my poetry

The Cake Is A Gift

Cake on the table. A gift. Delicious.
But not for me.
A tiny box. Perhaps jewelry.
Pretty.

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Gifts are a great thing but never when the gift is not yours.

A set of jackpot lottery numbers when you didn’t even play. So that means you’re losing even before you realize that you’ve won.

My friend got a blue ribbon and it was pretty. She didn’t like it so she gave it to me.
I’m always the fourth kid in the family and all my clothes are hand-me-down and outdated. Thread worn but “fits you perfectly”, they say so you smile, however jaded.

Cake on the table. A gift. Delicious.
A lost soul is given a crown because of a gift so marvelous.
Your counterfeit merchandise is green and gold. Your favorite color.
Cake on the the table. A gift. Not yours.

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about me, my poetry, this is life, this is my family

Old But Not Quite

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Old but not quite
A song plays and it paints a familiar air of ominous tunes in the still air.
Old but not quite.
Surely does not feel likew thirty-six…
Maybe sixteen
Especially with the shackles tight around my hands and feet. I am a prisoner and I drag painstakingly along, creating screeching sounds that deafen in the silence of the night.

Continue reading “Old But Not Quite”

about me, daily prompt, i am a writer, my poetry, this is life

The Words I Write

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I write because while my voice is loud enough I know that the volume does not give me the strength to tell the truth.  My pen is more powerful than my tongue and sharper than my teeth, so it can bite and give necessary pain when in reality I cant even hurt a fly

I write because my head often spins with a cocktail of words that dont make sense unless I translate it onto paper. In dreams over clouds I’m often too drunk in the deluge of emotions that cascade in my heart in poetic phrases that pile up and it suffocates me…

I write because in this battle I am a soldier and I’d die if I wont fight with the ammo I know.

I write because otherwise Ill choke in my own words for the overload is heavy and the baggage is infected.

I write because… why not?

I write because… what else?

I write because… otherwise no one will understand

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love and relationships, my poetry, this is life

Will You Cross?

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One step. Two steps.
Will I take the ominous walk through an unfamiliar bridge?
Will you?
It’s an unstable and rotting structure
with truths masked
lies abounding
and there is a higher chance of you falling to oblivion
than ever making it to the other side.
But will you? 
Even if you are given no warranty,
no receipt of purchase
not a single fortifying evidence to make a claim?
 

Continue reading “Will You Cross?”