I see the bowl.
I smell it.

I eat the cookie.
I taste it.

Green raindrops are falling on my head.
I laugh.

I cover the carb.
I inhale the smoke.

These noises
are smelly.
These voices
taste bad.

Senses
out of wack.

I am Marrisa, the disappointment.  
Descendant of the lost and broken,
The Mister of Mischief, the Mother of Mayhem.
Working hard every sunshining day
Just to be called unworthy.
I lock away the lively tears
That pour from my eyes;
Days set aside to let out the ugly cries.
I am a creation of unstoppable emotion.
I am the Master of Disguise;
You wouldn’t recognize the mess I hide.

As another chapter in my life closes,
as the life of little ones are placed into my hands,
as I teach them about empathy and sympathy,
I finally feel at peace.
To be a teacher is to hold
the heart of little one
in my hand, to make a promise
to listen and take care of their
little minds.
To help lay the foundation for education and discovery,
for the rest of a child's life.
To bring back what it means to teach,
bringing back socially, cognitively and physically
engaging classrooms for children.
I take another step in the right direction,
towards my goal.
My dreams are slowly coming together
piece by piece.
First grade, here I come.
Welcome me with arms
and hearts open wide.
I am here to help
the next gentle generation
of selfless, caring, loving individuals.
Welcome, Miss Marrisa.

I am sorry for all the nights I spent crying, only blaming you
you were just the scape goat, it was the easiest thing to do

I am sorry for carving into you with dull blades,
but I couldn't stand thinking you were not beautiful.

I am sorry for punching you when I was so angry
by just the sight of you, the harmless pieces of flesh
seemed like the easiest fight, the only one I could win.

I am sorry for leaving you empty of nutrience,
pretending not to hear you plea, I thought if maybe
you starved a little, it might make me pretty.

I am sorry for keeping you hidden away,
locked under layers for no one to see,
I thought if your flesh was showing,
no one would like me for me.

I am sorry for calling you names, thinking if you felt small,
you'd be small too, loving you in all your glory
wasn't something I was capable to do.

I am sorry for stuffing you in tight spandex
because I was afraid of seeing your lines, I thought if
everything was smooth, it would make me feel fine.

I am sorry for slapping away people's hands when
they touched over your ruffled skin,
it's taken me awhile to learn how not to flinch.

I am sorry for all the time I've spent villainizing you,
every inch, every bump and mark -
you didn't deserve to only be loved on in the dark.

Forgive,
Marrisa