Written in Hour One – Happiness Haiku
Sunshine beams brightly,
golden nectar seeps deeply,
light filling my soul.
HELP
Everything is closing in.
I live in a castle, with gargantuan rooms
And regal tapestries
But, I’m feeling more like Rapunzel-
Trapped in a tower
In this state, I have no power
The more I perspire, the smaller things become.
I am trapped
Everything is just beyond reach-
Healing, Growth, Newness
I see it, but I’m sure that peace isn’t for me.
Anxiety is a bitch
An itch I’d rather not scratch
But like chicks in spring, it must come forth
It must be hatched
And with it, new terrors unleashed.
To the choir you preach,
So your sermons you can keep
Pardon me if I don’t try to escape
I’ve given that up as futile.
And no, I can’t stay for awhile-
I’ve made my peace
And accepted my fate
Anxiety will always be here and it has closed me off from life that I love
So I will just rest in this room that is too small and has become my coffin.
And, really, there’s no need for you to check in.
Just let that sink in…
Anxiety wins
Now, I ask, is that really so much a sin or more so me giving in?
prompt 7 hour 6
What glorious things you must have
hidden away in your chambers
that you keep oh so coveted
Away from prying eyes
and lingering hands.
Is it lonely in there?
The spaces between beats?
When breath is shallow and uninterrupted.
You keep it that way
locked tight.
If I could only take a peek
just to make sure the cobwebs haven’t
stifled the echo.
Just to make sure the doors haven’t rusted completely shut.
I have yet to find the key, the back entrance or any signs of life.
If I could only take a peek, a shy gander.
Just to make sure
I am not trespassing.
C. Churchill
Broken
your unspoken promise
shatters
at my feet.
shards of shimmering
opportunity
pierce my ankles.
my bloody footsteps
leave
a trail down
stairs & hallways.
I won’t be back.
An Original Poem
I'm not original I never was original You might think I'm different But I'm just conventional In a way you're not used to That doesn't make me original. Does this hair make me pretty? Does it make you uncomfortable? I hope it makes you nervous, 'Cause I don't want you to talk to me That's not original It's the same as everybody. Maybe I am traumatized, Or maybe I'm just whining I feel like I'm gonna cry God I hope it starts raining. I want to be original I want people to look at me and say, "God I want to be like them, They're just so inspiring." I just want to be myself, But I don't know who "myself" is. I want to be a superstar I want to be nobody.
I attribute [5]
I attribute this nonsense to the
cat walking across the keys
She made a salad of letters
as good as anything else I wrote on purpose
I saw Hemingway’s house from a distance;
We craned our necks to see the doorway to the foyer where he left.
Is it paranoia if you’re right about them watching?
Isn’t it easier to give in to the fear and build your walls high to keep them from seeing you
whether they are the FBI or the one you love?
I attribute this poetry nonsense to falling in love, to falling off a cliff,
to having the layers of a decade peeled back by the light in your green eyes.
I thought I was fine and life was fine and I could enjoy this moment in the sun and that moment in the rain and see the difference between the two but
then I read about bravery and vulnerability and even tattooed it on my arm seemingly to no avail because now I am afraid.
I attribute this fear to now having your green eyes to lose where before
there was only this cat.
Poem 6
Her eyes were the most beautiful golden color
I had ever seen,
yet still she longed for brown eyes
like her sisters.
She carried herself with the kind of confidence
that could only be used to hide insecurities.
She loved horses
but was terrified to touch them.
She enjoyed our country
but missed her home.
Maybe that was something like the horses,
missing a place she could not go
longing for a thing she could not touch.
I watched her as she feared and did things anyway.
Her truest self could only be seen
as she reminisced about the days
of sleeping on rooftops
and counting stars.
Now in the city, both were hidden from her.
Stars were replaced by the cold, artificial light
of those who wished to illuminate the world
and instead disguised its beauty.
She had a story
Hidden behind the golden glow of her eyes;
I wondered if I would ever hear it.
Perhaps somewhere within that story
lie the secrets of her past-
the shells of her confidence,
and the reasons she longed to be
just like everyone else.
She had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen,
but somehow I knew
that behind them was a girl
who just wanted to go home.
-h.e.m.
One and Last
it was one of a kind that one
it was spotted throughout the land
sometimes it came out of the sun
and others it came up from the sand
and once it came from the woodland
like all things that are rare and divine
it was fated to feel the black hand
thus, the last of its kind ended up chine
Locked Out
Picture a world where misogyny wasn’t marketable,
patriarchy wasn’t profitable,
and one in which sexism didn’t sell.
Where dollars didn’t buy democracy,
corporations couldn’t control,
and where freedom truly is too big to fail.
Imagine a world in which classism wasn’t characteristic,
equality of outcome didn’t oppose the opportunistic,
and success wasn’t measured on a sliding scale.
Yes, envision a world where unity didn’t usurp,
wealth wasn’t the measure of one’s worth,
and where every attempt at avarice carried out to no avail.
SIX
The biggest day of my life finally came.
When I was six, I started school!
Nothing would ever be the same.
I was a big kid now, my class was so cool.
I got to read as much as I could,
I started writing my own stories too.
At the top of my class, they said I was doing good.
My world grew bigger and shinier, like everything was new.
I started writing stuff all the time,
Scary stories for my cousins and friends.
Never poetry though, I could make nothing rhyme.
The younger kids had nightmares and mother said it had to end.
Of course it didn’t end, I only stopped my sharing.
My goal in those early tales was to be the best at scaring.