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amt Feb 2013
On a bitter winter day,
A duckling fell from the sky.
I hope he'll be okay.
Just pray that he won't die.

He reminded me of hope,
Something we all need.
The sight of him made me think,
About who I want to be.

A little ducking from the sky,
I hope he'll be okay.
I pray to god that he won't die,
On this bitter winter day.
A duckling fell into the courtyard of my school today. Hope Choncy will be alright!
Jacquelyn Cruz Nov 2010
Her beauty shined from within
With her golden hair and fair skin
But she still wasn't enough for him back then.

Ugly duckling...
She was soon labeled
All of  her peers, joined in

Chanting and ranting
Ugly duckling, ugly duckling
She bowed her head and cried again and again

Time passed
And people moved on
She found she was better off on her own.

Reunions come and gone
She opted to stay at home,
Til one day she realized

She had become a swan...

No longer would she sit at home...
All alone...
No more...No more

Opening her door
She found freedom to explore
And everyone swore...

Anna May...Was gorgeous...
More so than the "chosen ones"...
Back in the school days.

One day she come face to face with...
Juan...but he was to good for her back then...
She sat smiled and listened while he chat...

How did this come about...
Your gorgeous lips, pout...
Round thighs and hips...

She  smiled and said...
I am who I have always been...
You just never saw my beauty from within...

Juan, gathered courage and asked her on a date...
She smiled and said...
To late...

This swan...already has a mate.


Epilogue... Never Judge a person from the outside...whats on the inside, is what really counts.
J.Cruz©2010
A.k.aVelvetRosetta
aviisevil Mar 2016
Whispering
away
the inadequacy
of life
The moral dilemma
of
being never found
Hiding in the comfort
of
every sunrise
Only to find winter falling all around


Making
idols
  from the pouring weather
Thirsty of warmth
rotting in a coffin
Words dying between folds of a letter
Staring in a mirror that is laughing





I see a man without a voice
His eyes as black as coal
I hear the silence in his noise
with
december in my soul



empty
chair
  is rusting by itself
on a fine day to
live and die
in a far corner which no one can tell
there's no standing for a final goodbye




porcupine
skeleton
  hangs in the closet
breathing fumes of a house burning down
dead babies murmur in a cradle of filth
afraid of the clown dancing round





the sky has been lit
on fire
and i sit alone watching the sun fade
strangers chant by the
pyre
consuming the idols science made




i see the time turning
old
the fear shall devour me whole
i ******* eyes burning cold
with
december in my soul
that fades in me and eats my heart
i am left with nothing to feed my pain
memories pierce like broken
shards
and here i bleed now once again
take away my name
and my lies
Leave me with my shadow in tears
i'm the duckling who couldn't fly
a stranger no matter what i
wear
weeping
autumn's
melancholic
colour
painting my window in a gloomy hue
where
i still sing to the face in the mirror
oh god
i remember a sky so blue


I remember


Watching the rain fall


I remember it all


There was so much more


No stained walls



No windows hiding in the dark


only people with no face



To have never left that old place



where december rained on my soul



found me whole


lost me whole
Sara Bella Jan 2012
Remember that one night you fell asleep—
my fingers running through your hair?
I wanted that night to last forever,
To be completely encapsulated in that bubble,
"Mmmm…that feels nice"- a throaty murmur,
And your voice was sleepy, croaky,
"Don't fall asleep or I'll ******* **** you"- a playful threat,
"Mmm...'K...I won't…" eyes gently shut, you were already under

Sometimes memories fade yet still remain beautiful,
like colored lights seen through a foggy window

Gazing upon a perfectly peaceful face,
My fingers continued to caress the silky wisps of your hair,
I kissed you right at the hairline--the place where your slight hair is duckling down feathers,
Incredibly fuzzy and inviting,
I let my lips drift

I curled up near to my pillow and felt Something so strong and warm unfurl around me

I think it was Love.
Mooseman55 Aug 2014
I'm odd so you push me away,
But you never know who I'll be some day.
Be nice to everyone, you never know when you might need their help.
GailForceWinds Jan 2016
Suzanne was an only child, adopted at only a few weeks old. This was no secret, she always knew from the time she was a small child. Her mom would tell her beautiful stories, while she sat in her bed, of how she and daddy waited so long to get her, and how special she was.
She used to feel special, but that was a long time ago. Things were simpler back then, when she was four or five. Mom and Dad seemed happy, and Suzanne did not feel any different being adopted. She was the one kid in the small neighborhood that was an only child. Every other house had five, six, seven kids. Suzanne never knew what it was like to live in a house with other siblings. She was happy with the way things were.

Then the storms in the house began. By the age of five things started falling apart at home. Dad was always sick it seemed. Mom was always upset, crying or yelling or both. It seemed to always be toward Dad, a quiet man. He never fought back, he just sat and took it. She was never be sure what came first, her dad’s sickness or her mother’s madness. She just knew things were not right.

Her mother’s anger and frustration caused her to lash out at out at Suzanne as well. She was filled with fear and embarrassment at a young age. Her relationship with her mom was strained to say the least. From being “special” she suddenly could do nothing right, always being compared to a cousin or the neighbors’ kids.

Now 10 years old she hid in her room a lot, it seemed safer there. But she could not stop the sounds from downstairs. Her mother’s voice booming throughout the neighborhood. How embarrassing! She has to face her friends, doesn’t her mother realize everyone can hear her?
Her father became very ill. He was drinking a lot, falling down and passing out, sometimes on the front lawn. Embarrassment was something Suzanne was becoming very familiar with. He was a gentle man, there was no fear of abuse. But her mother’s emotional abuse was far worse. She was always screaming and crying. There were the nights he didn’t come home for hours, and Suzanne and her mother would wait, hoping he would be coming home, alive.
At 12 years old, her father went away to a hospital, a mental ward of some kind. Shock treatments, pills and therapy. He was always making leather belts while he was there, and that continued long after he got home.

