Isolation

They’re afraid of me.

I don’t blame them.

The concrete walls I built

turned them away.

They take a step forward

and I launch a fireball to their face.

Why bear the burn?

It’s easier just to run.
They retreat.

Disappointed.

Hurt.

Scared.

What happened to their daughter?
The sweet open book

became a cold mystery right before their eyes.

So I don’t blame them.

Because I too would be afraid

of a stranger

who was once

all I had.

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The world at its worst

Instead of accepting differences,

they pull a trigger

oblivious to the cries.

Instead of promoting unity (world peace would be too naiive),

they drown innocent humans

in their own blood.

 

Day by day

Bodies helplessly collapse to the ground.

Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and children

reach their hands out as they fall

for one last hug,

one last word,

a substitute for a prayer to live.

 

Normal days turn into nightmares.

Over fifty killed at home

and eighty next door.

 

Headlines spew out the word “Terror”

as if this is our norm:

People tumbling to their deaths

and reckless acts even the imagination is afraid of.

We spend our lives learning how much we’ve evolved

but we make great efforts tearing that apart.

A Common Species

We think.

We think we have it all.

Our own fragile

plastic

shields of armor

can protect us from nature’s biggest storms.

Alone.

 

We reject.

We reject the helping hands

and gestures screaming “I care.”

The rhythmic stomping of our feet

shatters the hearts of gold underneath them.

We’ve convinced ourselves that

only our own hearts

can keep themselves in tact.

 

We hide.

We hide from the people around us

so no one sees a tear.

Pushing them away

as if they caused the droplets

to spill out of our eyes.

As they come near us

the water boils.

And so does our blood.

 

We think

that no one has a clue.

We reject

the thought that

someone can actually help.

We hide ourselves

from the truth.

 

 

 

Poetry Collection

In mid-late December, I submitted a collection of three poems to the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and earned a Silver Key. Below is a copy of my collection.

 

Blinded

 

You were the poisonous berries of mistletoe.

Glowing.

Reflecting the light of the Sun.

The sweetness I savored

was actually blood.

But I choked it down

before the vibrant red left a stain.

 

I danced on water with rocks

penetrating my feet.

The waves carried me to a boulder

as I swayed my arms.

I sat on cloud nine

with acid rain falling on my head.

I was crumbling,

bit by bit,

yet I sat still

believing I was whole.

 

Your phone went off and her voice

was the last thing I heard before I fled.

The darkness directed me as I became blinded by the golden light.

Blinded by a bliss I never really reached.

 

Your ambiguous messages stabbed me

where I couldn’t feel the pain.

The point of the blade pierced me as the sword fell

but I mistook it for a prick

 

All this time I was crawling

when I thought I was standing

on top of the world.

With you right beside me.

 

The Pain of Remorse

 

Words

rolling off my tongue

like waves

gliding through the ocean.

I didn’t mean it.

he knows that

all too well.

Yet i was left

halfway out the door

with a face streaked with fresh tears

as his car sped

angrily down the driveway.

 

The motor

rumbling

like threats to leave.

Forever.

 

“Stop.”

My violin hand

reaching out

was too slow

for his cross country

legs

running

out the door.

 

“Please listen, I…:

My voice was too shaky

for his silver sedan.

 

I caught a glimpse of him

through the glass that

he thought was shielding him.

As the trees

sashayed

in the wind beside us

his heart bled.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

But my feet were glued

to the ground.

 

I stood staring

as a single

cold raindrop

pierced my eye.

 

I could have stopped

the fight.

I could have bitten my tongue

before the waves of my words

drowned us both.

Instead of watching him

leave forever,

I could have seen his car

joyfully speeding up the driveway the next day.

His car motors off,

his heart full and

the rain

beating down on us.

Together.

 

Thirteen

 

Age is just a number.

A number that makes you

too old to

jump in a pile of leaves

and sing

by the backyard pool.

 

We used to be

best friends.

You would read to me

and I would smile up at you, big sister

as I grabbed the book from your hands

and tried to read.

 

Our pillow fights

were tradition.

