I should feel inspired to be something
new
different
unique
after reading Langston Hughes
but I’m not.
i’m still here
in this same old rut
singing the same old song
that i’ve been singing
forever
yesterday
and tomorrow.
maybe
just maybe
it’s because i’m not really Me
today
or yesterday
or any of the days
since
I decided to go to college.
i’m not Me anymore,
i’m them
and what they idealize
want me to be
reduced
watered down
no spice no flavor no
Me.
why is Me
too much
and not enough
not right/not good/not what we’re looking for
is someone who fits the mold and You aren’t it.
words like knives
cut Me down to a more manageable me
fit nice and tiny there next to the dotted line
sign
your name and your
soul
to a group of some nobodies who are somebodies because they say
so cater to their egos
be
small.
achieve great things but don’t aspire to
greatness breaking the mold isn’t
good allowed acceptable politically correct
don’t write that you love
God debate politics babies morals
write that you love everyone everything
that they find pleasant and uncomplicated
don’t say you want to
travel teach the world change lives serve God
doesn’t belong in a scholarship essay don’t
interview with a cross around your neck be
unoffensive tolerant but informed of
what interests them and not
You aren’t important anymore you is
be you and not You and fit their mold
so nice snug confining restraining smothering suffocating in their standards
who is I where is Me
I lost Me long ago, and I followed
and now all that’s left is an i and a
meager attempt at freedom
eager attempt at success
plea for redemption of my sold-out soul
let Me return, and I as well.
I am too big for the confines of their expectations,
Me is too much for their infantile taste buds
too much spice zest zing power intensity
life.
I offend them,
so for them, i am.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Trilogy
After Eric dumped me, I wrote the poem "Tragedy." Brian wrote "Ten Thousand Velvet Roses" for me shortly after we began dating in February 2008. His was written as a response to my poem. It was a sweet, well-planned poem with no reality behind it. Just like Eric's words, his words were false comforts that I believed in. But now that it's over, I've decided I want no more pretty words. The third poem in this set, "Turn and Turn Again," is my response to his response, and to all the pretty words ever said to me, pastpresentfuture.
Tragedy
Amelia Bolick
I used to have a dream.
I used to want to live in a fairy tale
with a happily-ever-after
perfect ending.
In my dreams,
I was the princess.
Guess who the prince was?
Yeah, him.
I sat in the dust
playing with my words
trying to tune out
the gnawing
aching
loneliness.
Then he came along
and saw through the filth on my face.
Plucked me from the mud
and made me beautiful.
Made me perfect.
Fairy-tale perfect.
Happily-ever-after perfect.
And he led me along the path
to that shining ending.
That's where he dumped me
in the festering sludge
after dragging me along so far.
Dumped
so he could run off--
not with a princess,
not to adventure,
not to learn the mysteries of the world.
Ran off with his ego, he did.
Arrogant fool.
Not him.
Me.
Arrogant to think
he could love me.
Arrogant and foolish,
so naive indeed.
Foolish country bumpkin
playing the princess's role.
I played the part,
now I pay the toll.
Tax on my heart
and charge on my pride
to watch him away
to another's side.
Wonders pondered,
lesson learned.
There's no such thing as
happily ever after.
.....................................................................................
The Turning of a Tragedy
(Or, Ten Thousand Velvet Roses)
Brian Cansler
She used to have a dream—
Once upon another life.
She wanted the perfect life,
One that ended with those three words
That make every girl flush with excitement.
And so the princess
--Who thought she was only acting her part—
Waited.
Her beauty was concealed by
The blood of the earth.
And she waited.
She tried to ignore the
e m p t i n e s s
filling her wanting heart.
And she waited.
She fanned the dying embers
In the hearth that once held
Her all-consuming childlike
Hope.
And she waited.
Finally
(When the last orange ember
--Lonely like the princess—
Glowed feebly against the black cinders of doubt
Trying and almost succeeding to swallow it)
A prince came.
He was a charming, heroic, handsome prince
Who could have had any maiden he chose.
He saw her, waiting for him.
He plucked her from the mud
And cleaned her off,
Revealing her perfection to the world.
He gave her a dozen gold-gilded roses,
Whispering so only she would hear:
“One for every reason
I love you.”
And he led her on,
On,
On…
She could see a palace, a new life!
