Metamorphosis edit

Metamorphosis

 

7 AM. Sweat illuminates the leather skin of a man

Whose callused hands hold a Silver Coors Light can

And a silver sanding belt.

 

Long, hard days at the marina call for something

Cool to drink, but something with a little burn also

To take away the pain.

 

10 PM. Salt water scents and fiberglass fumes fill

The home that does not feel like home

When his veins pump the poison he swears he needs

 

Screams and tears, words like daggers, broken hearts and

Broken souls. A leather hand slams doors and throws dinner plates

And her hope flies with them.

 

The demons inside him surrender ever so briefly

And the fire in his eyes disappears. She sees a man again,

Pleading to be released from the monster he has become.

 

2 AM. The raging hatred that once burned holes through her skin

Dissipates when familiar hands gently lay a blanket

Over her falsely sleeping body

 

Hands that say I love you, I just don’t know how to show it.

Late night thoughts

Life is beautiful, enchanting,
And then it gets ripped
Out of your grip the second
You forget to realize
Just how fragile it is.

Another text received too soon,
Reading the words "she passed"
Should make me feel numb by now,
But it's like a dagger into my soul.
19 years old, being laid to rest.

Tell me, how can there be a greater purpose
When the angle of a wheel
Or amount of pressure on a pedal
Can instantly make you regret
Words you never said?

Revised Poem

Time

Time heals everything.

People my age

should never experience this once,

let alone 4 times.

Be understanding, God

wanted to take them for his own reasons.

They were wrong.

Time never got easier,

It never got any easier with each

funeral seeing someone

the same age as you, lie in a casket.

It was something I shouldn’t have

seen til I was much much older.

But by the age of 19,

I’ve seen it 4 times.

3 DUI related car crashes, and one

shot by his father.

4 candle lightings, 4 different anniversary dates,

1 simple neck tattoo,

to keep my boys always with me.

They were wrong.

Time didn’t heal a thing.

Revised Piece

10 Violet Drive

She made two lefts, three rights, and saw the home that she spent so many years and had so many memories in. Some things were the exactly the way she remembered them, and some things looked like stranger’s faces walking down the street. The hunter green shutters were still faded, the single tree was still standing, and the mailbox still had a tiny dent from when she backed down the driveway, a little too fast.

The fence was new, replaced by the neighbors. It was only a fence, but it was the fence where she learned how to pitch for softball, and spent numerous hours outside practicing. Her spray painted pitching box was gone, like the neighbors just erased it without thinking twice. She thought this fence was just a fence, but emotions started to swarm her; like the huge wave that creeps up on you out of no where, when you aren’t looking at the beach.  She thought the fence was just a meaningless object, but it actually cared some importance to her. She was nervous to see her house from the inside, like a high school girl on the first day of class. She was scared to see what else changed, or if her room was still the same sky blue color.

She was surprised to see the inside look exactly the way she had remember it. The third step still cracked, the paint chips in the hallway from moving furniture were still there, and her height chart was still along the wall. All of these things were easy cosmetic fixes, so why didn’t the new owners fix these? She was confused, but yet relieved. She felt as if her home still had parts of herself left and her childhood was still left in and throughout the house. Her family no longer owned the home, but they left their own footprints. Like when you are walking along the beach in the early morning and you can look over your shoulder, and see your track of footprints. The footprints may erase in time, but you always know where you start walking at. This house was like the start of her own footprints for the beginning years of her life.

It was still her home and would always be home to her.

Revised Version , tried to make it more personal

If only you knew

If only you knew

That taking on that Red, White, and Blue

would cause such sadness and sorrow.

You’re forever gone til tomorrow.

We were always together

because you’re my baby brother

If only you knew

Your dark skin and tall stature

brought comfort to mom and me,

but now that you’re gone

We miss you a ton

If only you knew

All the bickering and bothering

about your big black (dead) toenail

Will forever be our tale

If only you knew

I could watch all day

your daily snap stories

of the K-dramas you made;

remain as faint memories.

If only you knew

That our sadness is actually happiness,

You left with a grand plan

to become a fine man.

