Sky
As the sun sets over the horizon, I begin to understand.
The colors of the sky interblending, becoming one.
Transforming from bold shades of orange to blue and purple hues.
Like butterflies, a slow and beautiful transformation.
A stage for the light.
A stage for the incoming darkness.
I see the silhouette of a crescent moon through the foggy, gray clouds.
Stars dot the sky, appearing like shells on a sea shore after a storm
I smile, my dimples exposed.
And as the sun did, I too depart.
Falling
If I jumped would you come with?
If I cried would you weep for me?
If I was scared would you protect me?
If I was losing my grip would you pull me back up?
If I flew would you let me fly?
If I screamed would you scream with me?
If I was drowning would you dive in and save me?
If I was falling would you let me?
Cry
All I ever want to do is cry.
I don't remember a life of my own where I wasn't tormented.
I am alone, as usual.
Please, spare me the lecture.
All I ever want to do is cry.
You want me to speak more.
When I do I am overshadowed, ignored.
Don't waste your breath on me.
All I ever want to do is cry.
No one could love me, they only leave me.
Just say good bye now, save your time.
In the end they always leave.
All I ever want to do is cry.
I only know lies.
No one tells the truth.
No, please stop the rumors.
All I ever want to do is cry.
Depression kills.
Anxiety shocks.
Believing what you aren't damages.
All I ever wanted was happiness.
Wicked
Young, little clown sitting alone.
Playing with trinkets, mostly unknown.
Mainly a menace,
Could turn you to stone,
The clown in the corner,
Watching from his throne.
Blocks and cars he throws at you.
White powdery flesh, large red lips too.
He laughs at your fear,
Covets your blight.
Don't get too near,
This clown might bite.
Friends with the shadows,
Enemies with light.
Welcomes the darkness crowding his mind.
Clown in the corner watching you.
Clown in the corner, he watches me too.
Daggers he holds above your head,
Careful at night, don't look under your bed.
If you hear a scream hasten away,
The clown is creeping you, night and day.
Shadow
She would be drunk on champaign, day and night. The scent of booze constantly escaping her dry, chapped lips. She was sky high on alcohol so often, that she commonly lost control of her body. A mother she was once. To a sweet young girl, however, with such disheveled confusion filled moments, she abused her daughter. Leaving red streaks on her cheeks, sometimes bruising in the shape of fingers.
A horrid, abusing monster. What could she do? No one knew her story. The Woman when younger fell into a deeply wronged group. Abusers of the law, misjudged individuals, thieves. The Woman never had a friend. Her days of alcoholism started young at age sixteen. By age eighteen you could see she needed help. It was never provided nor recommended, so the drinking never stopped. Twelve years passed of sweetly bitter wine. Vodka in the morning, whiskey in the evening. Escaping sometimes, merely, with smudged eyeshadow and a dizzying amount of "liquid courage".
She stumbles on a stair climbing the steps to her daughter's room, ready to strike. Side to side, wobbling. One step, two steps, three, seven, and so forth. She reaches the top, partially in control. She needs more. Her thirst for alcohol grows. A deep yearning inside her. She looks to her right hand and notices she lacks a bottle. The child - she thinks - must have stolen it, again. The Woman looks back up and walks through her daughter's door. The child attempts a scream, too little, too late. Not fast enough for her mother's slap. A clink brings the Woman's attention to her left hand, where her bottle truly is. She takes a swig, and retreats down the stairs from whence she came, leaving her progeny sobbing. Down the stairs she stumbles and plops on the couch in front of a TV blaring gibberish. She thought about her life. She was remembering all those days when she was younger when her mother would take her out to ice cream on Friday nights. She remembers her sixteenth birthday, and her mother being diagnosed with cancer. She remembers when she first tasted a beer. It burned her throat, yet made her feel better. She remembers four years ago when her boyfriend overdosed and died. A tear trickles down her cheek. No, she mustn't remember. She takes a long drink of her beer and repeats her cycle. The only thing she knows anymore.
Exhibition
Wandering this lonely cove
Manifestation destroyed our home
Happy ending but not for long
Manifestation comes and goes
The fire that came and took our hopes
The disease that perished and stole most souls
The people who died lingering on
Soldier arms carrying guns
Waiting yet to say a battle won
Our feet still moving
Our words still speaking
With new hope in a life of believing
Ballerina
She stood strong. She wore a light blue ballerina dress. The women held herself so still, as if she was frozen. Her face was pampered perfectly with makeup. She looked like a china doll. The music played a classic tune. Fur Elise, played on the piano. The lady moved so gracefully that her movements made her look like she was floating above ground. Then piano missed a note. The ballerina’s foot slipped. She fell. The ballerina grasped her ankle in pain. A single tear slid down her cheek. She stood up on her good leg. Her pale skin lit up under the shining spotlight. She pointed her creamy blue ballerina slipper to the smooth wooden floor. She balanced on her toes and fell again. She was broken. A broken china doll.
Crystal Ballroom
I walked into the crystal ballroom. The glamorous floor sparkled under the silver chandelier. I took a step through the gigantic white door onto the freezing cold, pink crystal floor that made my toes instantly numb. Painted with various colors on the ceiling were images showing the stars and moon representing night, and orange whirls and a vibrantly painted sun representing day. In the middle was a blank white square with a red string dangling from it. At the end of the thin red string was a plain white roll of paper. I decided to leave the ballroom and ask auntie Elaine about the paper and string hanging from the ceiling. I turned around just in time to see the ballroom doors shut and hear the jamming of the lock. I scurried as fast as I could to the door and yanked with all my might but the door wouldn’t budge even a little. I walked back to the center of the ballroom and sat cross-legged on the floor. There I was in the middle of a chilled ballroom, alone, locked in, isolated.