to leave: quickly.
The Bayou Diaries (Part 2)
The gravel crunched as the tires made their halt in front of the house. The engine turned quiet and the familiar slam of the metal door soon followed. The dog in the yard's bark had stopped, and in the back of her head now was the pounding headache and release of adrenaline that shot through her body. Ushering the children out the back door into the steamy night towards the barn, Loretta made her way cross the living and to their bedroom. Opening through to avoiding the loud creak the hinges made, she crept to the vanity where she kept her gold and jewelry. As her hands went to take the top, she remembered the chime song that the box sang to her. The song that her husband used to hum while laying beside her, once upon a time. The same tune that she believed the jays would whistle to her when she worked in the garden. She snapped to reality and suppressed the phantom memories that beckoned any hope that she would remain in here in the backwaters of Lafayette, Louisiana.
Wiping from her eyes on her cotton sleeve were the tears she was already acquainted with. The same ones that bound her to this place with a tight grasp; that made her smile indelible. Brushing the past off, she turned to leave but stopped frozen in her tracks when she caught sight of who stood in the frame. In a intimadating, condescending tone he demanded where she was leaving in such a storm. Her words couldn't be found and she stammered out lies hoping he couldn't see through them. He took long strides towards her as his boots made the floorboards shudder beneath her feet, and as he found his place before her, his presence overwhelmed her. Standing tall, she didn't back down before his beaten, tired, and bulky stature. She held her breath as the stench of whisky surrounded his body like a thick fog.
To be continued...