Now do what you do

and return so I can say,

“I love you”

Revised Version of "Every Life Matters" and an attempt at a BOP Poem

Charm City

Beer bottles and burning buildings were

collecting casualties as smog and smoke

blanketed over the endless sky. Countless crowds

cried out for justice with nothing, but raised voices.

This was Charm City.

Viral videos of violence and brutality,

City after city, death after death,

restless citizens agitated and anxious

await the long foreseen acquittal.

Civilians now compromised by the hurt

and hatred, painted by naïve, juvenile brothers

who forgot that all together, they’d be labeled

as nothing but animals and straight beggars.

This was Charm City.

To banish the broken, big brother enlisted

men and women in uniform to unite.

Submit or surrender, and comply with curfew

Build businesses back up, bottom to top

Communities come together and with limited choices

To cry out for justice with nothing, but raised voices.

This is charm city.

The boogeyman

This is a drastic revision of my imagery and density piece.

The boogeyman was back—
  again.
     Shh... It's a secret.

The shuffle and sliding of his feet,
Across the rough black carpet
On the move.
  He is chasing his prey.
     Shh... It's a secret.

My eyes are open, but I don't see.
Desperate for light, my eyes scan the room.
Without my permission, they find the light creeping under the door.
Their shadows are black blobs,
moving too fast for me to see without my glasses.
I slam my eyes shut.
   Because the boogeyman's business is a secret.

My ears are still open.
They too, listen without my permission
Her pleas—
quick, quiet, and breathy.
I don’t to listen.
     Because the boogeyman's business is a secret.

Her pleas are no longer in the air.
All movement halts.
Peeping underneath my eyelids, the blobs are gone.
   He caught her.
      Shh... It's a secret.

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump
My heart is drumming against my ribs.
"They will hear" I say. "Stop the noise"
"They can't know that I know—
    Because the boogeyman's business is a secret."

He will be back again, we all know it.
  Shh... It's a secret.

Drastic Revision

This is a remake of my first imagery/density piece! A little cheesy, and definitely less heavy than the original.

July

Booming colors, ooh's and ahh's
Salty air and sandy feet
Shining grins and open arms
Good ole' Pop and little me.

Excitement faded as I saw the light
In your eyes slowly dwindle,
A light that my ocean treasures and
Toothless smiles would never rekindle.

The kaleidoscope sky
Has become black and white,
Booms mimick the ache felt in my chest
When you had to say goodbye.

Drastic Revision

            Before the revision I made the story as if the main character Angela was dreaming, this is what I changed it to.

           

            “Hey Ang. Let me speak to your dad?”

“Hey grand mom, okay how’s mom?”

“You’re mom is…The phone goes blank.

            Everything runs through Angela’s head. She does not know what to think. What is going on? Is mom alright?  Oh please let my mom be okay? Angela’s grandmom calls back in tears.

            “Hey Aaron. I have some bad news. Cameron is not doing well. Could you break it to the girls that Cameron is…is… in a comma. I’ll be over in a little.”

            “I’m so sorry to hear that. I will definitely let them know. “Their father replies.

            The girls get home for school and see their father sitting on the couch with his hands in his head.

            “Girls come sit, I have to tell you something. It’s about your mom,” he says hesitantly.

              “What? What about mom is she coming home?” Anisa says anxiously.

                “Sweetie, no she’s not coming home. She’s stuck in her sleep, so she has to stay in the hospital so they can monitor her and help wake up.”

            Angela knew exactly what her dad meant by she was stuck in her sleep. She began to burst in tears. In denial she screams “No, No, No!” Falling into her dads arms.

            A few weeks go by, as Angela begins to get used to being able to do certain things on her own with little to no help from her father. He has been more of a help now that they have found out the news, but Angela insist on doing things on her own because she knows that is what her mom wanted. She now picks her and her sisters clothes out, knows how to wash clothes, and cleans her own room sometimes even parts of the house.

            “If only mom could see me now. I could hear her say now I’m proud of you honeybunchie. That’s all I want right now, is to hear her voice.”

            Angela goes to the hospital after asking her dad and grandmom if she can go visit her mom to just talk to her and let her know what has been going on. She goes to the hospitals and sits with her mom for hours. Talking about how much Anisa is growing, how much closer they were getting to their dad and about how she was doing in school. She then goes about telling her mom how independent she is becoming.