Her father was gone for months. Suzanne stayed with her Grandmother very often. She was an old Italian woman who spoke broken English and always had a tale of woe. Her mother would come get her after a visit to the “hospital”. There wasn’t much time for Suzanne then, the focus was on her father. She drifted through the Catholic school system easily. She was a bright girl, but had to grow up fast, too fast.

What does she tell her friends? Mom said don’t tell anyone anything, ever. No personal information! That’s when she learned how to lie. Over the years she became very very good at it. Hiding things and lying, that’s what you were supposed to do, right?
Her father finally came home, a new man. He had stopped drinking and seemed stronger than ever. Her mother’s ranting and raving did not seem to bother him a bit. He just shrugged it off and went on with what he was doing. But Suzanne could not shrug it off, it killed her spirit a little more every day.

Suzanne was no beauty growing up. She was the ugly duckling among the swans. And she was very aware of it. "Pleasing plump" her mom would say, as she made the big, heavy, fat laden dinners every night. Donuts and crumb cake were breakfast. Always on one diet or another, but nothing worked. Food was an escape for her, and all too available.

She was the fat girl, crazy hair that her mother cut, glasses, buck teeth, which eventually turned her mouth into a sore, metal mess, and of course the Catholic uniform she wore day after day. The other girls her age were all thin and pretty pre-teens. Suzanne was none of that. She went through childhood embarrassed over her family and her looks. Friends were few for her back then. It wouldn't be until much later, when the braces came off, the contacts went in, and the weight became somewhat normal, that her beauty started to shine through. But that didn't matter in Suzanne's mind, she was still the fat ugly kid inside. She would carry that with her for years.
The time for graduation from Catholic School finally came. Instead of joy, all she could feel was fear - fear of embarrassment. Would her father show up drunk? God only knew what would happen. But the night came and went. Dad was on his best behavior, mom was quiet for a change. No carrying on tonight, no-no, she had to put an act on for everyone. No one could ever know how dysfunctional our family was. So the show went on, the good Catholic family, happily ever after. Suzanne was just glad to get out of there without a scene. But now what?
The thought of High School was as scary to Suzanne as a trip to Mars! She was sheltered in Catholic School for eight years, uniforms and nuns, no dating, smoking or drugs. Was she in for a surprise! It started the summer before High School, when she met some kids that went to a “real” middle school. They were no stranger to smoking, boys or drugs. They seemed so grown up, and they went out with boys! Suzanne was going to be just like them.

The first day waiting at the school bus, Suzanne was more nervous than she had ever been in her life. She felt awkward; the clothes her mother picked out were just horrible. After years of uniforms, she had no sense of style, and her mother bought clothes that looked like they came from a thrift shop. It was too late to do anything about it, the bus was coming and she had to get on.

She didn't know that first step on the bus would change her forever. The next four years would steal her innocence, opening up a different world which years later would only be a blur.
She floated through the first year only slightly touched by the devil. Cigarettes were her only vice. Not yet an addiction, just a way to fit in. Her art of lying served her well. She was good at hiding things from her parents. They were too wrapped up in their own misery to notice her. She escaped in her room and dreamed. Her dreams were of being part of them, the cool kids. Whatever it took, she would do. And so it began....
Four years flew by, much of it a blur for Suzanne. By sophomore year she was becoming a pro. A pro at being “cool”, smoking joints, drinking a keg in the woods with the older kids, dabbling with a pill here and there. The few times she threw up in a shoebox in her room didn’t stop her, but makes her cringe now. Her parents never caught on. Even the days she came home tripping on acid. Were they that stupid or that uninterested in her life? It didn’t matter, she lied good and did what she wanted. Including boys.

She met him at 16, he was a bit older, had his own house and grew his own ****. Doesn’t get cooler than that! And ***** galore. Of course there was ***, but that wasn’t the relationship, the party was. Always looking for the next party, the next drink, the next joint, the next line of coke. So of course they got married! She had to get out of her parent’s house, what better way? Say “I do” just to get away, and the party could really take off. And it did, for years….
Suzanne couldn’t take the coke anymore, or the ***, or the drugs. It was too much for her, so she gave it up, one by one. But not the alcohol. That was her thing, and she wasn’t gonna stop, not for a few more years. So she drank and drank every night. Maintaining a job but hating her life. She realized at 25 that her husband was her best friend, party buddy, but not a lover. The thought of divorce was too scary. Nobody got divorced, right?

So at 25 she quit drinking, only to become obsessed with running and working out. That was the new addiction. She became distant from her husband even more. She worked out and he partied it up. She couldn’t be around it, or him. She just didn’t love him that way…. Hell, she didn’t even know what real love was. Would she every find out? She was determined to try. On to the divorce…

It was pretty painless, once her husband got over the realization that it was going to happen. They parted friends. He fell in love right away, and married again within a couple years. Suzanne wanted to have some fun, not ready to settle down. She never had the experience of dating before, or being wanted by different men. If there was any flirting during her marriage, she couldn’t act on it. So act on it she did! What a wild ride, three years and countless guys later, she started to play with the wine again…

It started slow, a glass here and there, months would go by without. Drinking wasn’t a problem, right? Oh how wrong she was. She’ll eventually find out later on, after much pain, self-hate and heartache. For now, it was easy to pretend everything was just great. Life was great, although lonely. She was worried about finding a man now. She was 30 for God sake, she should be married again. Well, be careful what you wish for! At 31 she met her next ex-husband.
It was a whirlwind romance, took off fast and ran fast. He drank, so she drank more. Still, not a problem. Everybody blacks out, right? He didn’t mind, he was just as bad at that time. Together they could not be stopped. They were the “good looking” couple, the entertainers, the hosts of every party and holiday. And Suzanne continued to drink, more and more. Always looking for the next party.

She worked hard, moved up in her career and did very well for herself, despite the drinking every night. She was young enough to handle it, but that would all change. She had a son, and didn’t drink while pregnant, a glass of wine here and there, nothing crazy. But the flood gates opened again after the baby was born. No sooner was she back from the hospital than the wine cork popped.

