my poetry

The Cake Is A Gift

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

FB_IMG_1542006802691_wm.jpg

<!–more–>

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I’m always the fourth kid in the family and all my clothes are hand-me-down and outdated.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.

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

Old But Not Quite

20170603_201841_wm.jpg

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”