            “ Mom I’m doing what you wanted. I’m helping out around the house more. I pick out Anisa and I’s clothes... and guess what?! I know how to the laundry all by myself now, I don’t change the colors or shrink clothes anymore! Aren’t you proud of me? I’m sorry for all the things I said before you got sick. I realize now that you were just trying to help me and not be a nag. All I want now is for you to wake up. Please mom! Please...just wake up! Do you hear me I need you?! Angela says bursting into tears and holding her mother’s hand.

            As her father goes to take her away, Angela feels a grasp. Life shocks her hand like a strong bolt of electricity.

            Her mom begins to wake up.

Revised version? 

#OG

In the neighborhood of Montjoy, you’d fall into one of the four categories:

The 6:50 a.m. soccer moms driving very carefully around the roundabout in minivans, the 6:51-6:56 a.m. kids walking from every angle towards the epicenter, the 6:57 a.m. those fantasizing of becoming the next “DK” (drift king) from the next fast and furious, roar their engines and slam their accelerator to beat the same, sluggish, yellow bus with 179 slapped onto the side as it squeaks its way into the neighborhood or the 6:58 a.m. people calling work to inform them of their tardiness.

We were once those kids at 6:56 a.m. but no longer and never will be again, my friends and I learned our ways around the neighborhood over the past seven years. Now seniors in high school, we’d all had drivers licenses and were too cool for a school bus.

Every morning of our last year was the same routine…

With both hands on the steering wheel she’d yell, “Next time ya’ll wake up late, ya’ll walking yo a**es up to school.”

“LOVE YOU AMANDA!” we’d yell back with huge grins on our faces until we’d hear the first late bell ring and Ranya’s face would freeze.

“Damn it!” she’d say “My mom’s going to kill me if I’m late… again,” as she’d sigh, fogging up the back right window.

“Calm down Ranya! It’s only your second. I already have morning detention L-O-L!” I’d yell back.

I was never a bad student and I’d only get into trouble for two reasons: One, for being tardy. Of course! You would think the school would want their kids to arrive safely, not parked crooked and out of breath. Two, skipping class to have our daily meet ups in the bathroom to talk about our plans after school. Plans usually included the raiding the content of each of our refrigerators because their house was mine and mine was theirs.

Amanda, Daphenie, and I had all met in the fifth grade and always met outside of our neighborhood. We were always home alone because of our hardworking single mothers, but we didn’t mind as much. With our mom’s not being home, we were allowed to drop our backpacks by the door and play outside. As time passed, we had picked up another friend in our growing relationship. Ranya had joined our middle school class in the middle of seventh grade.

Home Away from Home

It's my second home.
The place I go to relieve stress,
where I have the most fun.
The sound of little and big pitter patter on the dance room floor.
Tapping and slapping all around the room.
Great vibes and little to no tension around.
It's warm and cozy.
And feels just like home.
I spent six hours a day here and 10 on the weekends.

"I can't because I have dance" was my favorite line.

What I smell and what you smell are different,
the smell of underarm sweat
no longer bothers me because it's embedded in my nose.
Waling up o the red door that says "Progressive Center for Dance"
was the highlight of my day. Walking up the steps and hearing
the sounds of Hi's and Hello's and being warmingly welcomed every day.

The sound of Ballet music in one room
and Jazz in another soothes my spirit.
A place that properly shows and expresses
"Live.Laugh.Love".

The brown paneling on the wall,
the big mural of PCD on the wall of the dressing room,
painted in different bright colors of the rainbow.
The wood floors, long wide mirrors around the room.
Ballet bar that sits on the window ledge,
the desk where I'm greeted by the owner's sisters,
the small room where all little feet that I teach
dance and prance around. The pictures from past recitals
and trophies from the competition team.
All hold a special place in my heart.
The place that I spend most of my time.

Dance school.
My home away from home.

Come Back

A wave flows uncontrollably in different directions
and fades away
Just the way we were.
We had great times,
others we were just associates.
Now we speak utter silence to one another.
The moments we shared I do cherish,
now that you are not around.
Blind to the love I have for you,
you push me away.

One of the people I thought would always be there.
Says what you need to do but never been there to help you through
The few good times fade away.
I wish you were around to see the young woman I am becoming.