In the distance,
But coming ever closer!
She was finally, finally, happy!
But he grew tired of her,
Arrogant fool that he was!
He tore her down,
Marred her face, her heart—
Her very soul
--With mud.
She told herself it was her fault:
Not his!
And she hated herself.
And thus she learned—
There’s no such thing as
Happily ever after.
Later,
She lived in her sorrow once more,
Watching, from outside where she stood,
The happy-go-lucky couples
Dance.
She was angry at them for having
Exactly
What she had always wanted.
But she hated herself more than anything.
How could she have been so stupid
As to make her prince leave her like that?
And then a man came up,
And he took her cold hand in his.
The warmth of his hand filled her, and she looked up at him.
He was no prince.
He wasn’t beautiful.
He wasn’t even nearly perfect.
But he was kind.
And so captivated was he
With the princess of our tale
That he led her inside without pausing to remove the mud that
Still she wore as a reminder of her perceived foolishness.
At once the music—stopped.
All faces turned toward them and gasped as they saw her
Covered in mud
With her cheeks carved with streams of former tears
And yet…
So beautiful.
So radiant.
So perfect.
And the music began again,
With the women jealous of her self,
And the men jealous of his princess.
And they danced.
Together.
Princess and man,
Barely in acquaintance—
And she let him lead her on the floor.
Later,
He kissed her.
And so filled with passion—
With joy—
With abandon—
With love—
Was this kiss
That she melted in his arms
And for an instant
Their souls touched each other.
Later,
He gave her a velvet rose, shouting:
“Because
I love you.”
Later,
He gave her a thousand velvet roses,
“Because
I love you.”
Later yet,
On a moonless, starlit night,
He gave her ten thousand velvet roses,
Shouting to her so all the world would hear—
“One because I love you,
And all the rest for every reason I discovered just today why
I love you.”
Much later,
He led her to that shining place at the end of the road.
She followed him because
She loved how he made her feel.
She loved how his heart exalted her and hers
So that she may better exalt the Father.
And after a long time, she realized,
She loved…
Him.
She loved him.
And she told him so every day.
And every time he repeated the words,
Her heart swelled with joy
With bliss
With love.
“One who fears is not yet perfect in love.”
And she finally accepted that she was perfect.
She no longer feared
For between God and the man,
She would ever be protected from all dangers.
Wonders pondered were redefined.
Lessons learned were revised.
There is such a thing as
Happily ever after.
..............................................................................
Turn, and Turn Again
Amelia Bolick
Story told,
beyond
time
rhyme
reason
hope.
Simply a girl, a simple girl
lived among the dust of loneliness
gripping in stale dead hands
her heart
and a dozen once-guilded roses.
Once-guilded
hopes
dreams
lies.
Plucked from the mud,
polished and shined
injected with all the
falseness the
fillers the
useless stuff
and encased in glistening amber.
Sparkling and catching the light.
A rare gem.
A treasure on display.
A treasure on his arm.
Gilded roses torn
from her hands
by him
who lifted her out of the
dust
lonely
led onto a dance floor.
Eyes caught
by the glitter
of his romance
and her foolishness.
They danced
as she fell in love
pieced her heart
into one again
tattered and shattered
delicate and breakable
yet once again giveable
and given to him.
Led to the mountaintop
And he gave her roses
soft,
velvet.
Velvet-soft roses
and pretty words.
Ten thousand
10000
enough to drown in and
die in and
decay
beneath their
feather-soft
selves.
"One
because I love you.
And ninethousandninehundredninetynine
for all the reasons I discovered
just today that
I love you."
Such pretty, healing words.
Hopes build
passions build
but passions were disappointed
she was not for him
because her heart belonged
to Him
who made
gave
saved
repared it
he could not be first
if He was in line
and He was
and he left.
Standing
lonely once more
on a mountainside
wilderness
bewilderness
and lonely
heart in pieces
released from the amber bonds
the glass casing
sparkling prison
shattered like her heart
but better for her heart
to be
free.
