"unplanned" poems
There are some things I want to say to you.
First off I will never ever make our child think less of you, no matter how your role in their life plays out. I will always tell them that their father is an amazing man. Ambitious, hard working, driven by his passions. I'll look at them with tears in my eyes as I rock them to sleep telling them all the reasons I love you. I will always make sure that our child doesn't feel abandoned. I understand I am a single mother. I have to rely on myself to raise this child and that's okay. Please know that while I may be some backwards farm town girl who runs around barefoot eating with my fingers I will be an amazing mother. One who will not be afraid to get messy. One who will pretend to be every super hero, cartoons character and farm animal there is. I will try my best to always make our child smile, but there will be days when I can't and I hope that when that day comes I'm strong enough to help hold some of their worries on my shoulders.
You see this child may be unplanned for however even as just a small raspberry in my stomach I refuse to ever think of this child as unwanted or unloved. My entire life revolves around what is best for my child now. That's okay.
So please just know. We will be alright. We will survive. We will always accept you into our lives.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful ********** backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, ******* iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer ***** good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
A new babe on the way,
Does she arrive today?
The stork is on standby,
Is she coming down the slide?
A star in heaven's berth,
Winging her way to Earth,
Now an atomic cluster,
Has she got a dust buster?
Her future unplanned,
Soon in Earthling's band,
When is she coming down the slide?
Right now, the stork is on standby!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
She dances,
Alone.
In such grace and poise
Positioned in between the tallest buildings
And she poses
For the camera
The bright flashes
Or on stage
In the spotlight
Twirling and twisting
Not a hair out of place
Not a step out of line
Not a breath unplanned
Trained to be accurate
Self destructing, but so well collected
The most beautiful dancer the world has ever seen.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
There is no prize to perfection,
No crown for its endless direction.
Only the stillness, cold and mute,
Of a dream that halts in its pursuit.
The edge of longing, sharp and thin,
Cuts deeper than the goal within.
For what is gained when all is won,
If the chase extinguishes the sun?
Perfection lies in things undone,
In breaths that falter, threads unspun.
For life is richer, raw, unplanned,
A fleeting touch, a trembling hand.
There is no need for flawless art,
But space to mend the human heart.
No prize awaits, no grand pursuit—
Only life’s quiet, imperfect truth.
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 12:25 PM UTC
The Lollipop King, with his mighty staff,
Flavored all the colors of the rainbow,
Enticing me with what he has
To places where I must not go.
His lust-soaked pheromones masked with licorice
Entice the hearts of the fair maidens of the land.
While I too have fallen victim to his confectionary wishes,
Of this courtship and this romance became something unplanned.
I have now found my way into this lollipop dynasty,
Becoming another member of this sisterhood of sugar.
But the difference with me, if you’ll lean close, you see,
Quoth the Lollipop King, “I do not want to lose her.”
And always alone I’ll say to myself:
When will his time come to place me on the shelf?
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 7:43 AM UTC
being a poet is not planned
**~for Gabriella Garcia~
~~
*a sixteen old soul says she understands,
being a poet is not planned,
forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time,
he made love to a virginal white
papyrus with muscles trembling,
body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring,
eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots
what possessed the wrist veins
to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain,
in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches,
what was he thinking
was he thinking?
that it was an ejection
that it was an ***********
that it was a tribulation expiation
that it was a tribute explanation?
that it was an injection
that it was a circumspection inspection
that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion
excising an infection with a written genuflection?
try, but no might, the first is subsumed
by the thousands that followed dutifully
though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled,
it will always be the next,
and unplanned just like this one too
who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead,
with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker,
who is not answering a query relentless
is this his plan, his appointment,
is this his flawed excellence,
is this his imperfect penance perpetual?
knowing well and full
now
the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloraturas*
~~
upon this he reflects,
praying that
god protect the
young poets
from planning
______________
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
She was my lover all night
sensual perfection we held each other tight
We eloped into our anechoic room
Escaping the world I was her groom
I kissed her slender feet and hands
The only thing wrong she was married to another man
Honeymoon in Singapore
It was unplanned but meant to be
I wonder if she still remembers me?