You're alive,
but our relationship is dead.
Hoping to revive it,
I'm troubled just a little bit,
to find the words to express how I feel.
Still I just want to be real.
Come back into my life.
I wanted you to be the one to walk me down the aisle,
but you treat me so foul
at time.
You say not getting a phone call for Christmas is the reason you're mad.
But little did I know it was just an excuse for you not to be my dad.

Before you leave

Don’t forget to salute with a stiff arm and feet together.

Don’t forget where you are and who’s in charge.

Don’t forget your chain of command, *hint* you start with Obama.

Don’t forget to look forward without a smile unless you want to be in a plank for a while.

Don’t forget to pray every night for strength because you have to get up in another hour.

Don’t forget to save some food to eat when you’re starving at night and don’t get caught.

Don’t forget to scrub you’re body with soap before you shower, so you have enough time to rinse it off.

Don’t forget to brush your teeth every night, unlike you do at home.

Don’t forget to make your bed every morning unless you want to go running.

Don’t forget to sleep in socks to slip on your boots faster.

Don’t forget to introduce me to your friends, you know I like guys in uniform.

Don’t forget it’s mind over matter, just breath and tell yourself “I can do it!”

Don’t forget who you are and why you’re there.

And don’t forget it’s only basic training and you’ll be coming home in only three months.

Every life Matters

All has halted. Horns are blaring.

Everyone chanting has hearts racing.

Annoyed at wasted time, blood is boiling.

Signs pass by and people are chanting

“NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!”

“BLACK LIVES MATTER!”

Videos of violence and viciousness

Has every parent calling.

Facebook and news websites

Have yet to shed light

On the real problems we have today

In that there is injustice to pay

And NOT just for Freddie Gray

But all individuals who aren’t able to say

that every life matters.

Poem 3

Cheesiest thing I think I've ever written hahahah HELP

 

 

Transformation Tuesday

 

One foot in front of the other,

Bright pink toes peeping out from under

My long, flowy skirt.

Smoothed hair and touched-up makeup,

Smiling brightly and eagerly waving

At a friend at the end of the hallway,

I know what some of them are rightfully thinking.

I’d hate to be around when she breaks a nail.

 

One foot in front of the other,

Black Nike’s make their way into my safe haven.

High fives and fist bumps.

You are one of us.

A homemade cutoff T-shirt reveals

Years of blood, sweat, and occasional tears.

Rounded shoulders and popping quads.

I am not strong…for a girl. I am strong.

 

Music pumps through my headphones

And through my veins.

I am electricity.

Nothing can stop me.

Take my squat rack, I dare you.

I am on a mission.

It’s me versus the world,

You can’t match my ambition.

Poem 2

 

Home

 

Where men in big trucks lift three fingers off the steering wheel

To say hello down a two-lane back road.

 

Where rumors spread faster than the scent of cow manure

Spread over fields in the spring time.

 

Where a four way stop is the closest thing to an intersection.

Take the road between the little store and the old fire house. You’ll see nothing but fields for two miles.

 

Where the neighbor’s cows replace the need for an alarm clock.

“MOOOOO”. 6 A.M. on the dot.

 

Where going into “town” means driving 25 minutes to the closest Walmart,

Where you cannot leave without seeing a dozen people you know.

Where thick dust from corn-plowing combines completely covers your car

Right after you just washed it.

 

Where a sky on fire over an open green field

Takes your breath and worries away.

 

This will always be home.

Poem 1

Before I start editing the crap out of these, let me know if you have any advice! It may greatly influence the changes I make!



Metamorphosis

 

Sweat illuminates the leather skin of a man

Who has worked too hard for too long

But never hard enough

 

Callused hands reach for a silver Coors Light can

Then for a silver sanding belt

Then he takes another sip

 

Salt water scent and fiberglass fumes fill

The home that does not feel like home

When his veins pump the poison he swears he needs

 

Screams and tears, broken hearts and broken souls

A leather hand slams doors and throws dinner plates

And my hope flies with them

 

The demons inside him surrender ever so briefly

And the fire in his eyes disappears. I see a man again

Pleading to be released from the monster he has become

 

The raging hatred that once burned holes through my skin

Dissipates when familiar hands lay a blanket over my

Falsely sleeping body

 

Hands that say I love you, I just don’t know how to show it.