Pieces gathered
fit into new frame
of heart reshaped
and strengthened
callused
dressed in burlap
gone the silk gloves
and rustling gown
of matrimony
and prison.
one
by
one
velvet roses
examined
pondered
cast aside
LIES
weighing and suffocating
gone now.
princess
and girl
sit side by side
once again alone
but no longer lonely
attended
by butterflies
kissed by suns
desired by sons
and radiant.
waiting once more
for the next to come
and offer his gift.
but no more gilded roses
no velvet
no silk
no cotton
no glass
no diamond
ruby
emerald
jeweled and bedecked and glittered
in its sickening dizzying terrifying overwhelming glitz
the falseness of falsehoods.
waiting now
for a real prince
on a mission to find her
and offer her just
one
single
rose
that is real.
Tragedy
Amelia Bolick
I used to have a dream.
I used to want to live in a fairy tale
with a happily-ever-after
perfect ending.
In my dreams,
I was the princess.
Guess who the prince was?
Yeah, him.
I sat in the dust
playing with my words
trying to tune out
the gnawing
aching
loneliness.
Then he came along
and saw through the filth on my face.
Plucked me from the mud
and made me beautiful.
Made me perfect.
Fairy-tale perfect.
Happily-ever-after perfect.
And he led me along the path
to that shining ending.
That's where he dumped me
in the festering sludge
after dragging me along so far.
Dumped
so he could run off--
not with a princess,
not to adventure,
not to learn the mysteries of the world.
Ran off with his ego, he did.
Arrogant fool.
Not him.
Me.
Arrogant to think
he could love me.
Arrogant and foolish,
so naive indeed.
Foolish country bumpkin
playing the princess's role.
I played the part,
now I pay the toll.
Tax on my heart
and charge on my pride
to watch him away
to another's side.
Wonders pondered,
lesson learned.
There's no such thing as
happily ever after.
.....................................................................................
The Turning of a Tragedy
(Or, Ten Thousand Velvet Roses)
Brian Cansler
She used to have a dream—
Once upon another life.
She wanted the perfect life,
One that ended with those three words
That make every girl flush with excitement.
And so the princess
--Who thought she was only acting her part—
Waited.
Her beauty was concealed by
The blood of the earth.
And she waited.
She tried to ignore the
e m p t i n e s s
filling her wanting heart.
And she waited.
She fanned the dying embers
In the hearth that once held
Her all-consuming childlike
Hope.
And she waited.
Finally
(When the last orange ember
--Lonely like the princess—
Glowed feebly against the black cinders of doubt
Trying and almost succeeding to swallow it)
A prince came.
He was a charming, heroic, handsome prince
Who could have had any maiden he chose.
He saw her, waiting for him.
He plucked her from the mud
And cleaned her off,
Revealing her perfection to the world.
He gave her a dozen gold-gilded roses,
Whispering so only she would hear:
“One for every reason
I love you.”
And he led her on,
On,
On…
She could see a palace, a new life!
In the distance,
But coming ever closer!
She was finally, finally, happy!
But he grew tired of her,
Arrogant fool that he was!
He tore her down,
Marred her face, her heart—
Her very soul
--With mud.
She told herself it was her fault:
Not his!
And she hated herself.
And thus she learned—
There’s no such thing as
Happily ever after.
Later,
She lived in her sorrow once more,
Watching, from outside where she stood,
The happy-go-lucky couples
Dance.
She was angry at them for having
Exactly
What she had always wanted.
But she hated herself more than anything.
How could she have been so stupid
As to make her prince leave her like that?
And then a man came up,
And he took her cold hand in his.
The warmth of his hand filled her, and she looked up at him.
He was no prince.
He wasn’t beautiful.
He wasn’t even nearly perfect.
But he was kind.
And so captivated was he
With the princess of our tale
That he led her inside without pausing to remove the mud that
Still she wore as a reminder of her perceived foolishness.
At once the music—stopped.
All faces turned toward them and gasped as they saw her
Covered in mud
With her cheeks carved with streams of former tears
And yet…
So beautiful.
So radiant.
So perfect.
And the music began again,
With the women jealous of her self,
And the men jealous of his princess.
And they danced.
Together.
Princess and man,
Barely in acquaintance—
And she let him lead her on the floor.
Later,
He kissed her.
And so filled with passion—
With joy—
With abandon—
With love—
Was this kiss
That she melted in his arms
And for an instant
Their souls touched each other.
Later,
He gave her a velvet rose, shouting:
“Because
I love you.”
Later,
He gave her a thousand velvet roses,
“Because
I love you.”
