Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes
Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra
Muted and receding into the trees and bushes,
Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind
While we may be in the company of wolves,
A long legged friend is late for the party
Eyes, little iridescent stars
Attending to each one, and look there,
There she is, making the most beautiful geometry
Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks
An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine
Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron?
A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two
With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth
And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine
Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs
Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company
To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile
Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones
Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves
Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels
Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall
Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice
A real lady always knows when to say goodnight
Such graceful exits through cement cracks
Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark
And they become spiders again
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
I don't have nothing really to post right now
However, I will read your poems first,
In hopes inspiration follows and falls into place
Please do not think I'm here to drop a bomb
It's just a fair warning on how, I'm here
"To Rock Your World"
Allow me kindly to introduce myself,
I'm as Sweet as they come
I'm not the enemy, but a poet friend
In time you will see, and hunger my name
I'm not new to any poetry world
In time you will notice I am not your average girl
I will play fair, If you do
I'll be true to you, if you are true
I'm not here to judge what I can't see
However, I will reply and enjoy the imagery
This Destroyer is not like a lawyer
However, mess with me or my sis
I'll chew you out like the D.E.A.
I'll mess with your mind
A brain storm cleaning you from bottom to top
I am the POET DESTROYER
Admiring those who love the world of wordplay
Today, I will end my WORDS
With the quote I've always wanted to say
"I am no poet!"
She painted her emotions with a dark brush
My heart sunk into her canvas
Transported to an endless sadness
She greets me there with a smile
Her light not visable from the other side
"Come" she says
"There are many rooms to explore"
She skips along yesterday's corridors
I follow in tentative foot falls
She looks back, "Here it is, this is where we'll begin."
Through the door we go in
In an instant she disappears
I wondered was she ever here
Then a silent voice whispers in my ear
"Watch and listen, all will unfold"
I watch in silence, my heart feels cold
A mother in a hospital bed
Two baby girls
One of them dead
Tears of joy now sad instead
She whispers "do you see?? Happy Birthday, little me."
I hear her giggle in another room
So I walk through another door,
a toddler alone on the floor
Mom sitting, at a table with a drink
Little girl starts crying
Mom doesn't even blink
The scene changes
A parade of men
Mom needs her lovers
Over and over again
In the night
When mom's asleep
Into the girls room, the demons creep
On the bed, there she lays
She leaves her mind
While the bad man plays
I want him to stop
Her so helpless
Him there on top
The whisper returns "There is nothing to do,
I want you to know the source of my blue."
I say "please I can take no more"
With that she says "there is just one more door."
She is back, she takes my hand
I walk through a door to her promised land
The darkness, is all stripped away
She is young once more, it's bright as day
She turns and smiles, " I'm okay,
long ago I learned to pray."
I said "I do not understand,
how could he let that happen to you?
Is he not to blame for your world of blue?"
She looks again with knowing smile
"You will understand in a while.
One day all anwers he will reveal,
best understood when you learn to kneel.
From her canvas
My mind wishes release
Flowing into my heart, an ancient peace
On humbled footsteps, my journey within
A world of shadows, paper thin
I see beyond sadness
I search within
This dark picture,
brushed stroked on my mind
Her life touched by sin,
Is now redefined
No longer is she broken
I watch her light grow
She says "I'm okay,
it's time for you to go."
For Kelly Deschler's Ghost stories contest.
$hawty Got $wag
Shawty got swag,
Shawty mad dope.
Face all cheesin’,
She real turned up.
Goin’ to da club,
She steppin' wit her peeps,
Lookin’ so ratchet,
She’s straight up hoochie.
No racks in her pocket,
No stacks in her wallet,
But she all into bubbly
Slurpin’ and burpin’.
Lookin for a big baller,
Who’ll give her wat she wants,
Wildin’ on the dance floor,
Tweakin’ an’ freakin’,
Shawty actin' so cra cra!
She just like da rest a dem,
But Shawty real fly,
Sure likes a lotta ice,
Bling bling, and Benjamins.
Shawty creepin’ to hook up
Coz she needs a boo wit finesse,
Who’ll give her Yves St. Laurent,
5-star hotels, and 5-star restaurants.
Shawty off the chain,
Shawty off the hook,
She got game and she’s aight!
Shawty da bomb - fuh real!!!
Entered in contest “Ebonics – Let’s Do Some Slang" sponsored by Verlena S.
Some Terms and Definitions:
shawty – a young attractive female; dope – cool, nice, awesome; swag – style;
turn up – excited; mad – really a lot; peeps – friends, close pals; baller – a
thug that made it in the big time; racks/stacks– lots of money; aight – alright;
wildin’– to go crazy, acting out of control; cra cra – crazy; tweakin’/freakin’ –
dancing provocatively and moving around out of control; cheesin’ – smiling;
finesse – man who has swag and can spend a huge amount of money; ratchet
– ghetto diva; creepin’ – sneaking about; bubbly – champagne; bling bling –
expensive flashy jewelry; Benjamins – hundred dollar bills; boo – one’s lover;
da bomb – the best of the best; game – skills; ice – expensive flashy jewelry
usually diamonds or jewelry with diamonds; off the chain/off the hook –
excellent, fantastic, awesome; fly – cool, in style; hook up – getting together
with someone romantically; hoochie – a female who dresses trashy; straight up
– absolutely, really.
Her laugh is so melodious, a siren song, crashing ships and stealing hearts.
She's stolen my heart.
Yet you can't steal something that's already yours.
Her body is a mystery, one for the history books.
Her lips, so pink and kissable, taunt me like a schoolboy.
She is a goddess,
a true Aphrodite,
a creature of immense and unexplainable beauty.
Yet beautiful is an insult.
She is not beautiful.
She is a work of art, a true Picasso.
In her eyes, I see infinity.
I see stars.
I see the Devil himself.
What I do not see, is her.
She wears a mask.
She hides herself from others like a frightened puppy in a thunderstorm.
And yet, she could not be any more perfect.
You look up the word perfect in the dictionary, and you will see her face.
Perfect dark brown curls, curls darker than my soul.
Perfect smile, a smile so killer it deserves twenty-five to life in the local prison.
When I see her, I'm a deer caught in headlights.
I'm frozen, turned to ice, turned to stone.
Her beauty could stun Medusa.
When she smiles at me, I see Heaven.
I talk with God like he's an old friend.
And when she says my name, I melt like the wicked witch,
and fall deeper...and deeper...and deeper...
As light leaves us,
the truth is unveiled.
A girl lies with sorrows unscaled.
To wither and die,
without hope on her side.
She can no longer see a light,
to guide her through those forsaken nights.
She waits for a sign,
that all will come in line.
She is in pain,
with no one to help, all efforts sought in vain.
When will the girl see,
there are others like she.
Others share her pain,
others like me.
Her light once pierced through the shadows,
it was a beacon through the night.
Now it is only a dying flame,
leaving the world to darkness,
cowering in shame.
A girl lies dying in her pain.
I wish I could blow air into your little lungs,
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world.
Hold your little body warm,
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....
I could look into your daring eyes,
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts!
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
How I wish you could be,
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?
I wish I could find the reasons now, and not wait until I die.
Mostly, I WISH Mommy could fix this.
Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013
RIP March 25, 2013
Heated these shores, whereupon passion bears her grip...
A lady in love with another woman, and how can she deny this
Stirring deep inside racing through her veins the rapture, of her heart.
Summer's surf rising from ivory tides be her light...
Reflecting from an hourglass these prisms she sways
Breaking waves their eyes conversations ladies they gaze.