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 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
Nina
I'm a whimsical girl, as whimsical as one can be, my world is a whimsy-filled fantasy dream
When I think about me, truly me, I see kindness,  laughter, generosity, and  beauty
But when I imagine what others see, I see nice, but weird, control freak who wants peace, a small, yet tall, fish in the sea
Why do I care? Care what they think? What they see?
I am who I want to be.
I am a whimsical girl, who loves this world, and is creating me
What I believe they think, is pretty much true
And that's all right, that's okay, because those parts are all me
I am her, and she is me,
We coexist peacefully. In my world of whimsy.......................
Hi Poets! I'm Nina, and this is a poem I wrote. I really like poetry, and started writing about a week ago. Poetry is my way of letting my feelings out in a peaceful way. I hope you like my poem. Feel free to comment. Thank you!
 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
Sam Miller
A mirror is only as good as what you see on its surface
and when what you see isn’t what you want,
you start to wish the mirror was broken,
that someone bought it from a fun house,
that what you see isn’t really you.

You start to avoid the mirrors in your house,
pretending not to worry about how you look,
claiming that you’re not a vain person.
But the truth is, your vanity hides
beneath a layer of disgust
like a sheath of decaying sanity.

You want to curl up,
curl up until you disappear,
because maybe then people would look at you
the way you want them to,
they would look at you fondly,
missing your little quirks and they would say things like,
“They were so beautiful, it’s such a shame.”

But the thing is,
that’s not what happens.
That is not fondness,
it is pity. They feel bad for you,
but they feel no guilt
for how they ignored you.

Disappearing won’t make people look at you.
I thought like that once upon a time,
and sometimes the thoughts still creep in
like little worms trying to eat away at the confidence I have built.

But **** it,
I have worked too hard to go back now.
When I look in the mirror,
I no longer see that layer of disgust
that sheathed my decaying sanity.
Now I look in the mirror and I think,
“****, I look really good.”

I do it anytime I look in the mirror,
because now it’s true.
I believe every word of it,
I finally like what I see.
And if that makes me vain
then I will gladly accept the title.

I have wasted too much time avoiding my own reflection.
For once in my life, I’m finally happy with what I see.
And nobody, nobody, is ever going to take that away from me.

Look at yourself.
Embrace what you see, love it.
If you don’t like it, you can change it.
You can change the cut and color of your hair,
you can change the clothes you put on,
you can exercise and you can eat right,
you can even change the color of your eyes.
All I ask of you is that you don’t hurt yourself in order to change things.
 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
st64
how he loved his sweetheart queen
she always wore the silver bracelet
he gave when she turned sixteen
now their kids are growing; how time has flit



10 a.m.

Eyes opening, sun comes streaming through the windows. It's so late!

I rise, feel so groggy....what's this weighty load on me...?
I've been sleeping, yet feel profoundly *weary
.
Where is everyone?
"Muriel...?"
I get to the bathroom to wash and shave.

My wife appears at the door, "Honey, where have you been? Oh, we haven't seen you in so long... Welcome back! Come down for tea, dahling."
She pours a glittering smile and reaches up to touch my cheek with the back of her left hand, fingernails painted deep red...her nuptial rings still a dazzle after so many years...but she....
"Alright, dahling?"
"Y-yes, dear."

She had never called me darling...or even dahling....before...!
Huh?
And off she goes, to the kitchen.
Welcome back?? did she say?? And her eyes were shining so bright...
Wait a minute....just  hold on ....what....??
I shake my head, unable to toss some heavy feeling....a dense cloud in my head.



10:30 a.m.

Now I'm dressed and freshened up, I head down.

Feeling better, I see my warmhearted and humorous son at the pine dinette table.
I smile warmly as he turns to look up...I remember the promise that we'd go fishing this weekend.
"Hey, budd....."
I reach over to touch his hair, but he flinches away..!

"Who's this, Mom?" Kyle demands hotly.
My wife gives a bright smile which doesn't quite reach her eyes and says: "Now, Kyle....behave. It's Daddy.."
"Oh, he's just .....tired, ok."

She waltzes over and politely hands me a steaming mug.
What in the name of....???
Over the cloud of coffee, I watch them all.
Little Jenny, but my jolly toddler...now on her mother's hip...watches with wary eyes and reaches out to scratch me, her pacifier hanging from a blue ribbon, like a noose from her 'happy-smiles' bib.

"But Mom, he's been away so long...for years and..."
I hear him whispering sullen and lizard-like, to his mother....but he's hissed into silence.

What in the heck....?
"Now, children," Muriel says patiently, "go play out in the yard..."

Oh, I'm feeling so frazzled!



11:00 a.m.

I decide I've had enough.

My wife is at the sink, thickly busy rinsing cups and plates; she smiles sweetly, humming.
She never did like doing dishes....
Now there she stands, looking all coiffed and made-up, hopelessly incongruous...

I shake my head; thoughts roll and collide, like mysterious marbles across my mind-floor...
Kyle watches me hostile, from the garden...arms folded defiantly across his chest.
Jenny's on her tricycle, red as a fire-engine.....eyes blankly staring, bent on crisscrossing her scalene triangle trip.