Later yet,
On a moonless, starlit night,
He gave her ten thousand velvet roses,
Shouting to her so all the world would hear—
“One because I love you,
And all the rest for every reason I discovered just today why
I love you.”
Much later,
He led her to that shining place at the end of the road.
She followed him because
She loved how he made her feel.
She loved how his heart exalted her and hers
So that she may better exalt the Father.
And after a long time, she realized,
She loved…
Him.
She loved him.
And she told him so every day.
And every time he repeated the words,
Her heart swelled with joy
With bliss
With love.
“One who fears is not yet perfect in love.”
And she finally accepted that she was perfect.
She no longer feared
For between God and the man,
She would ever be protected from all dangers.
Wonders pondered were redefined.
Lessons learned were revised.
There is such a thing as
Happily ever after.
..............................................................................
Turn, and Turn Again
Amelia Bolick
Story told,
beyond
time
rhyme
reason
hope.
Simply a girl, a simple girl
lived among the dust of loneliness
gripping in stale dead hands
her heart
and a dozen once-guilded roses.
Once-guilded
hopes
dreams
lies.
Plucked from the mud,
polished and shined
injected with all the
falseness the
fillers the
useless stuff
and encased in glistening amber.
Sparkling and catching the light.
A rare gem.
A treasure on display.
A treasure on his arm.
Gilded roses torn
from her hands
by him
who lifted her out of the
dust
lonely
led onto a dance floor.
Eyes caught
by the glitter
of his romance
and her foolishness.
They danced
as she fell in love
pieced her heart
into one again
tattered and shattered
delicate and breakable
yet once again giveable
and given to him.
Led to the mountaintop
And he gave her roses
soft,
velvet.
Velvet-soft roses
and pretty words.
Ten thousand
10000
enough to drown in and
die in and
decay
beneath their
feather-soft
selves.
"One
because I love you.
And ninethousandninehundredninetynine
for all the reasons I discovered
just today that
I love you."
Such pretty, healing words.
Hopes build
passions build
but passions were disappointed
she was not for him
because her heart belonged
to Him
who made
gave
saved
repared it
he could not be first
if He was in line
and He was
and he left.
Standing
lonely once more
on a mountainside
wilderness
bewilderness
and lonely
heart in pieces
released from the amber bonds
the glass casing
sparkling prison
shattered like her heart
but better for her heart
to be
free.
Pieces gathered
fit into new frame
of heart reshaped
and strengthened
callused
dressed in burlap
gone the silk gloves
and rustling gown
of matrimony
and prison.
one
by
one
velvet roses
examined
pondered
cast aside
LIES
weighing and suffocating
gone now.
princess
and girl
sit side by side
once again alone
but no longer lonely
attended
by butterflies
kissed by suns
desired by sons
and radiant.
waiting once more
for the next to come
and offer his gift.
but no more gilded roses
no velvet
no silk
no cotton
no glass
no diamond
ruby
emerald
jeweled and bedecked and glittered
in its sickening dizzying terrifying overwhelming glitz
the falseness of falsehoods.
waiting now
for a real prince
on a mission to find her
and offer her just
one
single
rose
that is real.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Come Before Winter
The sun sinks beneath the horizon
and another day draws to an end
carrying its sorrows to its grave.
The sun makes his journey quicker,
every day, it seems shorter;
he does not wish to pause and watch
as the summer slips away.
It is autumn today, and yesterday,
and maybe it will stay awhile,
but time trickles through the nets
and cannot be caught.
So I am calling to you now,
while I still have breath,
that you would accompany me
as we answer the summons.
The master is pleading,
"Come, come now.
I bid you come, quickly and soon."
Will you go with me?
There is a task at hand,
and it must be done soon
before the fall ends and the chance is gone.
Go with me, friend, while there is time,
but if you won't come now,
I cannot wait.
I will leave at the sunrise.
Will you be with me,
or not?
I urge you,
do not miss your chance.
Time is running short,
and the master says,
"Come before winter."
Let us go, before the time is gone.
and another day draws to an end
carrying its sorrows to its grave.
The sun makes his journey quicker,
every day, it seems shorter;
he does not wish to pause and watch
as the summer slips away.
It is autumn today, and yesterday,
and maybe it will stay awhile,
but time trickles through the nets
and cannot be caught.