5216 Darien Blvd (Drastic Revision)

She did not call ahead of time because she wanted to surprise them. When she got there she stood at the bottom of the multi-colored stone walkway, as memories of her childhood flooded her brain like a pot of grits that had boiled over onto the stove. Ring around the rosy/ Pocket full of posies/ Ashes, ashes/ We all fall down, she recalled hearing as she gathered her jump rope and 24- pack of Crayola sidewalk chalk.  She could remember turning the water hose head to shower to wash away the hopscotch squares. Each step was like walking into her first class at a new school, slightly nervous, but still extremely thrilled.

She walked past the prickly ash bush that her green bouncy ball used to roll under. She could remember the small scratches that masked her arms from trying to retrieve it. Raising her right arm she knocked on the door. Not too loud, but not too soft. She noticed that it was open. The rusty doorknob hung low, and exposed a small glimpse of the inside. As the door haltingly closed squeaking like an old chair with a limp leg, she was stunned at what she saw.

Her childhood memories rapidly vanished as she scanned the damaged and abandoned living room. The plush green carpet sunk in with each step and reeked of mothballs. The crown molding that aligned the base of the floors was now coated with mildew.  The legs of the wooden chairs were dull, ashy, gray and the shiny top layer of red mahogany wood no longer remained. As she walked further into the house she felted constant drops on water landing on her shoulder. She raised her head and saw a vast hole surrounded by crumbled chucks of paint and cement, exposed water pipes, and what used to be her bedroom floor. The cotton like insulation dangled from the hole like the pendant bowl chandelier that used to be in the dinning room.

She paced back and forth. To the front door. To the kitchen. Then back to the front. She poked her head outside of the door like a Push Pop to make sure she had the correct address. It was 5216. But it was no longer the place she remembered playing hide-and-seek or tag. No longer the place she had thanksgiving dinners or where she raced downstairs to open her Christmas presents. I was unfamiliar, unrecognizable, and unidentifiable. No longer the place she called home. What once was a place that nurtured hundreds of orphan children was now a construction site.

Mickey Mouse

Some people call it a madhouse

They say, “How can anyone enjoy this place?”

Everything is so expensive

The lines are so long, it is too hot

to be standing in lines for hours.

This place is not a vacation.

I don’t understand why some people

go crazy about this place called..

Disney World.

This place wasn’t a madhouse to me.

It was the exact opposite.

The lines were sometimes long,

but that’s where you planned out your day.

Decisions for the next ride, dinner plans, and

the game plan for the night were all made

standing in line, anticipating the loops and corkscrews of the coaster.

You can’t change the weather, so you

learn to adjust. You bring the

tiny misty fan that it just enough to

keep you cool.

You wear clothes with the lightest hue

of grey. If you wear any black, then it is

your own fault.

Disney World was paradise to me.

I couldn’t wait to get every picture

with each princess, no matter how long the lines were,

I needed to meet every single one.

The rides were worth the wait.

The thrill at the top of the coaster

made me feel like I was on top of the world.

This place would always be my favorite vacation spot.

Windows

The sun’s golden rays of warmth melt the

crystalline orbs of concrete, compact, brown
into a shimmering butterscotch hazel,
with a smooth cocoa brown undertone.

Those irises bear more than pigmentation.
Allowing me to peer deep, and
watch the liquids of emotions
ripple up to the surface.

His eyes whisper secrets to mine.
Leaving me lost in the reflections
of his soul while refracting my own light
back into my own pupils.

Where you see average genetics, I see
the renowned magnificence of
the universe of a man.

Palmam Qui Meruit Ferat (honor to one who earns it)

Honor to one who earns it –

one who works hard and deserves it

never give up,

but think smarter,

never omit,

mental toolkit,

simply the life of a knight

in all forms of life

we choose right and fight-

for what we believe in.

We come to the castle

where it’s a climb up a hill

every time, but that’s no obstacle

we're Knights.

Our castles sit on our fingers

to forever show where we came from,

acknowledge our prestigious learning environment. 

As Knights we strive to change the world

using the tools taught by the kingdom’s educators.

What more could a high school provide?