The next several years would be somewhat of a blur. The drinking was still manageable for a while, but soon the chaos would begin. Divorce, DUI’s, blackouts, bad men, drugs… Life was definitely unmanageable now. Things were out of control. The drinking became an everyday thing now, weekends were non-existent, only a drunken blur. Something had to be done, before she killed herself. She didn’t want to die, at least she thought not.
Time had somehow stopped one day. There was no day or night, just one long drunk, in and out of consciousness. Her son was older now, the men were gone, she was heartbroken, her only love was the bottles of wine she drank day after day. Without a license, for 10 years, it was easy to isolate. And isolate she did. Suzanne had a driver, who everyday knew to pull into the D&D; liquor store on the way home from work. She would call him on weekends, anytime of day, early morning, afternoon or night, whenever her wine was finished and the liquor store was open. She could never seem to buy enough.

She stated to sink into the dark hole. Was she losing her mind? She didn’t know what day it was or time it was, was it morning or night? Did it matter? As long as the bottle was not empty, it would be ok. But the pills for anxiety weren’t working anymore, she had to take more and more, and still the shaking would not stop. There was not enough ***** or pills for Suzanne to calm her nerves when she wasn’t passed out. She didn’t sleep anymore, it was just a blackout state, over and over again.

One day Suzanne woke up in the emergency room, again, not the first time. She didn’t know what happened, but she knew she had to do something. Her hair was filled with dried blood. How’d she get there? Who called for help? How was she going to go to work? Her mind wandered as she lie there, now awake, wanting to get out!!! They finally released her, 18 stitches in her head, with no coat, no shoes, it was mid-January in Jersey. She got her driver to get her home, with the one stop on the way of course, D&D.; "Really," she thought. "Am I serious???" But Suzanne was very serious. She went back to her tower, her bedroom of isolation. How could she explain this? She couldn’t.

That’s when she picked up the phone, glass of wine in her hand, and made the call. This is where her next journey began….
Short Story
Joanie Poston Feb 2013
I have not a creative bone in this body
All 206 are exactly the same
I can't force life into my words
I can not make the ugly duckling, beautiful
I can not write of love
Make hearts beat widely

Only make the heart stop
The music slowly fade
This pathetic soul that I parade
If only these words could show

The Starry Night within me
The workings of artistic ability
The music we all sing along to
Or that one hit wonder

All are nice ideas
Ones I wish could dig down deeply for
From the deep unconsciousness of my mind
Though these words a creative bone I will then find

Then shall I cut off my ear?
I will continue to search far and wide day and night
Hope to find words that fit together just right
I must perfect every line
Breathe breath into this dream that is mine
Reveal the secret of the pen, the love of every letter left hanging
Making a world forever changing

I just want to be heard
My boring tale to be cured
My words to flourish
Be the poem that every English class is reading
To bring new meaning
To every heart beating

For that is my goal
To reach deep, deep within the soul
And maybe find the surprise
Lying at the bottom of the cereal box
That every child wishes he will find
Aditi May 2015
Put your makeup on
Fix your hair
Don't let them know
You are hurting
But God, are you hurting!

Put a facade on
Make your voice sound softer
Walk with a zeal
Don't let your eyes betray you
But oh, they always betray you

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Can they tell
I have been wasting my self away
Curled up in a ball

Mirror mirror on the wall
Will they ever know
The face in the mirror
Masks more pain than they'll ever know

Fight the lump in your throat
Eat but never swallow
You need to fit into that dress
Your boyfriend bought
Oh, anything for him.

Pull your sleeves down
They must not see
The cracks through
Your impenetrable wall
But the voices are just too loud

Mirror, mirror on the wall
How long will he love me
If I continue to live
In this flawed skin I was born with

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Can I tell you a secret
Few more weeks
And I'll be the prettiest of them all

Ignore the stares
But does your hip look too flat
It can't be, you followed all the diet procedures perfectly
Or, did you

Give in
You can't do this anymore
Who would ever love
The ugly duckling you have
Become

Mirror,  mirror on the wall
Why do you have to be so shallow
Why don't you reflect
All the goodness inside a person

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Watch how I break you
And bleed my life dry
On the shattered piece of you

Dear little girl,
*You have hated your reflection
That I showed all this time
If you only knew
Only you have the acceptance
You sought in everyone's eyes
We all have insecurities. But it is up to you, do you want them to rule your life? Till you become someone you are not? Ask yourself that. Don't let others opinions of you define who you are or your waist size.
Colin E Havard Mar 2014
I live in the moment;
Running freely, half-cocked;
A poofteenth of an idea
And I'm off with the pixies;
Chasing my tail, trying to nut-out
A niggly-niggardly issue unresolved,
That stumps or annoys the Earth's
Best representatives in a speciality.
Whether I'll end at an adequate
Conclusion is anyone's guess.

Bonus After-thoughts -->

I'm programmed
to generalise for
simplicity's sake.

I'm FREE
I'm FINE
And this FUGGLY-DUCKLING
Could possibly be DIVINE
(OR Delusional - Take your pick).
2/3/2014
2 of 8 (Yellow) Huntsbury Hotel, Petersham
Kriti Gupta Oct 2013
you know that swans can die of a broken heart when their partner leaves.
people have said that on ice I am more graceful than a swan.
this adds up in ways that I don't appreciate
but its like i was born to tell you i love you and then just leave
Heidi Mason Nov 2018
Eighteen years of life
spent loving and hating everything.
As a toddler, the only worry in her head
was what she was going to dress up as
during her day.
She loved princesses and her mom.
She hated the way her mom and dad argued
and was terrified of alone time with her dad.
As a pre-teen, she worried about her friends.
She loved every single one of her best friends
more than she really knew.  
She hated the way  her mom worked all the time
just to make sure they were taken care of.
An attitude develops from being around her besties
and her mom hates it.
Rolling into teen years, worrying about everything felt appropriate.
She loved traveling and having fun.
She hated that she realized she was the 'ugly duckling' sibling.
Never good enough, there is always something wrong with the ugly duckling.
Depression, it took the best of the duckling that was convinced she was ugly.
Bob B Oct 2016
Lucita clearly wasn't a beauty.
Her grade school features were unrefined,
Awkward, plain, unattractive….
(I'm trying not to be unkind.)