Housewife and mother of two
Sinful synchronicity rendezvous
On vacation when we met
Our lust was hot and so very wet
We kissed and bared our souls
Hard and soft in loves loft we rolled...
Honeymoon in Singapore
His wife was my bride tonight
we both cried in the morning light
We were one in flesh she took off her wedding dress in wanton caress
The only thing wrong she was married to another man!
Honeymoon in Singapore
It was unplanned but meant to be
I wonder if she still remembers me?
True story of a *** lustful night with a pretty married ultra exotic Chinese-Filipina girl in Singapore
Oct. 2009
Singapore is the microcosm of urban perfection
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Chills run down your spine
Caress with a caress, tender
Breaking a physical valve, meander
Touch to touch, unkeeping of the line
Unplanned, a mystery thick as pine
Feeling, shaking like thunder
Nothing short of splendor
Heart breaking without time
Pulling away from rush
Far from appeasement
No longer engrossed, no longer heated lush
Cold like the words he meant
Stinging like fireside brush
Kisses from fervent
14 April
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
When I close my eyes, the sight of you appears
I learnt to build my thoughts around you
When you look at me and smile now
I wonder how we made it so many years.
A man is one who loves his girl
Treats her with respect and plays with her
Trusts her no matter the world flips sides
Shows her how much he needs her.
Shares every secret every thought with her
Stands by her when she in doubt
Helps her make the right decision
Fixes her mood when it’s out
Cuddles her when she is sad and low
Troubles her to get her attention
Pretends to be angry with her
Just so she showers him with kisses...
Sings to her to show how much he loves her
Helps her cook when guests are home
Jokes he cracks to make her laugh
Never would he even by mistake make her cry
Compliments her for the smallest of things
Remembers her in his busiest of hours
Tells her he loves her before she sleeps
Just to wake up with her kiss on his cheek...
Walks with her holding hands
Gives her hugs and kisses unplanned...
Is naughty with her when she’s happy
Does all this with his heart and mind.
Assures her she is beautiful, pretty and hot
Is dedicated to her like a sage
Messes with her emotions now and then,
But gives her the love she craves. ..
Wonder how many such men were ever made?
God creates for each one a soul mate
Wonder if these thoughts would just remain thoughts
But thank-god I am blessed with the perfect man of this age. :)
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
Prologue
casual glance at my notifications while driving even though
I’m all ready a bad bad boy, cruising at a sedate,
cruise-controlled 70 mph vs. the bureaucrat bifocals 55,
a remnant regulation of the Eighties,
all the while humming with Gilligan
“a 3 hour tour,
2 passengers set sail that day”
then execute a four lane 180,
gotta get highway sideway grassed ,
cause i’m gassed...
by a Poem Breach
of the poems promised by me,
to write of thee,
you, my best inspiration,
the list grows longer, faster
than the hours provided
pull over fast emergency for my composure breached,
my vision wetted, my eyes hit by an unplanned unexpected,
sudden summer thunderstorm
<•>
The Poem Breach
***once more into the breach thy words breeze through my chest,
like on a flamed stick, night roasting, toasting beach summer marshmallows,
that cut direct to the ineffable sadness that resides resists within,
that sticky, white mess,
a human heart melting
a thank you message that I’ve read before,
many times more than once,
how my unasked poem, a sun unique,
arrived at the
precise time and place,
to lift and even save,
how could I’ve know?
