My Father Defeated the Sorceror
He caused me so much pain
and brought on so much hate
I am bitter until this day
Nearly 2 and 1/2 years past,
since its almost may.
But I cannot fully hate him
even if I tried
Because when I was young he was there for me
Every time I was hurt or cried
And even more so yet he was my hero one day,
when the man up the street
Tried to deceive me as a friend and I were at play.
My mother looked out the window and saw
A man talking to two young girls
One being me,
The other being my friend Ali.
He spoke about a poem he wrote
About me riding my bike.
Now I think he was some sort of sorceror
Because my judgement dropped with forsaking might.
He captivated me on every word as I watched him speak
I stood there knwoing better, but Ali and I remained so meek.
That's when my father came down the stairs
It was time to save the day.
Before his daughter and her friend were raped or swept away.
He told the man to back off and to no longer stay.
The man got defensive and struck back with anger towards my dad.
Soon other parents arrived afraid their children's lives would be at stake.
The man was rash in the course of actions he decdied to take.
He told another parent my dad was yelling and cursing
He put words into my father's mouth
More and more with every second wind he got.
My throat was tigtening in an overbearing knot.
I could no longer speak, I could not cry.
But somehow I became the man's puppet as he tried to keep
Me at his side.
He said, "Now look she is red in the face."
Which really meant, "You're such a horrible father,and quite the disgrace."
He said one thing and I became it, not knowing why.
I was he dummie, and he the Ventriloquist.
This man said he was a psychologist working on a mental ward.
One who all the parents thought he was heading towards.
He tried to turn the adults against each other,
Friend VS Friend,
However, as it turned out his magic only worked on Children
In the end.
I cannot remember much more of what happened that day.
All i know is after that the sorceror disappeared
No longer in my bedrrom window on the fire escape did he appear.
My fahter defeated him through a game of wit.
Now nearly eight years later
That day became the reason why against my father
I cannot remain in an angery fit.
If it was not fo rhim I would have been raped
Possibly never been saved.
I just I knew when my father became the bad guy.
So I can rewind the hands of time
And relive the former Happy Days.
Ode to the Great Women Lost, My Great Aunt
Murderous thoughts upon myself
The wrong path so long had I dwelt
She was dying from illness
I about to take my own life away..
The pain I saw her in
I wished it was mine
I wished I could have taken her place.
Suicidal thoughts of mine were so selfish and such a disgrace
The kindest of women you could meet.
Human or animall merrily she would greet.
Big heart, which endured so much.
I miss her now, and still can remember her voice and her touch.
Four years have passed since then
Time has not made the wounds mend.
My family still broken and apart
My aunt still missing her mother, with that broken heart.
I still wish it was me, wish it was me that death took away
That way she could have stayed.
A mother, a grandmother, and aunt, a friend, all these great things she was.
And what?
She got cancer and was taken away in the end.
All we can say is rest in peace.
All I feel is guilt and I have just one plea
God, if your listening look after her and my family.
Cream Cheese and Poinsettias
Cream cheese and Poinsettias,
What do they have in common?
Probably nothing.
One is a food spread the other a flower
But these prosaic things have an amazing power.
Cream cheese and bread her last meal of the week.
Her mother in bed, still feeling so weak.
Tired and pained from pneumonia was she
and her seven year old daughter felt guilty.
Her father home from work to care for her mother
There were no groceries in the house not a one,
Just two week old cream cheese and staler bread
There was no other.
It was the last thing she was to eat,
during that very melancholy week.
Afraid she was her mother would die.
How much inside she wanted to cry.
But she could not show fear,
or shed a single tear,
Because it was weakness in her family's eyes.
All she could do was try to be strong and meek,
Planning to go without for another week.
Daddy was too proud to ask for help,
Since he lost his business himself.
Seven years later, her mother now was well,
Her father had a job, an all was great, that was
Until November 20th, when all things returned to the depths of hell.
The same little girl heard her mother and father fight.
Now about to be fourteen,
She saw her family ripped at the seams.
Her father left and slammed the door
They were not sure if he would come back anymore.
Glass shattered on the floor from her grandfather's picture frame.
And indent in the wall exuding her father's anger and pain.
Again was she forced to be strong and not cry
Due to being the only one who could still stand.
She refused to fall at this injustice's demand.
However, inside her something had died.
In place of her love, she found resentment and hate,
All this occurring two days prior to her birth's date.
At fourteen she was still quite green,
But she quickly aged, caring once more for her mother and brother.
It was up to her to make sure they were alive and stuck with one another.
For yet another miserable week in he life
Her heart was filled with so much strife.
Then came her mother's cleaning day,
When from her past a valuable thing her mother threw away:
A decade old Poinsettia plant.
Many Christmas's did it hang from the ceiling,
its presence always creating a peaceful feeling.
She silently objected to her mothers action
Inside it nearly destroyed her already shattering heart
From her family she felt so distant and apart.
Now a symbol of her innocence and past was gone
And all that remained was her present horror, with its everlasting pain.
The darkness, her heart did it attempt to claim.
She eventually broke down and cried.
Never in the face of her family,
But underneath her childhood lullabies, the wind blown trees.
To say good bye to her childhood innocence and idealistic dreams.
Another weak of misery she was to face
Her father had gone, and she wished it was without a trace.
On the day of Thanks he returned
with makeshift apologies, hoping more for his wife's praise
And searching for admiration for not abandoning them.
His arrogance made his daughter’s hate last long.
Now the little girl’s broken heart, from some bitterness was made strong.
However her wholesomeness and littleness disappeared
With the falling of those few tears.
Cream cheese and Poinsettias
What do they have in common?
To most people not a thing,
But to that little girl, now a teen, so much heartache they do bring.
One is a food spread and the other a flower,
But indeed these prosaic things have a great power.
Valentines Day
The pink, the red, the hearts and flowers
The kissing the hugging, all the affection
All I can do is stare blankly at my dead reflection.
How I hate this day of hearts and commercialism and pink
All it does is make me want to cry, scream
becaue never has this been a pleasant day for me.
Every year it is the same,
and every year I feel so ashamed.
Never having anyone to spend this day with
Lonelinesss plaguing me on this day
It puts me in much dismay.
The holdiday is ruined to by the Hallmark Industry
St Valentines message lost in all this false philantropy.
Originally a broken man telling a woman his love for her
From behind prison bars, now is ruined by a company
Trying to make money off of a now cheap holiday.
On this day I don't smile, I don't scream, I don't cry, not During the day. I just try not to be put in utter dismay.
I go numb and stop healing, quite contradicting to the Normal St Valentines feeling.
Like a zombie I only coexist, I no longer live, until the clock strikes 12am and it's no longer this putrid day.
And once more I put out of my misery.
Three Little Words
Three little words that can make or break a person,
Three little words everyone hopes to here from someone
Three little words that can hurt so much, but cause so much Joy at the same time
Three little words that can destroy a friendship.
Three little words that could make a relationship.
Three little words that should not hastily be said.
Three little words I hope to here before I'm dead.
Three little words I don't want just anyone to say.
Three times have these three little words put me in such dismay.
Three little words that sting so much.
Three little words that cause people to sing just as much
Three little words that torture, and three little words that cause hope.
Three little words that can destroy your life
Three little words that can just as easily mend it
Three little words that were meant to be sacred
Three little words that have become so misused and abused
Three little words I'm afraid to utter to anyone
Three little words that make me so confused.
Not ready to open my heart to say these words or recieve them
All I can do is think about them.
These three little words have caused me such strife,
Three little words that could quite possibly soon ruin my life
Three little wrods that used to be equated with roses and doves
Three little words you hear people utter when with their loves.
Three little words that make me cry.
Three little words that still make me want to try
I both hate these three little words and love them.
I mistrust anyone whose so eager to say them.
The next time, or if I ever hear these words again by Someone other than a friend
I want it to be the true thing, not just a sort of fling
When i hear these three little words I want to be able to Say them back.
Not feel like its lust, or like I'm being rushed, but I Just want it to be true.
These three little words are special,
They are the words I love you
Ok I am more than likely going to change my mind about leaving my poem on my front page but yeah this is just the back up so I don't lose it or something random...also in case anyone liked it.
My Moral Dilemma
I have a heart of gold,
So I've been told,
But only is that heart seen
When people choose to life the screen
Of Uncertainty and hate.
Only in foreign places where no one
Know my reputatation,
Can I be me.
No more frustrations or subjugations, just me.
I've always been so out of place, so lost.
Always have I been the freak or the wierd one,
and no one in Yonkers let's you live it down.
Ten years I have been considered this strange disgrace,
My reason for seeming to out of place.
Crude ideas, feelings and hate would never alter my identity, you see,
But oh do there judgments pain me.
Everything I do or say is wrong,
My ideas would be better kept inside, they advise.
Close minded, morally repugnant, strange, all these things I have been known to be.
Never would they let me explain the ideas that surface from deep inside me.
I'm unconventional and anti-conformis
But thanks to them I feel like an exconvict.
So empty and alone they can make me feel.
There torrents of insults cause my heart to reel.
Two more years I tell myself and then I can begon from this place,
And in college I will have made my escape.
However their taunts and jeers cause me to wonder...
Is there something so wretched about me, that causes their hate to thunder?
Even though I have managed to anger friends,
We have always been able to make up and move on in the end.
What could it be that drivest their distate?
Am I truly, morally that much of a disgrace?
Anger people in the future I know I shall,
But what can I to make amends now?
Never, and no longer have I and do I wish conversations between a good friend and I
To have abrupt ends.
However does this mean I'll have to change myself in the end?
Mending the general opinon of myself is not important,
What matters is that my friends and I stay in contact.
Oh how I hate it when after helping me,
I've somehow managed to irk them...then the conversation ends.
And I am left to ponder, why did this happen again?
Perhaps my veiws are two vehement when it comes to war and government,
But in order for the irking to cease something must be done.
However if I did change myself, would this moral battle be more lost or won?
Because in the end I was left to change my view, or possibly risk losing a valued friend.
It all boils down to which do I love more in the end..
oh joy i go back to school tomorrow...I'm looking forward to seeing my friends, and its not even the advanced classes that worry me...its the people i deal with on a daily basis...there was already drama at a summer program and again it became up to me to try and go to the rescue...i just don't want to deal with some people this year but i have too...hopefull
My sad empty diary...maybe I should try to fill its pages...hmm well Happy Thanksgiving to anyone who reads this. Tiredness...it