Her classmates loved--as many kids do--
To find people's faults and then make fun of them.
Lucita's classmates tormented her;
I know because I was one of them.

I didn't say mean things about her,
Tease her or call her a horrible name.
My silence, however, made me complicit;
Because of my silence, I shared their shame.

How often are we silent when
We see injustice right before us?
Do we fear becoming involved
Or hope that the "evil" will ignore us?

History shows what happens to people
When others stay silent and don't speak out.
Only by standing up to injustice
Can real change come about.

Lucita didn't stay long at the school.
I think her family moved away.
I'm sure the kids found someone else
To taunt, belittle, pester, and flay.

I hope that for Lucita a happy,
Fulfilling life has been her reward;
I hope the once gawky duckling
Opened her beautiful wings and soared.

- by Bob B
Lily Monroe Dec 2011
Behold a glance at mother earth, you’re a witness to her fall.
A tortuous act of uncertainty a rage against all those who step
Upon her slovenly ground. A lash of ardent air that’s tears
Her golden limbs down.

As soda pop bottles reel through her grass
As a fawn come to inspect its newest injury
The top do the bottle rolls onto the damp ground
For she has been crying, a blustery song.

Her waterfall carries a small tangled duckling
Wrapped in an armor of fisherman’s wire.
She weeps some more wishing to stop the river.
As children stamp on the pedals of her waters reeds.

A cloud of beastly darkness overlooks a city
And her children cough to keep safe
From this monstrous beast.
She tries to cover their ears with a howl cry
To tell them to stop, or else she will die.

One petal stands on a daisy’s bud,
Her last child picks it away…let it float
Through the air to mothers hand…a reminder of home
When sons and daughters cared.
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2

My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws

For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks

From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick

You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried

We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers

My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew

I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void

No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork

Logan Robertson

8/16/2018
Play on words-paws, mauled. At age two, he was a child prodigy
with an eidetic memory. He was a **** at math, count change impressively, knew the times' table, like how many donuts in five in a half dozen. We would study the map, he knew all the states and capitals. I was impressed watching him grow and blossom. Then one day at that young age he learned why other kids had fathers and he didn't. It hurt him badly. He recoiled. He rebelled. He purposely started to give wrong answers to my teaching, as he started to lose interest. And things waned after that understandingly so. But for a while there he was so bright. This is a sad page to turn.
there was little duckling he was very sad
he had lost his mum and couldnt find his dad
now he was all alone an orphan duck was he
looking for his mum to see where she could be
spotted by a swan who was swimming near by
i will take you back again theres no need to cry
then the swan he took him back to his mum and dad
the little duck was happy now and the swan was very glad.
a walking canvas,
her body is her story,
memories depicted in ink tone scars,
she wears her heart on her sleeve..
literally.
images commemorate words unspoken.
some figuratively..
ask & she will tell.

anticipation puts her on the edge of her seat,
as the machine comes to life,
never has a vibration been so soothing,
the buzz is her lullaby.
after all.. big girl don't cry,
her therapy is about to begin,
and though some would call it a sin..
she feels this could never be.
pain converted, so beautifully.
" are you ready?"
more ready than I've ever been,
release overwhelms her,
as he tears into the first few layers of skin,
goosebumps dance from head to toe,
easing a troubled mind..
this pain is temporary,
and soon will pass..
unlike other other pains,
the endless shames & heartaches that cut deep,
deeper than a needle ever could..
for awhile, she is at peace,

embracing the rawest form of release,
knowing well,
she will emerge with another chapter,
a mark on the page,
a vibrant imagery, to depict her rage..
this ugly duckling, has never felt more like a swan..
   the buzz of the machine soon dies,
& the walking canvas opens her eyes,
feeling the closest thing to a breath of fresh air..
that's she's felt in a long time,
haze soon accompanies the serenity of the room,
lost souls gather to unwind,
**** some time, & find a gimps of understanding,
a calm, in such a demanding world,
where everyone's quick t point fingers,
with hands that are far from clean..

we are no different than you,
we pick & we choose,
the only difference?
i won't judge you for being bland,
but if you criticize,
i might demand,
a little insight..
what sin helps you sleep at night?
J Hamersly Jan 2014
I'm the invisible man
I'm the ugly duckling
I'm that kid who dresses up like Aquaman
When the rest of my friends dress like the
Justice League
No, it really feels like this
It feels like I got hit by a car
On a back road of some lesser known town
And the driver kept on driving
My body's lying in some
Sagebrush beyond the guardrail,
Twitching
My breathing is becoming shallow,
Broken,
And it's fading quicker than I'd like
I've got crimson blood pouring out my nose
And my head throbs
Like the beating of hearts that would never beat for me
My bones are wrapped around one
Another as if their comfort would bring
Any to my splintered soul
Headlights, taillights
They're all just lights that will never set my pathetic frame aglow
So, I lie in sorrow that I never stood up in the crowd
My tongue tastes the bloodied mess
Of dislodged teeth that fumble in my mouth
I realize that I never had a voice
I couldn't tell God to leave me alone
Because in the end of it all,
I never wanted to be left to myself
Meteo Aug 2015
in my mother's basement
once upon a time she ******* a clothes line
though most of the time
the line
was used to hang up
hangers
precariously hooked to a rope becoming less taut
as the years go on

the paradox of garage sale hand-me-downs of broken homes
as bodies for clothes become subtracted they make room for memories
we grow heavier by
as the hangers continue to multiply unused
clothes hangers are sacred
they are ghost as zygotes

back then there were days
I would wear my woven leather belt for an inverted neck tie
on those days
tie the other end to the wooden cross supports in the basement ceiling
then tip-toeing up
on a beat-up old stool
play chicken
a game of chicken with nobody
a side of extra mc chicken sauce for the soul

