last night
I had a thought
that felt like it might turn
into pure poetry

I clung to it
and tried to make it stay
and grow

but it went on its way

and I to sleep

nothing but memories to keep
   of possibilities

when the loud beep of my alarm
woke me to other thoughts
and yet another day

I gave you the most
Fragile parts of me
And asked that you
Handle them with care
Because what is
Broken can't always
Be repaired.

My poem may be yours indeed
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can read
A music of your own;
If in its pale woof you can weave
Your lovelier design,
'Twill make my lyric, I believe,
More yours than mine.

I'm but a prompter at the best;
Crude cues are all I give.
In simple stanzas I suggest -
'Tis you who make them live.
My bit of rhyme is but a frame,
And if my lines you quote,
I think, although they bear my name,
'Tis you who wrote.

Yours is the beauty that you see
In any words I sing;
The magic and the melody
'Tis you, dear friend, who bring.
Yea, by the glory and the gleam,
The loveliness that lures
Your thought to starry heights of dream,
The poem's yours.

When you were single, you suddenly decided to join us.
Spent most of your days hanging out with us.
Made yourself a part of the group, which we all welcomed.
Treated you like a sibling almost, banters and jokes abound.

Months passed by and we saw you with your partner.
When you told us you found your special someone, we couldn't be happier.
We should have known though,
Your spending time with us was through.

When was the last time you joined our gatherings?
When was the last time you talked to us about anything?

Now that you are no longer single again,
We seem to be of no use to you.
Now that our friendship has reached a strain,
We seem to be dead to you.

Some friend you are.

Today I was told.

I don't know who I am.

An absurd remark?

Perhaps.

Or a sad realization.

A slave to the grades.

"Do that for your resumé!"

Try harder, you must be the best.

Perfect, perfect.

From school to work to food consumption,

the slave driver in my head allows no interruption.

And what has this created?  What is this Frankenstein?

A girl involved in so much, yet without her own mind.

What are her passions?  What gives her real joy?

What's hidden behind that achievement ploy?

For now, there's no answer.

She's perfectionism's fine dancer.

Yet with some searching and fun,

The puppet show may finally be done.

Don't be a prisoner to mental slavery. Society wants us to be mediocre. Go to school, study, pass the test, those are all beliefs we are told since we can remember but are they really what you believe in? The window of life is so small that we must seize opportunities when they come. We need to get busy living before we are no longer able to. It happens way too often in society today that people are wearing clothing they don't like and doing jobs they don't want to be doing. You don't have to be a square piece that fits perfectly in the puzzle society lays out for everyone. Become a lion, don't let anyone or anything stop you from becoming what you want to become. So what's holding you back? Take control of your life.