I did not know
but these messages collect on my chest,
unsought words of purple ribbon metal that make a
less burdened cowardly lion,
grown man cry,
do crazy things for it is a possible solution to his
age old quest
Why do I exist, is this my purposed plan, don’t understand, all
but the answer peaked and peaceful accepted in the breach unreasoned,
my port of entry, a gateway to the scales, a bridge it is, over a time-life river styx and unstuck, yet certainly always confused...***
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
thank you so insufficient
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
I know that my life
became something else
something unwanted
unplanned
like a teenage pregnancy,
coming out of high school
they would have said
that boy has so much potential
very smart,
highly actualized,
mature
the only thing is,
about the same time I moved out
my parents decided
that my thirteen year old brother
wasn't worth pretending for anymore
they split
like a banana based dessert
and left me
and the three of my brothers
asking questions
our basis for true love
was fragmented
like a cartoon broken heart
and the pieces were too small to pick up,
so now here I am
no job
and no higher learning
to speak of
clinging to the words
which rush around inside of me
I've come to the realization,
there are no ****** up kids
only ****** up parents
and poor kids
who are left to
reestablish a basis
for love and life
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
Lost in the thoughts of ancient realm
Many thousands of years back
Nothing then has stayed the same
Such civilization, understanding we lack
Every ethnicity group had a tale to tell
From every little corner of this mother earth
How we worked and walked, then we fell
Cycles of life flourished again with birth
Each era had it's own vulnerable states
And each state had it's own Queens and Kings
The then ancient calendars with marked dates
Of unplanned wars in those dates boldly clings
The cities that have sunk or drowned deep
Took away with them, their entire civility
In the great oceans graveyard, now it sleeps
To be discovered by people with extreme ability
The now generation, is very inquisitive
On every find of any ancient matters around
But the finds become government subjective
Mostly those found from deep underground...
©sim
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
I am not some street cowboy punk
i am a quiet sweet rampant drunk
i play the spoons with the air of a saint
i have a tongue that can swallow paint
sour and acrid, the tone of my voice
i have never left without a choice
punched back sideways
even more today than tomorrow
for your heart i will bed, steal or borrow
Superman don't have ***** on me
don't need no wings now i am free
saving the restless, curing the weak
you can laugh at me when i dance like a freak.
I will kiss you when i drink too much wine
when i am restless and hungry you will be mine
I will do nothing when you are nothing to me
i will drive you crazy with all you can be
no more talkin no more of that ****
i'll hold you apart, break you bit by bit
if you're too polite i'll bite my tongue
i'll whip you and shake you, then i'm done.
carefree to be careless, shareless boy talk
tell me to go and i will surely walk
don't ask me to be kissed or hold my hand
i am not that girl that you left unplanned
i am a midnight demon on ferocious terms
i grasp you and hold you tight and firm.
I am not lost, or fragile or broken bound
i am not looking for someone to make a sound
i am no paige boy scarlet harlot wild child thing
i am not yours, can't you hear your telephone ring?
I am a sordid freak of gigantic endeavours
i will solder your heart regardless of your tremors
i am torturous and painful and weak to the bone
i am the mightiest fallen, can you not see my throne?
i have a **** me, buck me, tie-me-tight gaze
if i look at you slowly, be patient but don't wait
i want everything and all and i want it now
i am no gleaming bronze statue know-all-know-how
i am surely what you ever thought you knew
i am surely what you never thought when i met you
i am free to please anyone at night
i am free to sit and cry by candlelight
alright now, oh baby its all right now
**** me gently and i'll show you how
to be nothing more than anything is something i suppose
but i really can't tell for the state of your clothes
you dress me up slightly more than your vision
i've never met a person with such succint precision
and well here i go, superbly astute and blunt
never did i see such a spectacular *** ****
and well that is really the way that i go
i fly here, there, everywhere i flow
i am not some pretty naieve little thing
i am a mess of entirety with 2 engagement rings
i'm living with despondence and its ******* me off
holy **** batman i hear you cough
come see me, come stay a while
come see me, come see me, and i will **** you in style
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
*** dada dum dada
*** *** ***
Melodies cradle my soul just for fun
*** didi dum didi
Dum Dum Dum
Soliloquies burst off the tip of my tongue;
Lyrics illogical and beautiful, some.
Brilliant by accident, sudden, and young.
Tra lala di lala
Do do do
Convinced of the magical things words can do;
These lovely inscriptions, all assumed to be true,
Are not carefully built, nor genuinely glued.