I wonder now
how if anyone would've wondered
if I had died never really learning how to wear a belt
or how to properly tie a neck-tie
kids today wear their pants too low
and parents back then were way too given to involuntary penance

to up the ante
I would write a list on the wooden beams in the ceiling
each time I got up there
for all the reasons I got up there
in attempt to embellish the exit sign
singing ugly duckling swan song echo
sedated by the attempt
training wheels for Icarus syndrome

it wasn't that my youth was in disillusion
I just never really learned how to measure distance properly
a pair of breaking parents
an unwanted pregnancy
"What's with in arms' reach?"
a game of catch
a game of release
a flight of stairs in one step
"it's not your fault kid
but you're gonna have to get hurt anyway"

funny how when you are teetering on stoic infinity
balanced like an idle pendulum
a noose becomes a life-support system
dance like no one is watching

I don't play those games anymore
my bones have gotten too heavy to bet against
memories I still wish to change
knees too weighted to two-step the precipice
on weekends

and since practicing how to use my legs again
and again
I now prefer walking this earth
wearing my belt around my equator
over drawstrings around my neck

the basement has since been renovated
no more wooden crosses
exposed in the ceiling
I don't play childish games anymore
I just do my laundry there
Justinian Jul 2010
There are many things I miss.
For instance,
I miss being four years old,
and eating tomatoes out of the Earth.
I miss my black cat Spooky,
he was blacker than the night itself,
but he died.
I miss my old house,
the creaky floors and long hallways.
But never have I felt such a deep longing for anything other than simply,
you.
I miss your eyes,
staring deep into my soul,
with love,
and sometimes killing me with anger.
I miss your lips,
puckered so tightly to mine,
never letting go,
and sometimes screaming vulgarity at me.
I miss your fingers,
how they caressed and nurtured my body,
and sometimes clenched in a fist,
swung towards me.
I miss laying in bed with you,
after tucking you in and as I watch you fall asleep,
sometimes with the television still loud.
I miss waking up with you,
rolling over to be met with your smile,
your eyes,
your hand in mine,
sometimes we're still tangled together from the passion.
I miss driving with you,
your ignorant but sweetened attempts to distract me,
and sometimes your yells of misdirection.
I miss vacation with you,
walking down to the edge of the water,
discussing dreams for the future,
and sometimes staying in all day.
I miss your mood swings,
exuberance brighter than the hottest of suns,
depression darker than the trenches hell,
and sometimes anger beyond our control.
I miss twirling our toes together.
I miss being the dumb one.
I miss you as the smart one.
I miss the love we once shared together,
the most intense of rushes,
most beautiful of wonders,
and sometimes the ugly duckling,
only waiting to beautify.
I miss the dazzling extremes of you and I.
But most of all,
out of all the things I could miss,
your fingers,
your toes,
your touch,
I miss the illusion of us,
the security of our hearts combined,
constantly reminding us we're together,
and sometimes deceiving the head into believing the heart.
sapphic girl Feb 2015
Dearest oh nathaniel,

what's that i hear?

when dusk cloaks the infinite shade of dark blue

spilling out of your wavering frown

a cuss word?

no it's

a whimper, a merciful

cry for help.



it starts out small,

not like baby steps - in fact, far from it

it's gargantuan like that giant from that fairy tale

that you yearn to reside in

and it crescendos into a melancholy howl

just like the werewolves in

little red riding hood.



under the shadows of your abode

inside the head full of numbers

all red ink ;  no pity

leering and lashing like corrected mistakes

from those animals

who solely came for the bread.



let me extricate you

no sweetie i won't fold you

to fit into a rabbit hole

you're not alice most definitely

you are already a minuscule caricature

the ones i doodle on my foolscap pad during maths

with bigger objectives and a yellow brick road

full of life

much animated than the

musical numbers

i sing in your ear

when you're

dozing off in chemistry

your crooked nose peeking out from underneath your folded arms

twitching at the notes strung together with lines of amusement and pure merriment

dearest oh nathaniel, you don't resemble Pinnochio.



instead i'll urge you to wear that glass slipper

slip it on quick and

leave a vestige

of gingerbread crumbs

that is

ineradicable and incontestable

like your heart

pure and gold

not from all those lessons in church

but from those involuntary explorations

into the never-ending sky.



and your tirades about

this school and society

that kaleidoscope in your eyes

unravelling like Rapunzel's locks

to form that opinionated you

they're part of

our counter attacks

on the Indian Ocean

all ephemeral

no aftertaste

of distaste

for it's peppered with

jest and zest.



our midnight discussions about feminism

and the women who fought in wars

they extol you from heaven

for your open-minded sentiment

they might say to me

in a hushed, demure tone

that he's like the pea

the princess eventually

found

concealed amongst

perpetuated mattresses.



the ugly duckling

did spin into ethereal

as time is of the essence

so don't compare yourself against

your friends

gymming isn't even a word

sprawled upon

online dictionaries

dearest oh nathaniel, i don't have to thumb through the dictionaries

to know that you're oh-so wrong.



desist from the self-inflicted loathe

it doesn't pain me

for i'll still love

you

unconditionally

but for the sake of your sanity

halt all the macabre,

grim, gore

and

ghoul.



dearest oh nathaniel,

your smile is a

sworn clandestine

evoking a swoon

and a creak from my

rusty knees

a poignant mess

enmeshed into

a human manifestation

of super novas

amalgamated together

hypnotizing me into

deep slumber

without the ***** of a

sewing needle.



