Poems

Poem from the past

You see these tears, and think me pathetic, call me weak. These tears are not formed from pity, not filled with sadness, not a sign of defeat. These tears were born from frustration, filled with fury, a sign of determination.

I dare you, call me weak again, and these downcast eyes of mine will rise and they will fix upon you and you shall see the restraint and resolve which they hold.

I dare you, call me pathetic again, and you will unleash the fierce fury contained within these tears, which will reign down upon you like no storm ever known.

I dare you, call me worthless again, and you will experience the immensity of my strength, and you be reduced to nothing.

I dare you, call me fragile again, and you shall know the true meaning of strength when you look into my eyes, and you will face the reality of the sad weakness that resides within yours.

I dare you, call me weak, just once more. And through my tears, my eyes will rise and fix upon yours.

I dare you.

(a poem from March, 2012… that I need to keep working on)

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Ken Doll

You are my play thing.
My Ken doll I never admitted I wanted.
        I’ll play the Barbie doll I despise.
I’ll be the child again~ you be my pretend life,
	The one that I knew would never be.

Too scared to play with you as a child,
Knowing what I wanted you to do to me,
	Knowing some you would and some you wouldn’t.
Scared to want more of you, more than a doll could provide,
	More than a man would be willing to give.

How did I know then, as a child, 
what I don’t know now.
        I never claimed you off that shelf then, 
I never bought into your lies of pretend bliss.
        Now, as an adult, I have you … my Ken doll.

I do know now what I knew as a child, you will never satisfy me.

I bought you and all your empty promises 
of a make-your-own, do-it-yourself life.
What accessories shall I dress you up in today?
What lie shall we act out today?

Yet now, I accept the pain of that truth, 
to have a moment of the make believe.
My fear of not having that moment of bliss 
outweighs my fear of the knowledge of it’s an illusion.

You are my plaything, 
my Ken doll 
I take out when I am lonely and feel the chill 
in some places and the fire in others.

I add you to my fire, hoping the flames will rise up from below 
and lift the chill from my heart
And for a moment, it does, 
for a moment, the make believe becomes real.

My fire uses you up too quickly.

This is the fire I knew I possessed as a child, 
but was too afraid to play with, 
knowing that I could not control it, 
the fire would burn me.  

This is the fire that the child knew, 
and to leave you on the shelf.
I listened then; why can’t I now?  
The fire still burns.

So let’s play pretend. 
I am here now, with you in my hands,
My Ken doll, 
in my hands.

What shall we play today, where shall we go, what shall we do?
What child’s fantasy do we playout today?
We can even do the ones that I wasn’t suppose to think,
The ones that started the fire.

I know I’ll have to put you away, 
you have your place, 
here in my toybox.
You can only play pretend for so long,

But my mind often wanders back to my box, wanting you again.

You will be my plaything, my Ken doll.
I will lock myself in my room, 
just you and I, and we can run away together 
into that fuzzy pink dream cloud I rejected as a child.

And the pain of reality, 
when it comes knocking on the door,
“what are you doing in there?”, 
Is it worth the pleasure of the moment within the lie?

How I wish I was that child again,
the one that was able to walk by you.
leaving you on the shelf,
knowing you were not real.

(May 2012)

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