Fa dala di dala
La la la
So from sockets comes streaming oblivious awe;
Silly and shameless, and secretly flawed,
For unknown was my motive until these stanzas were thawed
La, lala, la, lala, la la la
By the warmth of good fortune, and mind’s last hurrah.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
When I was younger, my biggest desire was to travel.
Dreaming of swimming with dolphins in the Amazon River.
Dreaming of floating away to the Niagara Falls.
Dreaming of running all of the United States.
Dreaming bigger dreams than Martin Luther King, Jr could ever.
Maybe even go away in a hot air balloon until boredom struck.
See the highest peaks of the Earth, maybe until I’ve reached the gates of Heaven.
Have brunch with the President of the United States, or with a beggar I come across with on my journeys.
When I was younger, my wishes were beyond my reach
God’s angels seemed closer than my dreams could ever be.
And so, I made contact with one of God’s angels, as I floated on the cloud of my imagination.
This angel had brown eyes; hair fell perfectly every time
Perfection came to this angel without ever trying.
I fell for this angel faster than Lucifer fell from the glory of God, it was so unplanned and perfect.
Unplanned and perfect.
That was this angel’s method to everything in life:
Unplanned. Perfect.
Everything he did was unplanned and perfect.
It was… spontaneous.
He was spontaneous.
He was perfect.
The way he didn’t think about anything too much, and just did everything. Only thinking about things twice – or so it seemed. The way he didn’t have a planning sheet for life, he just wrote whatever came to his mind, like me. Except he didn’t write, he acted upon his thoughts. I literally write everything that comes to mind. But this angel? He acted. The finest actor that ever descended from Heaven.
Now, the perfection of his beauty leaves me speechless every time, making me a mime of some sort. The perfection of his beauty is marvelous, I just don’t know how to put it into words. All I can say is that, with this angel I’ve fallen for, I am somehow satisfied. Somehow, all the dreams I’ve been yearning for so long are brought to life at last.
The words he speaks flow perfectly - I promise you, I could swim in them. The ease of his tone makes me feel like I’m swimming in the Niagara Falls. Oh, and that laugh is so sweet and just as cute as the dolphins in that Amazon River I had wished to swim with.
He makes me feel like I’m running more than just the United States of America. This amazing angel gives me an adrenaline rush… I could run miles and miles. To him. To hug him. To kiss him. To get high off of his touch and feel oblivious.
God sent me the best transportation to the Gates of Heaven.
And this transportation is the most spontaneous and perfect.
This spontaneous piece of perfection is the best adventure, and I’m so ready to have brunch every day with that marvelous angel God sent.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
*
~for Bill T. Jones~
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts
I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.
examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.
awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.
the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
You are like a child
who grows younger
& younger
every day,
smoothing over lines
with the sharp -cracks- of a smile,
& swaying
back & forth,
back & forth
like the swing
in an overgrown backyard,
like the child who sits
(lonely)
on that swing
& grows backwards,
(backwards)
you regress further
with every moment.
You are like the hair that grows
from the head of the child,
?wild?
& unruly
& never the same.
Like their small, chubby fingers,
you are clumsy,
s t u m b l i n g around a dark world
that offers you
no rest
from your actions,
(& yet)
unlike a small child
who is more clever,
quieter
& observing
each moment in life,
(learning,
growing
by leaps & b o u n d s , showing
that there is hope yet for them
in our adult world,)
you cannot seem to learn
from the mistakes you make.
Each error leads to another;
like a child,
you are running in a circle,
forever chasing a butterfly
that has lost its wings.
Your toys lie
scattered around you,
abandoned,
dusty,
-cracked-
& broken.
Like a child,
you grow tired
of the same old routine,
the people you see
& the games they make you play,
(day after day.)
Moment after moment
after unplanned moment
you grow younger
until one day
you will be an infant,
unspeaking.
& then
you will be
wailing & wishing
you could grow older
& make it all up to me.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Axiom does not lie upon the
plush bed of the words I've said.
It doesn't flourish under influence of the
flowery texts I've written.
Axiom does not fully exist behind the
actions I've deliberately displayed.
