(Written in response to the #PicandaWord weekly challenge prompt, from Pix to Words, 12/25/16.)

***********
The woman I am

Is the woman I was

The quiet one

The smart one

The bookworm

The one who ran a high school mile in 20 minutes

The woman I am

Is the woman I was

The hands in my back pocket,

I can conquer the world,

Let the party begin,

I can pull off an A paper in 4 hours Co-ed

Who wasn’t self aware enough

Who wasn’t practiced enough

To know alcoholic lies

The woman I am

Is the woman I was

The trusting in a good world

How did this happen to me

Despite my negative words

Against my feminist will

It must be my fault

Forgive me, understand me lover.

The woman I am

Is the woman I was

The grieving mother

The don’t get too close so it…

You ask me who I am,
this fool whose home-made skin
once glistened
with a million shades
of fake and real, incorporating
all the human I hungered to be
and wished to be envisaged in me;
this fool who
from a distance, glowed,
yet seen up close,
singed the eye.

You ask me who I am;
this woman so deeply seared
by uncertainty.
I can tell you I erred,
and that in erring,
I learned to learn,
crawling toward the cure
as each vain expectation,
each flaking fantasy,
each false pretence
was slaked away,
leaving me both less and more.

You ask me who I am
as I watch my multi-coloured dream-coat
shrink to flickering embers,
surrendered by my own hand
to the questing flames
of questioned truth.

You ask me who I am;
I’ll tell you what I know.
Old flesh shows through the vest
my mother dressed me…

It’s all about “me”

An important question in question

Pretending or genuine wish to discover

it matters little

when I don’t want to uncover “me”.

Thus, I deflect

waxing poetics and practising polemics

to avoid looking straight into the heart of the matter

on the off-chance that I do posses one

despite the fact that the swamp

that swallowed poison, like candy

and tricked and beheaded

its own demons for wicked amusement

pushing away the opportunities for redemption

to see what will happen next

and if the bottom is lower than saints predicted,

consumed the pulse a long time ago

and for years there was none,

allowing the depth of abyss to grow

and consume passions, forcing out

envy, regret, hate, love and even pain

leaving but a still indifferent greyness

that is lazily clutching to moral

which is not respected nor believed in

just for the sake of clinging,

This is a poem I wrote, which depicts the essence of growing up. Enjoy!!!

Looking through the pages,

Of past memories,

Turning them slowly,

With no reason to haste.

By reaching till the middle,

I sure had found,

That the girl in the pictures,

Was no more around.

The laughing the chatting,

That she used to do,

Was lost in the pages,

In times to be true.

The same way she was lost,

Like a drop in the ocean.

The same way she was out of sight,

Like a cheetah in motion.

She was far back in time ,

Where no one could be.

She was so invisible ,

Who no one could see.

She slipped through time,

Like the sand in my hands,

I could touch her no more,

The reason being she was gone.

The little darling was lost,

For ever and ever,

Never to be found,

For…

Is a cursory glance enough,

I wonder,

To get to know and understand,

The REAL ME.

A stubborn mind,

And a caring heart,

Striving for perfection,

Making sure of a headstart.

A lover of art and music,

Library my second home,

Whiling away my time is it?

With books, paints and songs.

Grab the next opportunity,

Pick the perfect teatime,

And you are all set,

To know the REAL ME.

Go Dog Go Cafe is prompting for a poem to introduce yourself. Encouraging it. I’m not going to say it right lol, so here goes.

I’ll reach my hand to take hold of yours,

Firm and solid so you know I’m strong-

I will smile and probably hug you too,

For a loving touch helps me feel I belong-

I’m not rich in money,

No fancy house here-

Take what you need,

Materials are not the slave to which I steer-

I am the survivor of things you’ll never see coming,

Understanding of things I should not be-

Your diary and helper,

This is an intro to me.

Scattered and broken,

Loving and smart-

Forgiven with grace,

On my sleeve lies my heart-

A mom always wondering if I’m doing it right,

A provider of others to love on as well-

A disciple of Jesus,

Anxiety and worry is where…