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?

Pay Now, Play Later

“This won’t be a walk in the park.”

My parents said this to me countless times.

You can either make a dime working your butt off

or be the deciding factor to save someone.

You can either pay or play.

Your future is up to you, Ashley.

Four years of high school

will decide what college you get into.

Make sure you take multiple languages.

Make sure you play sports and participate in clubs.

Make sure there is nothing stupid on social media.

Make sure you GPA is outstanding.

Make sure you succeed.

Education is key.

You have to start from the bottom

to realize how hard everyone works.

You might just be a nursing assistant,

but you mean the world to your residents.

Learn to listen to their stories,

their stories will open your eyes to what

the world once was.

Learn that you can truly make a difference

in someone’s life.

Experience is Key.

Being a nurse isn’t just a job.

It’s a life long career that requires

hard work, determination, and most

importantly compassion.

Pay Now, Play Later.

One day, you may be the deciding factor.  

Silly poem about my mother

Ultimate Fan

Deep blue acrylic nails. The sign of passion
… or obsession depending on perspective.
Blue handbag, the same shade. Coated with
silver signatures, numbers, and
that one lone star.

Her woman cave, the walls of course,
adorned with blue. And random blue artifacts
scattered about the room.

On top the fireplace mantle, a crazy woman with
Blue shirt, blue shoes, blue hat, and beaming smile,
standing next to the white sign with blue letters,
“We Hate The Redskins”.

Next to that, a proud—still crazy—woman
with another blue shirt and blue shoes. Hands
with blue acrylic nails holding up five fingers
blessed with five Superbowl rings.

Soon the sounds her screaming and shouting. Clapping
her hands and rumbling the floor with her feet.
“Goooo Babyy Goooo!! Run Run Run!! TOUCHHDOWNNN!”
Pretty sure even with the windows closed, you could hear her
half way down the damn street.

Larger than life surround sound thundering through the house.
Shaking the walls. Rocking the small blue salt and pepper shakers,
(never been used). On display with cups, oven mitts, and pot holders
That all have that same blue hue.

“Mom, you’re never not wearin’ blue”
“That’s right baby! Gotta represent my Cowboy pride 365!”

In our house, it’s football season all year round.

Oh The Ground

The ground changes more than you and I

It can be painted with delicate dandelions and sightly sunflowers

Even with tons of towering trees

It can be veiled with sand or large lawns of grass

Or hidden by concrete

It supports us silently, so discrete

The ground can be drenched from the falling showers

Or masked with mud

The ground is wrecked and battered by human imprints

It’s unrecognizable and concealed by construction

But it can still grow those delicate dandelions and sightly sunflowers-

without mankind’s instruction

The ground

Oh the ground

It’s magical how it works

Abandoned

It’s a baby crying in the van.

What happened to the young child?

No one knows.

Will it live?

Will it ever give?

Oh the poor child-

left in the van.

The parents ran away

said they’d be back some day

- but lied

Now the baby's crying in the van.

How can it grow?

How will it know?

Never protected

it should be assumed

that the parents…

the parents

should be arrested-

but instead they were set free

and the baby’s in the van- a black Cherokee.

Will it live?

Will it ever give?

Oh the poor child-

left in the van --- It gave.