It is ingrained within the subtle folds,
inexplicable nuances
and playful innuendos.
It is present in the lull you find in between
fleeting memories and faltering heartbeats.
It is scored into the unlyricised songs,
sung when our breaths do meet.
It's in the unplanned gazes that
stray into nothingness
only to be caught by yours.
It's evident in the void... The silence we've shared
without ever feeling awkward.
Axiom...
Is the fall that you had anticipated
only after having taken the leap.
It's that feeling of not knowing where the bottom is
but yet still certain that you are safe.
Axiom is...
My unseen heart as it beats hard
for none other than you.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
-for Zukiswa Mvunguse~
and for
~ Jul,
who once again,
loved each line best~
having already deduced that:
“the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloratura”^
the titled alliteration teases him into thinking
there, is more to be said,
more to be prayed,
the unplanned lesser lesson is as-of-the-yet unlearned,
and the sunburst of a full fledged
lying-in-bed born from a static spark of kinetic energy,
awaking in an unfamiliar bed
or a too familiar state of mind,
begs for birth and vainglorious death-by-anon/amity
of another poem
I have written poems commissioned,
“write about suicide,” asked a friend,
“take this word and artfully knead it,” once, was once an oft request,
twisty manipulate your scheming resources into
finely assaying a field rock raw,
laboratory mind-mine it into an essay that delve dives
where you fear to treacherous tread,
resultant, an awkward prayer, now, a valued mineral
no poem is truly planned and no prayer ever truly answered,
but as you compose, pushing the last, next word
ever farther to the right,
you self-confess, expecting no absolution, that the poem,
this one as well,
and the next, and the next, and the next
has always been planned since your inception,
always a prayer asked, and in creation conception,
answered even if not directly answered,
for
in the bare minimum asking,
is the answering,
is the planning,
is the poem and the prayer,
is his owned
alliteration
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 8:16 AM UTC
It was long ago,
When the competition wasn't tough,
Whenever he went in the field to show the people who's buff.
Then came the down fall,
He shot on goal,
Yet he missed the target,
Seemed like what moved was the pole.
Heart broken he went on to find other recreations,
Hoping at least that would last,
Unlike his non glorious past,
It was like he became a knew caste,
Yet destruction came in the way as an exam he didn't pass,
So he had to attend another class that would cut down his mass,
And take him to the pitch a last.
He finally got in the team,
Life was great,
Or that was what it was like to seem,
Guess sadness is written in his fate.
The competition was cancelled,
Heart broken getting over it would take a while,
That's when he shed his last tear and his last smile.
Then came a time when he could've cheered up,
His wounds would've healed,
As usual he ran out of luck,
It was a scar and not a wound that his heart yield.
He didn't get the captaincy he deserved,
It was the hardest blow he got,
There's was nothing more he could've suffered,
Then he began to not care a lot.
Living a careless live he opened social media to looks at some good ol' memes,
Not knowing that over here he would find the girl of his dreams.
He didn't try really hard to get her,
But there was nothing that could make him forget her.
Then a shadow came as usual to steal his dream,
She was the best girl he said without being biased,
She stole his heart like an unplanned heist.
But somewhere down the line,
When everything's gonna be fine,
He should know with the perfect girl he's gonna dine,
With the perfect goal he's gonna shine,
Because he should know one thing for sure,
God isn't gonna be quiet no more.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
I'm ******* done,
With this world that I shouldn't be in.
Once found this maze so amazing
When I was small,
But not anymore.
Growing up singing church songs
Of what I was not.
How did I belong to what promoted
What I could never be?
There you go:
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
Because families were made to be perfect!
So plan all your babies,
But society will still
**** them all up in cages.
Not much waiting involved
It won't take very long.
I am not what the mormon church says.
I was a mistake.
I don't live with two parents.
I see but don't live with one.
So I'm blaming my mother,
Because in theses times that I cry
Is when I realise
That it's all her fault.
I couldn't help but be created,
So for those who hate me for being born
I'm sorry but sorry won't make it right.
To those who being a demon makes you high
I guess I'll have to just stand and watch.
