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There it sits
Waiting
Watching

It's a Yamaha
With a Union-Jack back
The last of it's
Kind

It's been a faithful companion
It came to me
When I was six
Not brand new
But second hand

Through all the tears
All the humiliation
All the pain
All the scoldings
All the belittlings
It stuck through with me
With sweat and blood
Shed on the keys
It didn't complain
When I threw
My tantrums
Banging the keys
Even kicking it once
Or twice
It just waited
And watched me
Till I calmed down
And felt
Stupid
After
I practised
Everyday
And not once
Did it
Complain

It has a really bright
Crystal clear
Sound
With this certain
Energy
And depth

I took great pride
In taking care of it
Polishing it
Every other day
Till it shone
Like a mirror

As time went by
One grade after the other
The practises became
Less and
Less
I didn't care for it
As much as I did
Before
A year passed
Then another

Now I'm fourteen
It's twenty eight
Or more
I've had my share
Of performing
On stage
With all types of pianos
But there was this
One thing
That was different
With my piano
Something it
Lacked

The sound is there
The energy is there
But somehow
When I compare the recordings
My dear piano
Just sounds
Tired...
The touch stickier
The keys start failing
On some days
It sounds
Muted
Always slightly off key
No matter how many times
The piano man comes
This is one patient
The doctor can't treat

Is it possible
That emotions
Can be transferred
To objects?
Has my raging
Over the keyboard
Tired it out
By having to
Express
What I play
And what I
Put
Into the pieces?

It's a piano
Of memories
Of thoughts
Of an inexpressable phenomenon
Called feelings
"Where words fail, music speaks"
I salute you
Dear piano
For allowing me
To express myself
Through the written pieces
You help
Materialize

We have grown together
Walked this long journey together
And with all the memories
Sweat
Blood
Tears
That has made me today
I won't part with
Till the very end,
Dear piano

So shall we continue?
 Jul 2013 A Yellow Domino
Robbie
Note: This is a spoken word poem. Read aloud for best affect. Poem will read with a natural flow.*

Remember back when beauty was that little yellow flower?
And nobody picked it because they were afraid that the color would fade
So they just sat
And they stared
Silent
In awe
For hours at a time
The way that today I look at my reflection
But the awe has turned to agony
And I look in my eyes, and recoil
What used to be “Just fine” now causes inner turmoil
Isn’t that sad?
That flower got picked from its window box in the schoolyard
And just like we expected, life for it got hard
The flower scarred
Its pain written out on every single petal
And the petals, they faded
Like now natural beauty has become overrated
As the flower sits in a bouquet of hybrid roses
And those roses have thorns
Thorns that ***** and sting and poke
Like when you say, “Aw, c’mon, it was just a joke”
To that girl you called ugly ‘cause she dyed her hair and got braces
Trying to fit in with all the other faces
Isn’t that what society wants from us today?
To change and rearrange what God gave us
To fill ourselves with plastic because, according to the famous ones
That’s what makes life so fantastic
And Barbie isn’t our role model because she’s smart
Not ‘cause she’s a doctor and a vet and a scientist and probably a professor in art
But because she’s skinny
And if you put her proportions on a real girl
That girl would be in a hospital
Fighting anorexia while she gets another implant
Today it feels like we don’t stand a chance
Because they tell you that if you wanna make an impression
Just forget that yellow flower
And now, with every waking hour
I think about how I could be taller
Or have prettier hair
Maybe if I dyed it black or red or blonde then everyone would care
Maybe none of them would stare
Maybe I could finally live my life
Without everyone waiting to see if I can finally live up to the expectations
Because I can’t
I look in that mirror wondering if I can see what everyone else is wanting
Because once upon a time
I thought I was fine
I thought short hair was spunky
And dark eyes were lovely
It’s like I’ve been living a lie
Like Christmas time when you finally ask Mommy if Santa is fake
And she hesitates
And then she tells you yes
So I stare for hours and hours
I’m just like that flower
Now I’m broken and I’m plain
When did beauty become a game?
What’s ugly is the way kids hate themselves now
‘Cause of what the TV is telling us now
That we all need to learn how
To look like everyone else
Hate to burst your bubble that I can’t look like Paris or Nicki
(Spoiler alert: They’re fake)
Not unless you want me
Destroying myself
Because I refuse to be like everyone else
I just wanna get rid of the shame
That makes me blame myself for not being “pretty enough”
I just wanna be that flower
Whose beauty was natural and everyone watched for hours
Not needing to compare themselves to it
Because they all looked just as beautiful
And they knew it
So maybe some of us who are still sane, we can make a change
Show the next generation that beauty isn’t in what you gain
It’s when you remain the same
And maybe I can look in that mirror
Without any fear
And actually smile
And sit there awhile
And find beauty without a search
Maybe then there wouldn’t be so much hurt
Like when we see that yellow flower
Petals stretched toward the sun
Then we will know our job is done
And we have finally won
 Jul 2013 A Yellow Domino
jad
I have faith, yet I struggle.
I understand, yet I receive no enlightenment.
But it makes sense.
All I ask, and with my faith I know you to be capable of this.
I have seen the past and the future and travelled beyond all there ever was in my mind.
But so fleeting is time, it makes me so sad.
Humanity so dull yet so bright.
I dont believe in you, God.
I believe in people, and they believe in you.
People are my religion.
But can I see it all?
The past is present in my mind.
Why can I not live in that reality?
200 years ago, I can see it in my eyes but why can no one else around me?
They are caught up in the trivial, when I see our own skeletons dispersed around this world
Just as we heard of the skeletons lives that we dig for.
We are no more important that each small child that died thinking themselves to be.
Presidents as forgotten as dead fetuses and just as unimportant.
And what do we even matter, God...?
Can I live until there are no more days and can I see the days that have long since passed?
No.
Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.
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