We would build a fort

and sneak food through the tiny windows.

We would giggle

and run

to turn off the lights

as Mom’s feet

stomped up the stairs.

And when the coast was clear

we would destroy the fort

and do anything

to knock the other person down.

 

But at thirteen

you took my book

and smirked at the cover

because you were to cool

to read to a little kid.

Your eyes were like daggers

daring me to ask you

one more time.

 

When the leaves

fell off the tree

You stormed outside

to rake them.

The pile was left

looking like a mountain.

I jumped alone and the tears formed

as you sighed

and slammed the door behind you.

 

At thirteen

your pillows were arranged

neatly on your bed.

You had more important things to do

Forts were childish

Pillow fights were a waste of time

And I

was the pebble

underneath your high-heeled shoes.

Shadow

i see it near me.

in the light it copies

my every move.

through the corner of my eye

i see its foot

arrogantly stepping in line with mine.

i freeze.

my Imposter

doesn’t even breath.

in the light

it runs behind me.

clutching my medals to its chest

holding my life in its hollow mind.

when you look  at me

you see my Imposter

lurking behind the curtains.

But

as the light diminishes

my Imposter waves goodbye.

it scurries away from the darkness

and leaves me alone

to find my way.

i frolic through

the ambiguity

with nothing beside me.

i march with no vision

astray

from the unlit path.

as i feel through the air

swooshing beside me

and find my way

a light flickers on.

i smile and break

into a run.

but i look ahead

and stop in my tracks.

standing still

in the brightest of lights

waiting to greet me is

my Imposter.

True bonds never break

I feel like mothers and daughters have this unbreakable bond. And while the specific words of this poem don’t elude to my experiences, I wanted to show how the bonds between mothers and daughters are tight even after something that could have been on it’s way to breaking them. 

Fights and yelling matches

Words tossed around like stones

Leaving permanent scars of

Regret

Remorse

Guilt

You ruin my life-

That stone hit the mother in the face

When the scar appeared, she used it as fuel

A good daughter would never say that-

The daughter took the hit to her stomach and couldn’t breathe

But the scar formed, releasing every emotion.

Wailing. Screaming. Words misused.

A tornado formed above their heads

And they were sucked in

Propelled by the speed of the wind

Ready for more.

Shots fired.

Stones headed for the heart.

Scars slowly formed.

The heart bled and the tornado vanished

Back into thunderstorm.

The lightning marveled at its own glory

And the thunder roared in response.

Back and forth

Back and forth

All of a sudden, the lightning sensed the pain

Albeit the thunder’s arrogant bellows.

The tree stood petrified

Anticipating the final strike.

But it never came.

The lightning and thunder faded

Leaving rain and the tree.

The rain showered the tree with love and care

And it grew.

As it did

It leaned closer to the rain

In apology for wrongdoings.

The sun stayed hidden

Expecting the ultimate downpour.

But it never came.

The sun came out from behind the clouds.

It and mother Earth were the only left standing.

Every day

The sun provided.

Giving Earth life in spite of it’s own.

Earth gladly accepted

And revolved around the Sun

While taking it’s own separate path.

The solar system stood in anticipation

Waiting for the Sun to burst with anger

And the Earth to crumble into pieces.

But it never came.

Four and a Half Years

So I recently took this down because I thought it was cliche, but I put it back up because I realized that I didn’t care with this piece. This is my life, what I saw and how things happened. This piece IS a true story.

Nine years old and my life almost ended

Who knew that one second could cause so much pain?

A semi-truck came near our car

And the black ice almost won.

I woke up with my right arm and leg stiff

Solid as a rock

Unable to move.

The muscles were ice

My brain a tornado

of despair.

A spinal chord injury is a powerful bullet

But it didn’t strike hard enough to kill me.

My limbs can now move

Somehow that’s not enough.

Four and a half years later

I still hear about how I was stronger before.

It’s been four and a half years

And I’m still

Reaching.

Reaching for something. To make me as strong

As I was.

Because I’m still fighting and here to stay.

The black ice didn’t win.