The Poetry Marathon

The noise in my house is nerve wrecking. I had it all planned out before. I knew it would be difficult with the baby. I can’t focus enough to get my thoughts down without being interrupted. “Wait!” “huh?” Thirty seconds of silence is what I get before the next “MAMA!” interruption. Kids under 13 are different from teenagers. My son tries hard to stay out of my hair but baby girl doesn’t care. She takes off her pamper and runs around the house. She just peed on the floor like a puppy, comes back and tells me to sit down. “Sit down Mama.” The Microwave just went off and I realize this is what my life is now. Frequent interruptions “Oh No!” she fell down, now I tell her here I come, anything to quiet her down. To give what she says some recognition as I continue to write because I want to. It’s my only sanity, “Huh?” “Get away from there!” “What are you doing?” “PUT THAT DOWN!!” She’s into something else and I’m still writing. My five minutes is almost up. Why didn’t I get a sitter today? Oh because I can’t afford it. There you go again answering your own damn questions. Crazy girl stop feeling guilty this is your human experience. The pathway to whatever or wherever you are going. You are going regardless so it doesn’t matter. Just enjoy the ride and hope you don’t get any diseases along the way. Where the hell did diseases just come from? Oh Geez, I’m a hypochondriac and I didn’t even know it. Purrfect, purr really? now I’m a cat. I’ve gone bananas b-a-n-a-n-a-s. Baby girl is back in my face. Her finger is stuck in a jewelry box. Yep she’s doing whatever and I’m still writing. She looks at me and says okay. I say thank you. She just walked away….my five minutes.

“We Need” to let go

“We Need” to stop measuring freedoms

“We Need” to stop acting like we figured it out

“We Need” each other

“We Need” to accept ourselves

“We Need” to love more and speak less

By asking

What purpose is this serving me?

we can learn to let go

Freedom isn’t a condition provided to us by man

We either are or we aren’t

we can’t be both

No one here has figured it out

we only know what works for us

We are all in this life together

Together we can create vibrations

that will transform the world

What others think of me won’t matter

when I start believing more in myself

I don’t know the way things should be

I only know this isn’t it

Love is certain and quiets the mind

Yellow eyed demons

disturb dreams

their spines curve like questions

they dig their nails in open sores

that once contained flowers

These demons drag down spirits that would otherwise soar

Wickedly they unbalance my life

trapping my words in unspoken verses

Sounds become silenced

I can’t move and I can’t sleep

they lay on top of me

licking my ear

unearthly beings

whispering reminders that

these exploding nightmares are my reality

and I am only delusionally happy

Back,

pass the green valley

is my secret spot

I feel closer to God

when I’m there

it’s my little doorway to heaven

sunny, bright, protected

peaceful and kind

The butterflies

land upon my shoulders

in their own way of saying hi

I crouch down instantly

and lay stretched out on the grass

dandelions sweetly kiss my skin

and remove all the debris

of life

She said he was smart

He just didn’t know it.

She shared stories about how they met

about one blue rose and their song

In a photo album

the blue rose was pressed on the first page

She said he was her love story

Afterwards

He stumbles in with no explanation

His movement are robotic from smoking fluid dipped cigars.

He paces back and forth

like a confused dog

Reeking of alcohol

he attempts to fight her

The broken energy pulls her away

He throws blurbs of conscious insults

conflicting her earlier words

halting her breath

He separates conversation

stiffens shadows

As her embarrassment stands congregating

I was afraid to look her in the face

He was exposed and

Peeled her love story apart

I can’t walk away

and leave her story

bare and burning

like she was

Angrily he leaves out

slams the door

An hour later he returns

Gentle

I heard my heart break

shards of glass were left inside

my left wrist

I cut myself

staring at the pain I couldn’t feel anything

It was perfectly placed this time

Maybe it has finally left me,

my imagination

was a tool unneeded

My heart dared me to love myself

the mortality of what I enjoyed confronted me

it was stone cold

foul mouthed and closed

seconds rolled by like miles

I realized I dreamed of this ending differently

My mind lingered in corridors

the sounds of love echoed in my consciousness

thickening my vulnerabilities as I sank silently

all I could think about was my pleading eyes

as I placed my heart at his feet

leaving me to stare at my own reflection alone

a minute long conversation was all it took

and I knew we were done

scratching the surface of my strong self

I dug inside deep enough

to remove that pain

like candle wax it warmly dripped

as I painted the canvas of the unknown

with a fading ache and fear

of knowing I would have to live

without his shadow

be patient

it will come

they always do

flex your rod

when it weighs down and bends don’t lose it

they are not ignoring you

believe me

it seems like it but don’t let go

smiles and sun hats greet conversations

as we pull out previously packed lunches

waiting until we catch the next one

and I catch my first

Between breaths I mutter sweet reminders to myself that I’m worth more than struggle. Time seems unkind as I age still holding on to old dreams that never seem to fade.

I search for exit signs that will lead me to a space where time doesn’t matter. I hope that everything I need to see I will, so I hold on and try to be honest with myself.

I understand that every day I wake up greeted with the sunlight won’t be a good morning.

I force myself to not think about time. I tell myself to carry enough passion that will take my imagination beyond the 24 hours time gives us today.

My treasure island means that I am living my dream rather than dreaming about it.

It means not allowing bill folds to hang over my head like broken halos.

It means honoring time enough to work after hours to achieve your goals.

It means allowing the soft moonlight to glow upon my pen strokes across word kissed pages rather than closed eyes.

I lay flat, waiting for others to notice me.

Growing up, my fluffy pillows were the only thing constant by my side. I always felt invisible.

I would rest my head in dreams of tomorrow. In those dreams I always saw my self alone.

Years before, I received an ironic premonition of the way my life would be. While walking with my older brother around a lake we started poking at the dead fish, floating on top.

Standing off to my brother’s side somehow I fell in. Unfortunately, he nor I could swim.

The flailing of my arms against water waves served me no purpose. I couldn’t grasp it at all. I couldn’t hold myself up enough to breath. I could only flutter about in panic.

No arms, no hands, it all seemed imaginary. One slip in a lake was all it took for me to see that my brother and I was in a room alone.

Noisy and clanking I waited for someone to slip me a reminder that I was more than water at the bottom of shoes. Someone to tell me I was more than a dumb little girl that clumsily slipped in the lake following her brother’s lead. Someone that wouldn’t laugh at me but make me feel that my presence mattered.

I survived that day without invitation. There was no lap in sight that could comfort the emptiness I felt. My brother’s quick thinking of picking up a stick and handing it to me got me out. I really didn’t think he could do it.

People were laughing, or so I felt. I was too embarrassed to rest my swollen eyes, so I stuffed it inside.

Hours later I rested my head in the back the bathtub and cried. Leaves floated on top of my bathwater like those dead fish.

I thought to myself, maybe being invisible isn’t so bad as I pulled my head underwater.

Hello! My name is Torri. I heard about this marathon from my sister Meka. She will also be participating in it this year. I discovered my love of words after losing my voice. After years of feeling like I had no one to talk comfortably with I turned to paper. I have learned since then to appreciate myself, the way that I think and to trust that my words will never fail me. I hope to be a published writer someday because I want others to read and feel my gift.  I spend most of my time doing things that I have to do, and not enough of my time doing things I want to do. If I could invest 8 hours a day to writing, I would feel most peaceful. I am taking part of this wonderful opportunity to encourage and inspire me. There is no such thing as too much practice when you are investing in what you love and enjoy. I am looking forward to June 13th!