Madness
I went off to what seemed to be madness forever hoping for the reason to which such madness was anchored on however I found that it was rather floating.
Poetry writing
powerlessness
drowning under the sea
with neither eyes nor nose to see or breathe
an ocean filled with boogers, plastic and tin
now I breathe air gasping through my mouth
as I quickly sink
not even a strand of hair
that’s all there is to pull
my hair and my visible skull
above the salted sea where sea snakes loom
with you Poseidon, the sea of terror, the moon submerges.
Those lips, they do linger
that face that shivers whether to take on a radiant smile or just to tear it down
I seem foolish but I can’t help giggle inside my core.
preventing me from moving on
everything is resurrected and I thought now is here–
your mouth that snows
is filled with mint and clover
these eyes that meet your lips
write so much breath to breath
do your eyes see the whole kaboom?
What the lips rejoice in times of trouble?
From the coldest whites to kisses so high
Generally, there’s more desire than there’s to say
From beneath your clothes to my warmest bosom
If there’s a way to pacify it or
Perhaps a way to let it be unnoticed;
When suddenly that heart is filmed in your eyes
And your eyes let out the view of the magical—
I’m at a state of pause.
Darling, this heartache that speaks without words
Such a wake up call for you;
I’d like to shake those inexcusable lips
Wreck them all with the purest dew
Until,
That body can no longer hold
Those lips, they do linger with a smile so gentle.
that face that shivers whether to take on a radiant smile or just tear it down
I seem foolish but I can’t help giggle inside my core.
preventing me from moving on
everything is resurrected and I thought now is here.
I’ve heard a man
I’ve heard a man.
“He says, where your soul lives is unreal–
because it has been penetrated by another man’s logic, licked by another man’s stupidity, ruined by another man’s disgrace.”
Now dirty before his eyes.
furious as he is—
“He says, look at Cassandra! Elegant; so classy.
or Amanda, confident, driven and wild.
And Diana? Definitely far from you!”
They’re not easy to be unloved–
“YOU?
Exactly, the type who rekindles a strange rage of disgust–!”
ME.
If I have been a patient before your eyes perhaps,
I’m terminally ill.
My soul is somewhere else it can’t be an entity of your anguish—
with the words your mouth has belched, I know, you love no one in this humanity
a woman like me spares some distance away from
everything that sinks, by that, I mean you.
Because—
We just don’t Rhyme.
Tell me,
How many of Cassandra?
How much of Amanda?
How far of Diana, are you color blind to?
Tell me–
If I am ever easy to be priced and labelled like your three little women, too?
But If anything,
unfuckwithable, that’s me.
In thaw of anxiety, for the shapeless shapes in my brain
I am consumed by fear
I breathe out smoke not air
I feel my acid reflux has gone way overwhelmed
my chest running
all too compressed
I feel somewhere where my blood flows a bomb
is blown
It blocks my airways
I’m bloody dehydrated
My mind’s so big full of riddles from someone else’s maze
I can’t touch; can’t fart
I think they would stare
at my greatest fear
freaking out in my brain.
trapped in a bread store pressed down
and suffocated.
He could rip me to bits, I’m his slave
weaker than a thread when pulled so be it
They said count to 100 sheep,
infinite questions my tongue wants to urinate
like a tapping of a pencil,
the sound of a fan,
three clicks of your fingers,
it swirls and twirls me down to a hole
this is insane!
Locked in a box with a razor on my back
unmoved, disgruntled
the box with its wall less walls
I’d like to turn off my thoughts
could I make it that far?
to hold my platter of splatter green and hazy painting mind?
or
do you think i constantly do something wrong,
a visit to the doctor is fine?
Come to me as you are
My arms have grown feathered-wings
Awaiting you to come to me as you are
stormy,
blue,
crushed and,
heavy
Inside my arms you are free to rest
Filling your lungs with clean air
Fall in love with the knowledge that in
This world even your pain is essential
Let your sorrow dig into my heart’s flesh
painting it with every shattered you.
It’s ok to be attached
To feel,
to grieve,
to fear even
deny
Only when these emotions are touched,
The world you’ll find in a colorful spread of spectrum
Then the moon will stop growing and living inside your eyes as you become the sun.
And your heart is the most incredible star.
Because you are more than a spirit with a mind and a body through which sorrow can truly adore.
Read to me
read to me the most interesting story
the way you captured the world’s fish eye
read to me where there was a scent of orange blossom and the musk of roses more
Plaintive cries drifted up from the darkness of an invisible country
read to me the lures of a mid-autumn festival the Sunkist brilliance of your skin I shall never find
Just read to me everything and I’ll listen with my two little ears.
I am a teacher
If like me, you are a teacher or
perhaps is touched immensely by a teacher then,
you’ll understand what is written here.
I am a box filled with multiple inanimate objects.
They carry meanings that are relevant and true.
An epitome of light. I embody life.
My father is a teacher and;
nothing pleases me more than becoming his finely carved art
kept in his treasury of inspiration.
So like him, I am a teacher.
Children are mysterious boxes-
some are yellow, some black others red and sometimes white.
Like empty boxes we fill them and-
whatever we fill can make or break them.
teachers are the best fillers; excellent givers.
with many puzzle pieces on our righthand,
a riddle on the left and
kindness from our mouths, we teach them.
Although we train them with objects,
we feed them words and,
we make them think of oceans,
and numbers
and shapes,
a hero,
a scientist,
an artist…
countless, boundless, endless ways to bring out their greatest potential,
we lead them to experience
what they already have within.
A snapshot of who they are and what they can become.
with this in mind, we are aware of the process–
it may take a while.
half of the class may need more help than others cognitively.
a quarter may show a struggle on behavior
three-fourths may be physically incapable or
one child needs love and a hug everytime.
They all resemble the colorful lego bricks
they don’t take the same shape when assembled.
every child is an unfinished business—
always a work in progress; an art work in the end.
with the teacher’s guidance a child can achieve so much
more when s/he feels secure and love.
so in the classroom, the teacher is the magician.
S/he creates a nest full of positive vibes
where no child is afraid to try; afraid to speak.
To learn to believe in him/herself–
to have that sense of pride.
so that learning that’s taking shape inside
will make more sense time after time.
As a teacher, the goal is not only to teach knowledge by completing the box with different objects
rather
arranging the objects one after one
to see patterns or more spaces.
It’s holding their hands to check more gaps.
It’s making them feel like they’re worth your time.
You are their teacher.
They are your colours, shapes, animals, school objects,
your ocean, your sanctuary, your clouds with birds singing, your numbers.
They walk, jump and fly.
Seriously, who wouldn’t love all these?
Like a mother to her own children,
I love them.
I simply
just don’t know how NOT TO.
short poem: on freedom
” to beg for someone to stay is suicide
to stand in place is martyrdom
to walk away from the present position is liberation.”
short poem # 2
“unless you feel loved by a real woman
you’ll never know what it’s like to lose something precious.
Like a void underneath a thin glass,
Like a cat,you keep scratching on the surface; and
like a fool, you keep losing yourself.
to some, it is unrelenting.”
A composite of me and the universe 