So I am calling to you now,
while I still have breath,
that you would accompany me
as we answer the summons.
The master is pleading,
"Come, come now.
I bid you come, quickly and soon."
Will you go with me?
There is a task at hand,
and it must be done soon
before the fall ends and the chance is gone.
Go with me, friend, while there is time,
but if you won't come now,
I cannot wait.
I will leave at the sunrise.
Will you be with me,
or not?
I urge you,
do not miss your chance.
Time is running short,
and the master says,
"Come before winter."
Let us go, before the time is gone.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Sin Embargo, El Mundo Pasa
Espero para la mar cesar,
qué ser posible para me cruzar,
porqué no puedo caminar
sobre las olas,
hinchan y caen.
Una y otravez, repetidas veces
cobran y retiran en una danza incesante.
Mientras la mar teje la danza,
la galaxia se imita
con la gracia que no tropieza.
Las estrellas giran y piruetean,
bailan alrededor la luna.
Un niño nací, un anciano muere
y va juntar la danza.
En muerte,
en vida,
tragedía sucede,
pero no cesa la danza.
Qué será, será.
Suceda lo que sucediere.
Sin embargo, el mundo pasa.
qué ser posible para me cruzar,
porqué no puedo caminar
sobre las olas,
hinchan y caen.
Una y otravez, repetidas veces
cobran y retiran en una danza incesante.
Mientras la mar teje la danza,
la galaxia se imita
con la gracia que no tropieza.
Las estrellas giran y piruetean,
bailan alrededor la luna.
Un niño nací, un anciano muere
y va juntar la danza.
En muerte,
en vida,
tragedía sucede,
pero no cesa la danza.
Qué será, será.
Suceda lo que sucediere.
Sin embargo, el mundo pasa.
Simple
Come and stay awhile with me.
We'll sit in the meadow,
watch the grass grow,
eavesdrop on whe wind
to learn what the trees know.
And in the evening,
if we're quiet and still,
we might hear the stars sing.
Let's observe the sunset,
moonrise, moonset,
and wait for the sun to reappear.
Hope the morning brings fair weather,
and if it rains, we will dance
and splash in the puddles,
turn our faces to the sky
and enjoy the downpour
while it lasts.
Stay with me 'til the sun
has circled us more times
than we could ever count.
Stay, and dance,
stay and sing,
and learn how to be still,
to laugh and to love.
We'll live 'til the world is gone.
We'll sit in the meadow,
watch the grass grow,
eavesdrop on whe wind
to learn what the trees know.
And in the evening,
if we're quiet and still,
we might hear the stars sing.
Let's observe the sunset,
moonrise, moonset,
and wait for the sun to reappear.
Hope the morning brings fair weather,
and if it rains, we will dance
and splash in the puddles,
turn our faces to the sky
and enjoy the downpour
while it lasts.
Stay with me 'til the sun
has circled us more times
than we could ever count.
Stay, and dance,
stay and sing,
and learn how to be still,
to laugh and to love.
We'll live 'til the world is gone.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Finally finished...
Hey everyone! This is the first non-poetic entry to this journal so far. Just for your information, I didn't write all these today! These were written over a period of a year. I'll continue to add poems and stories--and possibly some journaling--as it comes to me.
For those of you who don't know me, poetry is part of how I stay sane. What you'll read in this blog is uneditted, unrefined. Every poem and story is a first draft. It might not always make sense--it's not really supposed to. I'd like to be able to say that it came from some innate talent, but that would be a lie. In reality, my writing is just the chaos in my head being sorted into something coherent.
Anyways, keep checking back from time to time--I'll post as the inspiration hits me.
Reflections
I look in the mirror
and find myself
confused.
What's this?
A monster looking back!
The epitome of almost--
sorta--
kinda--
not-really-okay,
Oh! How much I lack.
Physically,
mentally,
spiritually too.
How terribly far
I've left to go...
And as I run,
I cover my flaws--
In vain!--
and they never cease to show.
Society shouts and screams--
YOU'RE WORTHLESS--
such horrid cries,
and all I hear.
But then,
You whisper
"beautiful, blessing"
and I know that you are near.
Help me reflect
Your beauty,
that the world may know you
through me.
And when they look,
Lord, I beg you!
hide my face.
May Yours be
ALL
they can see.
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