I turn to ask: "Muriel, where's your bracelet, dear? You always have it on."
"Oh, dahling...don't you worry. It's upstairs on the dresser."

And yet.....I was there earlier whilst dressing, and I didn't see it!

Baffled, I step out to the kids.
I prune the bougainvillea and then rake some leaves. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck....
It feels as if I'm being watched...when I look up to see, they are all quickly resume their activities.
Muriel just keeps on that shiny smile for me.


11:30 a.m.

This is it.

As I rake, some leaves make way for a clearing in the yard.
Bending down to scoop some up, a shiny reflection catches my eye...there's the silver bracelet with that beautiful twist of blue as gemstones.
What was it doing here...?

Still pondering, I see my wife's head **** up from the kitchen window...lips curling back...oh, no smile this time...body looking too *****...eyes like saucers, way, way too interested.....

I look down again...move some more leaves.....a curled hand....But it looks like ......

I recognise my Muriel's hand, her clear and pushed-backed-cuticle fingernails....her arm..her face....but.....
she's here.....!!

What the.....??

I turn round slowly to look.....only..... too slowly.....







how I loved my sweetheart Muriel
who always wore her silver bracelet
with that beautiful
twist of blue




S T, 11 June 2013
Partly inspired by movie 'Haunting in Salem'...just some ****** film I couldn't finish....lol
Dozed off and wrote this thing, instead :)


sub-entry: none
 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
st64
stripes and spots can change..
growling inside

teasing a cat in a cage
even a small big cat
can prove a pretty hazardous thing

wait till it's free....


S T, 12 June 2013
:)
 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
st64
peace
please



private property..
intruder hurtled over
seeking who knows what
screaming obscenities

perfect pitch..
find little solace
but by going within
hide well beneath veneers

possible perfection..
but with one
so* very far away
loss near calamitous

pardon presumption..
get over discomfort
pick up sad face
work with it

passable poetry..
may reveal a layer or two
if the inner eye ready
shove preconceived away

puerile pretence..
try to prove points
only to efface the truth
lose bits of the light

petty prisons..
all just deadly excuses against living
get locked in by the self
unlock the cell, throw key away

please..
peace




S T, 12 June 2013
when we expect nothing, we won't be disappointed :)
 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
st64
not yet
 Jun 2013 Kendal Anne
st64
fool-proof umbrella
covering protégé
adorning brilliance

no purple moments
folly forgotten
iniquity barred
fountain-pen spills
in lampblack Indian ink
when letting go
rose bush on fire
in the mountain
claims
rock-hard granite
heat melting
higher meeting..so fleeting

concluding well
deep
sans senses
catch scent
wrapped in sound
sudden arrival
rivers flow yet endless

such relief exquisite
still
not quite
fruition
not yet..

four leaves wait
count a quarter
at a time
yet fretless time
caught in veins
of
chlorophyll dreams

time to fill
maturation
to come..

to plant seeds
into blazing buds
just
not yet..



S T,  13 June  2013
I'm singing in the rain
I'm singing in the rain...

tra la la...

:)

thank heavens for photosynthesis

real good things take time to grow, to ripen...with sunshine, rain et al..

growing, growing, growing . . .
"Why are you mimicking me
Oh foul beast?"
"Because I had this glorious pattern first
And to help me better feast."
"But you are so loud,
obnoxious even glorious."
"Alas, I am not, but I do admit that it is
My hide for which I am notorious."
"My gleaming fur is also well known
to people far and wide."
"I see your stripes hung up, strung out
And dried."
"Our likeness is uncanny,
Used for such different reasons."
"But they both bring upon
Those two legged demons."
"And for this sameness, this
alike this identical..."
"We are created the same,
All of us are equal."
I killed a spider today.

It was outside, alone, defenseless.

Living.

I don’t know why.
I don’t know why.

The world is huge and open and full of creatures.

Living.

And it meant nothing to me.
Just a barely hesitant pause.
And an entire world ended.

Forget your next task.

Tomorrow.

Next year.

The world ended.

Because I killed a spider today.
 Apr 2013 Kendal Anne
diana_rae
It’s not always *****
And glass slippers
Handsome gloved fingers impeccably asking for
Just one dance
There aren’t always fairies with good intentions
And neatly pressed dresses
Popping out from
Rose bushes while you cry to
A mother grave
Sometimes dirt under fingernails
Doesn’t come off
Sometimes you learn to live by
Snatching crusts thrown in
Hot fires so you
Reach in to hunger
And come out with scarred fingers covered in ashes
Chores are not always performed
By animated, peeping creatures
And instead you know their presence in the dark as
Whispered tails run over your ratty hem
It’s not always a fairy-tale
Sometimes you sing harshly
To the tune of a whip on your back
As the words
**** from the cinders
Ring in your ears
But sometimes clever fingers steal material
Working late into the night
And pacts made with older Magic’s  
Help you bewitch a prince so he sees
Only you
And sometimes you get to watch blood fall
On your wedding dress as your tormentors eyes
Are plucked out by winged doves
And you do feel happy
In the sunlight
Until in the dark, again
Hands run over you, whispering then
Biting like the rats
And you realize, lying back
That you have traded one form of servitude
For another
And happily-ever-after has
Only just begun.
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