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I.
We are thought of as a struggle.
Tight binders,
unsure makeup application,
cringing away from mirrors,
healthcare nightmares.

II.
Think of me as a victory,
for two minutes.

III.
Think of me as
using the men's room for the first time
and shaking with nerves and happiness for an hours afterwards.

IV.
Think of me as seeing myself in the mirror
for the first time
since I cut my hair off.

V.
Think of me as buying clothes and grinning
all day long
because I now possess a shirt
that feels right.

VI.
Think of me being called 'Sir' when I buy my groceries,
and think of me going home and crying from joy
because this is the first time
that I know I am right.
 Aug 2015 mybarefootdrive
Kat
My home is made of grit and dirt

The taps run sweat,

the windows are shattered,

their glass clinging to frames

like broken teeth to gums in the mouth of a boxer.

My town is a fighter,

built of scrap metal and machines.

The streets are steel

and the river nuts and bolts,

its gears turn through rust

and parts corrode away.

Time turns it green, orange,

black with oil and grime,

but my city is a fighter,

made of grit and dirt,

and it lives.
The well runneth dry
Words like sludge
Are painfully excreted
Through thickened and broken skin
Gone is the peace from this place
All semblance of sanctuary
Eradicated by derisive battles
Of witless wonders
Still, words try to flow
The beauty in freedom gone
The art in emotion
Hindered by fear of judgment
Joy erased to distant memory
Gone are the days of unbound expression
Missed are the times of universal acceptance
Words seeking approval are skewed
Honesty is painful
Truth is rare
Their union is all I know
And it is a  punishable offense
8215
She was beauty personified, but in truth
She was a wish upon a star,
Like folk lore of times before,
Buttons blue,
Straw veined,
Cloth used from plague victims before, she was
Diseased,
Afflicted,
Unclean
Of mind and body that would bind a soul
Vilified by what was sewn in before,
She played her part well, A real girl,
But the toll on a father now frail and bone,
Two sisters not of blood
And a mother not her own,
A father pasted on midnights charm,
Was it cinders or the sisters?
No one knows.

"Sisters two. What time does mothers clock chime,

And for those words in the basement mother kept,
but old houses have space in walls,
And cinders spied on all,
The letter came of a dance at princes hall.

"We three shall dance the heart of the prince,
"My daughters two,
"One will be queen and we shall rule,

Cinderella anger spent, now just vengeance,
She called upon the one who brought her life,

"Fairy godmother,
"Entombed am I to the palace,
"I must dance,

"My child birthed from my wanton words,
"I will gift you freedom,

As a wand did flourish and skin was nicked,
Blood will birth your desire as arcane words were spoke,

"Let the rats be you steads as black as night,
"Eyes redder than blood moons night,
"The pumpkins out of season but will have to do,
What of a dress my mother of magic?

As barley cloth did hide modesties touch, I have
Suffered this indignity for far to long I need to be
As I was when flesh did grant upon my touch.

"A dress from the blues of your eyes,

As whispers and smoke descended
Out of tatters did beauty radiate,
A goddess seen in all men's eyes.

"Beware the time little one,
"At midnights moon,
"The Twelve chimes shall undo this magic's words,

Upon steeds and a carriage crimson orange
She travelled though ranchers wood,
And the kingdoms castle did reach upon the clouds

"Introducing,
Are you on the list,

Cinders  looked for witnesses at what was to perspire?
And blood specks did taint the floor,
As wiped was the shard, a heel diamond  
That cut like a  guillotine upon soft flesh.
In awe were those who saw her beauty,
A Princes attention taken from sisters two,

"My lady, pardon your name.

"Cinders kind sir,
"Would you like to partake in a dance,

The moments were gaining pace,
As midnight was about to grace, lips so near to touch.
Chimes counted down as Cinders ran,
A slipper did slip it fell.

"I will find you my beauty,

As steeds did squeak,
Pumpkin did fester and burst covering
Cinders now once again tattered clothes.