let me sweep all those

poor lies

and false hopes

unlike Aladdin's

under a magic carpet

and try to lift the corners

of your mouth skyward

however i'm no

puppeteer and i don't see

no strings attached

so my endeavours

may be futile

but your laugh

jesus christ

it resonates on a tenfold

with the metal songs

buzzing out of your earpieces

that resonate deeply

with that

"cold heart"

that you claim

to be

yours

and i hold on to

it like dear life,

dearest oh nathaniel.



dearest oh nathaniel,

for you shall see

that

decampment isn't

the easy way out

because the

emblem of

you

will be scattered

around the

asphalt

frisking and skittish.



like what i've

said

i won't fold you to fit into

my pocket

neither will i

drop you into

the sea

i am that lighthouse

stationary

though

luminous in

the falling mist

and

rising fog.



dearest oh nathaniel,

what is that i hear?

no it's certainly

not a merciful

cry for help.



it's not a

battle cry

or a

symphony

dearest oh nathaniel, don't be a fool.



it's you

unabridged

in sheer

rapture.



dearest oh nathaniel,

i'm talking to you.

**| dearest oh nathaniel - m.m |
[ you'll never know]
Eliza Lindsey Jan 2017
The fat friend
The ugly sister
The dumb classmate
The second choice
That depressed girl
The hated child
The *****
The ugly duckling
The girl that will
never be good enough..
John F McCullagh May 2019
At Seventeen
Janis Ian


I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "Come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems
At seventeen
A brown eyed girl in hand-me-downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
And the rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly
Remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debentures of quality
And dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received
At seventeen
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
When dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me
We all play the game, and when we dare
To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
They call and say, "Come dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me
At seventeen
Songwriters: Janis Ian
One of my favorite songs from a long time ago. Not one of mine but light years ahead of some songs of modern day
Rose L Mar 2015
duckling
in return for pity i offer you these
meagre meals:
my heart, substantial not to breathe from my chest but the offer will suffice.
bitten down nails -
stained confectionery colors, a brittle bone penance
stuffed thick cartilage
watery canthus
pure blood and guts that once held me upright.
I can only pray you'll forgive that I know
these choice cuts are not enough.
grim-raven Nov 2016
mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?
perfect brown-eyed boy so tall
looking at her as i fall

she's so perfect from their eyes
as well as yours, so do mine's
so brave and wise, she's what you dream
and i can't deny, she's what she's seemed

beside the prince who dreamt so deep
lies a princess he'll always keep
as the happy couple had their sleep
the ugly duckling start to weep


mirror, mirror on the wall
tell me again not to fall
eileen mcgreevy Feb 2010
"How do i look ?",was the whisper she made,
"Like a ******* *****!",was the attention he paid,
But his words didn't penetrate,she loved him that much,
So she changed her clothes, and she coverd herself up,
Token wifey,perfect partner,loving mate,
She glared at her reflection,wishing she could hate,
rosebud lips, icy eyes,sculpted legs and cheekbones,
He knows full well,if she's noticed, she'll leave home,
So he supresses her beauty,ensuring it with black and blue,
Those little pills you take, won't always see you through!,
Wake the hell up my girl,before you slowly disappear,
Put on your perfume and your pretty dress, get the heel out of here,
Lift your head, shed the baggage, walk off that bruised flesh,
Claw your way to the surface, where you're free to start afresh.
Make a move for gods sake, or you'll shrivel and die,
Shake the duckling feathers off, spread your wings, and, just, fly !


                                           (c) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 2010
Erin C Ott Jun 2018
To the girl who empowers me,
With a laugh, a glance, an honest word,
an unprompted touch of my shoulder,
to do the things I otherwise wouldn’t bother to:

Never have I been so brave as to hold a ball python for my own fun til she spoke of a snake who’s half her height
like an old friend.
That is not a metaphor.
Or to do that one pull-up more
and maybe one after it,
if there’s even a chance it’d bring me a step closer
to being the person I know I want to be.
And I’m definitely not yet a person who’s built for pullups,
but with her looking my way, doubt seems like a foreign word.

She told me she wished
that she could someday be the subject of my writing,
yet it seems every time I try to prove
that love is action,
passion eclipses intellect,
my paper folds itself into an airplane and flies by its own accord,
and I’ll be ****** if,
of all the things I can’t control,
my own words will be one of them.

I know I severed us for a while,
tugged too ******* the Jacob’s ladder between her fingers,
wanting more in the moment than she had to spare,
til her eventual reply was noble truth:
that her hands wouldn't be vacant for holding
while she had so much to set them to work on.

Her hands, her beautiful hands, were booked,
sometimes literally,
with her thousand different interests and commitments,
and all I could do was lay in bed at night,
sometimes tossing and turning at the thought of the time
where she took me in her arms on a whim,
and I was unable to fall asleep
for fear that, if she permeated the film of my dreams,
she'd be more nightmare than not.
Yet with time, she spoke to me by her own inclination.
Whistled to me like the stray dog I'd made of myself
and lay out a spot to sit next to her.

I never realized until now how much I respect her
for never playing nice with the boy who,
assuming we’re friends enough,
calls me a useless lesbian.
I guess that pound of a joke had some ounce of truth to it,
for all the times where what she and I had
felt like one great web of miscommunications,
and subconsciously I see her as the spider
or she sees me
or sometimes it’s us both this whole time.
But if there's any certainty in it all, it's this:
She'd been in at least the back of my mind
for as long as I'd known her,
asserted herself right away
as the kingpin of my flighty wits.
And I still dream of writing something that makes her heart beat,
even halfway to on par with all the stories that race
through her head,
in her wild blood.
I wanted to be her latest passion for even a moment.
Because the honest to god gleam in her eyes
when she tells me what’s really on her mind
made me so selfish as to want to be that thing,
for however long
or not-long
it could last.

Yet I've sometimes seen that fervor in her eyes waver,
like they're trying to promise something better.
Little does she know
she's already the best thing for me
just by being herself.

