I looked ahead
and stepped into
the seductive unknown
eyes wide open
I looked ahead
into "what can be"
and gave "what" its curiosity
"can" its strength
and "be" its confidence
I looked ahead
and took a deep breath
with fear in one hand
and courage in the other
I looked ahead
but when I wanted
to take a step further
I felt a tug
on the strings
of my heart
I am lost within the box of 64 colors.
Mom got it for me for my birthday.
Said it made me happy when I was young
—tickled pink by the thought of giving me a carton of my childhood.
The crayons lined up tightly like sardines,
tips blunt and paper perfectly peeled.
Colors seemingly endless.
Perhaps I could draw myself a new life.
The viridian found there; dulled, worn, and loved.
Or an airplane, to take me far away from this awful place.
A child sits in the far off room.
Scribbling across parchment
with her crayons sprawled along the floorboards
creaking as her mother approaches.
She abrades the azure along her drawing filling in the sky,
lost in her art.
The magenta of the heart she drew is split unevenly in two
on either side of the room,
she is pleased.
The canary of the sun with flecks of tangerine in it
lays naked and lonely behind her where she is unaware of its misery.
How wonderful it is that she has the delight of drawing!
“You are an artist” mother tells her.
She at the head of the army can conquer the whole page.
She can fill the paper—herself—with the colors.
The white crayon, sits alone in the box.
Immaculate and untouched.
But these are just crayons.
And can’t even color in the lines.
How the hell can a child be so happy with crayons?
Their paper peels unevenly and they snap when you press too hard.
They can’t change what there is.
I could break it.
I could smash this damn crayon.
I could turn them to colorful pieces of what they used to be.
Why would she get me a crayon set?
What is it to do for me?
To benefit me?
Pieces of a memory I don’t want to see.
I should melt it into a pool of wax
spreading seamlessly across the table,
dripping down the wrapper.
It would still fulfill its purpose.
The wax will still stain the page.
The world will still spin,
and time will still go on.
A phantom came to me
And told me that I must
Repent for all
The lying I've
"Throw away the temptation,"
He'd say, "solve
Where you stand in the
Tell the truth, for God's
By God as my holy witness,
I swore that I
The hurt in Mommy's eyes
Strengthened the guilt that
Ate away at my
Daddy was the smart one
In this tedious war
Erupting inside our
Family. He forged
Alliances first and
Make Mom the
He turned his children
Into soldiers so he
Victory; his children
Were bloody and broken
On the battlefield, but
We still had one
I was the rebel force
That exposed the
Truth to the
Enemy, only now I
Realize the real enemy
Was my father.
As the cover was
She was a whirlwind
Ready to destroy
Anything in her
Even after hearing
From the comforts
Of a corner and
As they sang happy birthday
To me with one
Pitiful candle in an
I knew that in this lifetime,
Wasn't so great.
I rise like the Phoenix
I am inside.
I rise like the poet,
and, yes, I know it!
I rise like one of the greats,
Maya Angelou, the late.
I rise like the flame
atop my birthday cake.
I rise on the calendar
like a new date.
I rise in excitement
I rise to shine
like the glorious sun.
for it's my birthday,
Time to rise for fun!
Thanks for reading! K:)
I arrive at your doorstep, flowers in hand
To surprise you on this beautiful day in June
Your birthday, and the perfect day to take you out
Could there be nothing more excellent than this?
I ring your doorbell and stand there for a minute
And then you open the door
Swollen eyes and a tearstained face
Darling what's the matter?
I try to console you
But you only push me away
Saying that you are sorry
Whatever you've done, why should I be mad at you?
I attempt to hold you
And then you begin to scream
At the top of your lungs
How long did you say it was since?
I am confused now
If you say that you eat double now,
And that you and I brought life here,
Then why should you be sad?
I do not understand
And you begin crying again
'It is the product of another man!'
And now I wonder why?
I understand now
And I am frozen dead in my tracks,
I drop the flowers and walk out the door
Do I dare look back?
I can hear you crying behind me and I drop to my knees in your front yard
For hours I sit as your wails die down
You bring out a beer for me and a soda for yourself
And I ask you 'how long?'
You reply with 'only a few days'
And to follow I ask who
Somber, you cannot remember,
Only that you were not willing and could not recall much
We gaze unto the stars and what a whirlwind these hours have been
Conversing until dawn
And everything remains calm as I carry you back inside
Sleeping in my arms.
On your bed I lay you,
And beside you I stay until you are deep in slumber
Peaceful and the flowers now in a vase
I touch your stomach and I can nearly feel the life within.
Life jumps beneath your closed eyelids
Considering the circumstance, I cannot think of a better way to spend this June day
I think, perhaps,
while I'm turning old & gray
cushioned around with my little grandkids
this almost heart would
softly spill birthday lullabies to you
and remember today
we never really had the chance to
it's never been any happier than it was
being able to love and still see the moon
just the same as always
this was where we loved
For a recent milestone birthday
I received a life affirming lift
from my 6 sincere siblings
a priceless poetic gift
In their own written hand
from my literary back catalogue
their favourite poetry piece
leaving me astounded and agog
Underneath each selection
the reasons for their choice
some saying my chosen words
gave their feelings a voice
On each adjacent page
a photo from their childhood
released precious memories
from my own flesh and blood
I look into the night sky.
The clock is ticking.
The moon is sleeping.
I am waiting.
A little girl with a pure kind heart,
messed around a little too much.
The clock is ticking and I wait
for the moment the little girl change.
The little girl will become strong and kind
and valiant and fine.
Though deep inside she might still be shy,
a strong front she will put outside.
The clock is ticking and the time has come.
It is twelve of the very next day,
which many years back in a small white room,
the little girl was born in a pair of arms so warm
and laughter and tears coloured the room.
A smiling father with an exhausted mother,
but everyone in the room was celebrating,
for this very day many years back,
the girl reading this was born.
The clock is ticking.
The moon is gleaming.
The clouds are floating.
The dreams are living.
I am writing.
The clock is ticking and I say
I love you
and I will never regret having you in my life
and I wish you will always be happy on this day every year
because the clock never stops ticking
and people never stop changing.
But today is the day we celebrate the little girl who has changed
in ways big or small,
good of bad,
drastic or subtle.
We celebrate because
I love you.
We love you.
As we sat around the bonfire,
Laughing and loving,
Our spirits couldn't get any higher
And we laughed the night away
The smoke smelled nice,
As we made s'mores,
And burned our eyes,
But we smiled anyway
Music sweetly played,
Over our loud conversation,
But we still listened and swayed
In the cool winter night
I won't forget the fun,
From the ending or when it begun,
And in my heart it'll stay.