In the basement found tears did pour,

"Mother cinders is here filth and all,

Then the knock of authority did strike upon the door,
Unlocked,
Forgotten,
Released
Was cinders from her hell hole,
The prince did enter this home
Crystal slipper in his gentle hold.

My ladies please would you honour one with a foot,
As one did try then another,
Mother did try but size twelve was her foot.
Is there another to greet this glass as a whisper came
Though another door,
A shoe was passed through shy was she,
A farce to make the princes curiosity peek,
Mother and daughters rushed in and words did speak,
Then silence for moments,
Is in the room shard did cut upon flesh and
Mother,
Sisters,
Blood
Not of her own did spill, And into the basement limp
Bodies blooded fell.
As glass touched foot,upon the spell,
A dress did knit on her body well.

"Dear sir the shoe does fit a foot so well,

"Does your mother not to wish you farewell,

"No there just killing time in the basement,
"We said our goodbyes all is well,

Cinders now queen, but still tainted at the core,
Her festering unnoticed hidden from all and everyone,
If even a notion of thought she saw,
Then glass slipper was her weapon of choice.
Years did pass many vanished without a trace.
Then the news of Cinderella's upcoming birth,

"breath your majesty,

As new life to birth, with screams in the soundproof walls
A baby girl, of tainted cloth and rotting straw,
She had her mothers old eyes two blue buttons and cute nose,

"Fairy godmother,
"Make my child all new born as I am now,

As words of arcane gestures spoke,
Lightning graced upon ground,
Glancing others,
Flesh did cinder and smoke.
A new princess was now born,
But the prince now ending under lighting smoke,
Child and mother did rule in kind,
For now they festered in evils cloak, and the kingdom
Had an age of despair that had  never been seen or spoke.
Bees were swarming around the eastern
shallow end, a warning that the cherries
are deepened and smattering
the pond's bank with nature's jam,
the small tree a joy to the family, but
nobody around much now to keep them
picked and eaten.
The snapping turtles have had their fill
of the cherries and basked lazily in the
center of the deep end, at least two of them
and as I'm a frequent friend, they stationed
amiably as I walked, picked up and threw
grasshoppers to the fish in the water.
The spiders will appear in proportion soon
to the apples growing on three trees
at the edge of the woods, about 40 feet
south of the pond, with a jut of the creek
in between them.
Every year I get my sweet fill of those apples,
planted 50 years ago or so by my great-grandfather,
don't know what they are, maybe Braeburn,
judging by their mottled colors of red and yellow.
written prosaic as inspired by Henry David Thoreau <3
also including fishies and spiders
 Aug 2015 mybarefootdrive
Sjr1000
Alone
Couple
Family
Tribe
Clan
Village
City
City State
Nation
Continental Economic Blocs

Gaia
the blue marble
spins along,
alone
in
The great vacuum
sea.
Off to the Sierras for 10 days camping.
Be well, all.
Lone duck, bitten by an insane urge, turns and turns,
endlessly on water plane, creates a churn, a pattern on water,
as if to meet itself in a moment of stillness in between,
when will it happen? His life passes as that illusion still lasts.
(10 w x 9)


A glass of wine waits
beside a tureen,
..............where soup
......................

~~~~~

with twisted noodles
of choices
and reluctance
is
slowly simmering.

~~~

there's no fire,
yet,
ladle goes on,
stirring within
........amidst

~

quivers...
rivers of fear
..........of paths
circumstances may lead to...

~~~

to stagnate?
or rise from inner swamp?
::::: a recurring
dilemma

::::::::::

losing
people...things
most loved,
derails intentions,
w
  e
a
  k
    e  n
           s
     existing wall...

~~~

faces...voices,
wisdom gained,
all reside in
one's comfort zone

****
to move on,
or stall?
when?
tomorrow?

no!

not...yet...

****

doi­ng    n o t h i n g,
this humid evening
just swimming
~
~~~
~~~~~
in dark
waters.

~~~~~
~~~
~



Sally

Copyright May 31, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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