And I understand that she doesn’t love me
not in the way I once wanted,
but having her for however long in my life,
before she’s off like a free willed honeybee
with so much better to do,
that is enough and so much more.

Because despite how I’ve tried to deny the facts of the matter,
I’m firmly rooted for a girl who's bold enough
to crack the whip over my head if I ever went to war with myself.
A confidant that won't run,
won't offer half truth when the whole of it
is all that actually matters.

This was that paper airplane
comprised of eight months of the cheapest blood, sweat, and tears
from the first moment she set up camp
in the farthest reaches of my heart,
to where I was finally past the point of dreaming
of any future
where she may not be as happy with me as I am with her.

For better or for worse,
I've straightened my spine and let the honest truth sail
knowing full well that she doesn’t owe me a thing.
I'm still not sure if I was coming clean
or stating what’d always been obvious,
when I wished for her peace
among these watercolor depictions,
for her to find the rest she so craved and deserves,
and to wake, inspired anew, in a cycle that suited her,
whether I was a part of that cycle or not.

To the girl who helped me find the gall,
and who's going, going,
gone on to better things:
Gabriel García Márquez says I love you with all my being,
so maybe that’s why I'm finally letting you go.
To the girl who inspired me with her own reverence, of stories and fiction, characters and other worlds, and all the things that align just a little bit better than any of the aspects of our own lives ever seem to... and who still considered my awkward *** a friend after I deaddropped a love confession poem to her like some bootleg romantic. It's been a year, Al.
SuperNovas Aug 2013
Like a bird
That crashes into a window,
I am confused and lost.
Like a stray duckling
Who can't find his mother,
I am scared and desperate.
Like a memory
lost in time ,
I am forgotten and fading.
Like someone
Stuck in their mind,
I am angry and hopeless.
Like a bird
That crashes into a window .
Elliott Aug 2014
I'm going to do it.
I am going to pull the trigger.
Blood, flesh, and guts will fly every where.
Guess who's fault.
It ain't mine.
As I stand here, with you
The trigger is getting closer to getting pulled.
I hope you see the point I'm making.
It will go all over your freshly white painted walls,
New wooden flooring,
Brand new 90" flat screen TV,
And your cutlery.
The evidence will be every where.
No true way to get rid of it.
Now it's been swell...
Bye bye *******!
gun shot
body falls to the floor, blood and guts go every where
loud psychotic laughing
Bye bye *******~
As you were warned.
It was you , to pull the trigger.
My suicidal duckling.
ScarletLetters May 2015
I come from
A land of oak trees,
Kicking at concrete mushrooms,
Watering cans, passion flowers,
Climbing up the castle walls.

I come from
Water where,
There once was an ugly duckling,
Now a rubber duck,
Swimming on the ripples of a king sized duvet,
Sailing on sofa boats,
Protecting a pillow fortress.

I come from
A floor of molten lava,
Flying up up upwards
Umbrella grabbed tightly,
To the twinkle twinkle glow-in-the-dark stars,
Practically perfect in every way,
Thinning my way to heaven.

I come from
The constant echo of fire trucks,
We duel with sticks of light,
Until the dictator sends us to bed.

I come from
A world where
Trains with smiley faces
Conduct our means of transport,
Powered independently.

I come from
A body of television screens,
Antennae on our heads.
I come from
Consumers
Of the bite
Of the Apple.
I sat on a rock
And starred at a duck
If feathers ruffling in the breeze
It's webbed feet keeping it still
As it paddled in my view

That duck starred right back at me
It's beautiful gaze meeting mine
A pleading look covering its face
Yet it didn't fly away

It stared at me, another creature
In its world, a harmless organism
We love them and paint them
Capture them in a pretty picture

And little do they know
Those toxic ponds and broke homes
Are all our mans doing

It stared at me unknowingly
Incapable of understanding
Or if it did it didn't show it
In its tiny duckling face

We tear their home
To make room for us
The most brutal race
And yet this duck
Came waddling up
Not knowing us for what we are

We are human
We are predators
We are destruction
In its finest hour.
This was a response to Ena Alysopriono, thanks for the challenge. When I couldn't think of what to write it was a fun creative thing to do. :)
Butch Decatoria Jan 2019
... he points his toes
like a swan stretching its neck :
smooth shaved calves in fish-nets
to slip into stiletto heels,
        performance art of a deceptive nymph

... grace on fine-point tips : his gift - gentille lace
Stage lighting and mace
impersonation or personification of feminine beauty
leporine lithely limned
delicate dancer
       it is almost as if floating across water
       he mimicked once more before
some inner mother's nature took over

façade of savored tastes - savoir faire
voila! a star in it's place ...

... It is her face when the night creates a cape
borne with Van Gogh plumes sufficed with self
she paints upon his face : starry nights
sun-flowers, irises covering the welts...
comparably museum worthy, imitation flames
yet like any other canvas
          beneath it could lie disappointment and mistake
          drafts of inspiration, cover-ups of cynicism
          another creature - some creation unlike him
what was before / behind soft curtains / kept behind his in-betweens unseen (*****) stage hands spot light polishing knobs “my name is Job…”
but what if ...
... the truth and what presently others see
Diva or DILF
     to believe or not convincingly
could be / only amateurs who attempt:
moments unfeeling under layers & layers
of blush / trial and errors / sharp contempt
Sunken cheeks of graveyard sheep
Lip syncing nubile twinks insomniacs
Dry shave stubble style…

      would you wipe away Mona Lisa's
      smile so devilish with wicked secret
just to uncover blemished a masterpiece:
an ugly Danish duckling underneath ?