Yes I've grown taller
And height has made me see,
How much that I was not meant to be.
I have friends
But one day everyone
Will get torn away.
Then there will just be nothing.
Nothing of me
Or for me, at least.
And it's almost like I only have
Maladaptive daydreams to be happy about,
But I can't because they're depressing as hell.
The fact that I exist to be able to have them is déprimant
Yet I am not depressed
But maybe I should be,
Because God knows I shouldn't be here
And dear God I'm sorry I am
Because I messed up your perfect plan.
And well if my birth really was hectic
Then why couldn't I have died then?
Because my stupid, pathetic and unwanted life
Wouldn't have lasted this long.
What's a mistake is unwanted
What's unplanned is unwanted
What I am is unwanted
What I will be to those around me
One day will be
An unwanted memory.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
I was told I'm the problem with society.
That the baby in my stomach was a mistake
and that I should be ashamed.
People cast their eyes away
...or they stare.
The judgment on their faces
and the whispers in their voices
cut my heart to pieces,
But none of their looks
or words
can make me love this baby any less.
I know that I'm young,
but it is part of me
just like it would be if I were older.
They say age is just a number
only when it comes to certain relationships though,
because if you're 17 and pregnant
age becomes important
and people become judgmental.
I was told I'm the problem with society.
That the baby in my stomach was a mistake
and that I should be ashamed.
But I'm not
and yes this baby was unplanned,
but that doesn't mean it is a mistake.
This baby is my happy accident
and my life will change,
but I do not and will not regret
my beautiful,
happy,
accident.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
The originality manufactured naturally,
strength gained without any body building,
hard work born with no need to learn it.
Rising and falling known from first sight.
Being a refugee has now become a norhm.
Watching the sun set on empty stomaches like some soup opera.
Poverty unplanned has been
jotted in the caleneders.
Always ready to take to the heels like some marathon race fleeing from wars.
Carrying a spiritaul shield to protect their lives because not even any asurance can cover their deaths.
So many cries nobody knows if they are of joy or sorrow,
but i know that most of them project a message of pain.
Learning to be a doctor with no degree only because their societies need to be saved.
Little boys carry heavy battle machinery and are forced into war without any military trianing.
Poor Africa you are projected as helpless,
but nothing is so rich as your soils and every other thing that crawls on you,
the preys and its preditors so firece and cunning clever than those pets that trained at some fancy school.
Your landscapes so unique they all are amazing to glare at.
Nothing makes you Africa so beautiful
than the golden rays from the sun departing to its sleep.
Giving everyone that chance to grasp a smile.
Africa is rich not because of money, but beacause of the natural resources extracted from it.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
At first sight, she looks so perfectly happy.
At first sight, she looks amazingly acknowledged by people
because of her well-being.
But, at first sight you will never know she's an outcast.
You will never know that she can't stop thinking
about the life she wanted until it stops her from falling asleep.
You can never tell how many tears she hid from the sight of others.
You will never know how broken her soul as if it's a glass in shreds.
Think about it, did you ever see one of those smiles that reach her eyes?
Did you ever feel her warmth or just the
cold material that coated her whole self?
Will you ever know why she's an outcast?
She's an outcast because she's different.
She's an outcast because she has to
push herself in just to be accepted.
When she was still young,
everyone treated her as wrong.
Her existence seems to be unworthy
and very wrong in a way.
She was an unplanned thing, poor she, the outcast.
She's like a piece of a puzzle that can't fit anything.
She was never loved, not even a priority.
But she did everything to gain them!
She did everything for everyone she ever loved,
not caring if they will do the same.
But, she's tired now.
She's tired of being so not enough.
She's tired of seeing how happy
they could be without her.
She's tired of the fact that her existence is a fraud.
She's so tired.
So tired of thinking that they can treat her better.
She's tired of being alone but,
she's also tired of blending in with people.
When obviously,
She's an outcast; She will always be an outcast.
Once you see her, stare at her.
But remember:
You will never know she's an outcast
as much as you will never know
how many tears escaped her eyes while writing this.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC