For today’s prompt, write a “last straw” poem. Everyone encounters situations in which they decide they’re not going to take it anymore (whatever “it” happens to be).
She held on as long as she could
Feet scarred from years of egg shells
Feeling the faint strength within
Increasing in vertical swells
For years she tried to live
Under a powerful radar
Knowing she could do no right
Existing inside a broken avatar
The last straw came
Like lightening ruptured her soul
When he hurt her baby
In a violent rage out of control
Pain had been reserved for her
She knew how to survive
She never felt worth a change
But one forbidden touch opened her eyes…
Please Note: “she” is not Me. Thanks for reading.
Vivian has a monkaroo
That she calls banana.
He’s green like a lime
And white like cotton
And he eats orange flavored grass.
He hangs by his tail,
And jumps on one leg.
When I see him I can’t help but laugh.
He carries Legos in his pouch,
Wears red high tops on his feet.
He’s a silly monkaroo for sure,
But one you’d want to meet!
Draw a portrait of yourself,
They said when I was five.
Make it look just like you,
Blonde hair, brown eyes, and white.
The hair and eyes were easy.
But I couldn’t color hard enough,
For the white to actually appear,
And white is what they said I was.
Draw a portrait of yourself,
They said when I was six.
Blonde hair and brown eyes, easy,
I was given peach this time for my skin.
I loved the sun, and was actually,
More of a golden brown tan.
So questions about my color arose.
Inquiries about skin and race began.
There were portraits in many shades,
In class, others did just as I.
White, peach, black, brown, red
Nobody’s seemed quite right.
Today we all work from boxes,
Filled with more crayons than twenty-four.
And we know we can mix colors,
With the colors laid down before.
If I color myself brown I’m still “white”
If you color yourself brown, you’re still “black”
We’re all so much more than colors,
In a yellow and green cardboard pack…
I find it beautiful to see,
A person smiling spontaneously.
Upon the sight of a child.
Not at them so much as
Because of them…
A paint brush in a child’s hand,
Aspirations without inhibitions.
Slightly directionless, yet intentional,
A joyous display of playful expression.
The feel of the brush in a firm little grasp,
The power to create at hand.
Each stroke births colorful purpose,
Imagination comes to life, bold and grand.
Through the eyes of a child,
Sharing their world.
I see a beauty contained within innocence,
Life filled with hope, and promise to hold.
I pray the colors they choose remain bright,
Selecting from God’s endless palette.
Continuing to create light, hope, and joy,
As they move within life’s canvas.
Up, up, and away,
New discoveries await.
Fly with us today…
In your eyes I see,
A light which outshines the sun.
I see laughter and a playful spirit,
And many beautiful songs yet sung.
I see strength for life’s challenges,
And hope for the future.
I see a heart impenetrable by darkness,
And intentions good and pure.
I see dreams untamed,
Wishes upon fields of dandelions.
I see intelligence surpassing average,
And poetic stories filled with rhyme.
Natural gifts and talents,
Creativity and artistic desire,
A fighter for self-expression,
A life-force on fire.
I see a star filled sky,
With your own constellations.
Open canvases awaiting your brush strokes,
A multitude of colors to paint your aspirations.
I see so much within your eyes;
All you need be is you.
I’ll love you forever,
I pray you see what I see too…
Dedicated to my step daughter, nieces, and nephew… With LOVE from Aunt “E”