To  prove his swan-lake / a gent

... to evolve from broken eggshells
become a song sung timely
hummed & remembered well
(hells bells and *****)
Drag queens’
priceless history / murals' on passing face
No broken naughts
While performing down his lace
      define yourself, she affirms her mirrors...
The harsh flight of life from the embers,
      happiness pursuant to tender
Fully free with goddess grace,

it is the power of creativity / the spirit's ability
to overcome adversity
the art of divinity - that is
what he is practicing  
                                 This trumpeter
                                 swan in stiletto heels...
Repost final edit.
Robin Carretti Apr 2019
Your the one son being rebellious little darlings here comes
the sun drenching delicious but wait those cloudy days
watch out the hunters run ducking our heads like babies
wetting and water squirting beds getting too saucy
  ten O clock playpen the daring duck gourmet sauce
Orange you glad all her rich creme spread across
her penpals
Do you trust those gals too country slick on Newsweek

Getting paid he is the longest laid egg all grilled we are
not thrilled here is the "Chuckie Duckie" doll those *****
barbie collectors they are sitting duck Graphic Artist
Not one quack doll plastic surgeon duck lips she thinks
shes the hot stuff romantic "French" lips up the
"Eiffel Tower" splash splash she is out of cash
Those hot items presidential poll what a lost soul

Too much blue yes attention swan dancers Springtime
Not  the red attention yellow instead ****** please
I need a  journey not the "Attorney" such a ****** case
When you need them they always duck
When they have a new quack case they are ruining
my image
Duck tapesty Carol Kings youve got a friend

I'm feeling yellow homesick on your feather duck pillow
The same yellow tie a different atmosphere Go- Spa
She's flirting do you know where your going how is
life treating you he's giggling way too wild on her
goose chase
  Losing our grip down to her chicken bone hip
Duck season not much time for love being hunted

The Spa  la la ha have Merci' oh la la 'Disco Duck"
The wild ones the only ones quack- quack the
lonely ones
At the waterfront trip to "Chinatown" they let
them hang to dry but why Dad? They are better
like the delicacy shark finn soup we need a Spa
lucky green group Irish eyes are smiling stories
of ducks

I am  not buying do you see duck climb the
          "Eiffel Tower" yellow as a canary
All talk-talk is cheap lets talk French Mom walks
With her pretty duck handle umbrella we waddle
The penquin what a beauty swan feather pen
  But she's the"Prima Donna" look out!

The slingshot Marilyn Monroe wiggles out
                  The "Spa- Ma"
                 Don't  Scramble me darlings
                    Breakfast eggs cagefree
                     *          *          
My little chickadees organic brown on my gown
Spa duckies traveled the whole Atlantic town
The longest pond sleeping like "Rip Van Winkle"
twinkle twinkle
doublecrossed the street you get one dermerit
Sesame street Big bird how many words in duck
vocabulary quack- quack who get's the duck star

Mars from Men women go to the Spa like the bad
omen and they don't leave tap tap chop chop
I want it now!! Its now or never why does she always
get ugly duckling book delivered
Lazy goose she is the spoiled rotten egg how
do we love those  I apples
Carrots are for the eyes Mom always gets bird eyes

My little chickadees the Alaskan cute puppies
Big salute to the cutest duck feet "God Bless America"
  Visa  American Express Daffy Duck in Disney mess
the real picture "Mona Lisa" getting the duck
         Prime  chop minister
"Parliament Spa" prices so sinister
"Eat Duck and Pray" the  southern biscuits
more recruits

My cute rookies those duckier cookies another Spa day
So prim and proper teatime with "Queen deck"
  Alice in rabbit hole-Santa candycane poles cute chick
is homesick you better sent her money quick
The ducky bib the Chinese duck soup won ton
The feather fan she loves her Sushi roll Hollywood
Style California all duck drama
The best treatment duck made carpet

On the "Disney Hollywood" deck "Epcot"
On the futon what diction for a duck "My Fair lady"
Got the whole fortunes bed
The duck on the hill what a fool but the monk
Is the whole spiritual existence
The peacock's longest wait for lobster tails
centerpieces red bird Robin fly Robin Fly

Disco ball fancy tails she ended up up up to the sky
Her duck sunglasses a dozen ***** spin's the disco
The Duck Pop singer wants him back
High price or a short mack duck shooter attack
Food for thought homesick all saucy duck tie waiter
Cinderella rags to ducklings I went to "Woodstock"
Imagine me the teenager chick the duck split

Fill wing concert sky made a hit
The blues love is strange chick-lets are yellow
Like clock work what a duck work out orange          
        Duck handle umbrella               
 Duckies I pledge to you College Preppies
The chick feeder Ain't nothing but a hound dog
      Elvis heart breaker bird-brain feeder

  Moms duck sugar cookies
******* Jack one prize quack quack
 Huckleberry Finn paper boat old billy goat
  In the drowned mans eye holy ducks he delivered
I will blow you down duck horn the day you
were born
Having a third eye one duck Wendy 4 for a 4

Notre Dame church tragic but saved
   The  Easter yellow chicks

To Rome lend me your feathers no secret ears
Sticky Fingers she lost her writing finger in the
pond  OH! look whats beyond so kind
With her duckling apron dress he ducked
The chatty cat "City Dr Seuss"

Wearing duck boots those duck lips played her
like the fancy feast
The teachers pet the ducklings cute darlings
Spa cream she quite the flabber belly dancer
The ballet swan achiever "Spa One Day tripper"
The ugly duckling changed to beauty witch
Holy-land or duck pond Mickey's ears
                   Disneyland

Stand up daffy duck comedian Las Vegas
Godiva Peking duck soup flapping swishing
mess
The Big Ben red whose been sleeping in my
duck wing bed
The car stops he hiccups cute bebops
The guardian angel quack quack any luck
Yummy raspberry pie someone delivered

Christmas Scrooge all tears
New York lights camera I love my
        Serendipity chandeliers
Those duck tear drops last stop
Or you die__your still quacking
       Just in time said I
           Fly Robin Fly

     Saved my baby chick lovely
     Cradled her to love her
          Dr Seuss read
Its about all speculation dreaming need of a nature cool environment ;our eyes up get your cafe favorite cup my baby chicks  words will give flight and I hope you will feel just perfectly right with her duck lips  Quack Quack

— The End —