My Daughter's Poems. Her Own Words.

It's been almost 4 years since I miracously found my alienated daughter's poems on my parental portal from her senior year of high school as her last final homework submitted before she graduated including her drafts of her other poems that she worked on for her entire senior year. There are maricles then THERE are maricles. First because nobody but myself would know or understand what she was actually writing about or understand what she was talking about. Then the fact that there are only a handful of other homework assignments besides kingerdten that I had only seen from 1-12th grade and never as an entire long assigment from start to finish besides her poems. These are her words. Very sad words. Very beautiful words. Very emotional words.

I am so proud of her and I am so sad for. I am crying again by adding her sad flower drawing she made right before he took her.

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Artist Statement

As an artist, I value creativity and the freedom to express myself in whatever way I see fit. I find inspiration in the world around me, especially in the people and experiences that have shaped my life and my perspective. I value the power of poetry to connect people and to bring them together in a shared experience that is specific to every person. I believe that art has the power to inspire, and to transform the world around me. As a poet, I feel my role is to capture the beauty, the horror, the exhaustion, and complexity of life in a way that will resonate with others. I seek to illuminate the human experience in all its light and shadow, to explore the depths of the human heart and soul. And in doing so, I hope to inspire others to see the world in a new light, to feel more deeply, and to connect more fully with the world around them.

My process of creating these poems was to first jot down all of my thoughts that I had during the days. I then listened to music and wrote down things that resonated with me, ideas, concepts, and words that I associated with those songs. After that I just started messing around with some ideas, usually writing the premise of the poem first, then diving deeper. I tend to write the first thing that comes to my head and then slowly edit it from there. The poems that I wrote all have different premises that I wanted to be able to coexist and share a space. I wanted to make a bunch of contrasting pieces that alternated between light feelings and tones to dark ones. I wanted to show the “ying-yang” of life— the good and the bad. I wanted the contrast to be uncomfortable and uneasy.

Many things influenced my work. For my darker works, I mostly draw from personal experiences and my perspective on the world. For the lighter poems I tried to look at the world in a perspective that I used to have. One of a child who only sees the good. I wanted to have opposites attract for this manuscript. I definitely draw a lot of inspiration from nature and also the idea of childhood and fairy tales. I am very proud of my work. I only hope people feel the emotion and depth in what I was trying to portray.  I hope that people will take away from my poems the complexity of life. I want people to see and to feel the exhaustion that comes from being able to see so many perspectives of the world.

time                              

i’ve seen rundown gods

left with the details of ash

i’ve seen strident freaks

banging against heaven

keeping vigil

yet turning the other cheek

so yes,

perhaps i’m searching for what to say

and i am filling up the time that is left

with fear of what's not there

it's of no use

this is what is                                           

it's only that it's gonna hurt

and i don’t mind the pain

but don’t worry

i’m not scared

i can’t wait to see

rundown gods

left with the details of ash

trident freaks

banging against heaven

keeping vigil

yet turning the other cheek

Succubus

In the woods so dark and deep

Lies a cottage, one must not sleep

For inside dwells a succubus vile

Her presence is felt for miles and miles

Surrounding her home, mushrooms grow

Fantasy creatures in the shadows below

Their eyes gleam with a wicked glee

As they spin dreams of what might be

But these are not harmless figures of fun

For they are servants of the succubus, every one

Luring in unsuspecting prey

To this den of evil, where they'll stay

Once inside, the victim's fate is sealed

For the succubus's touch cannot be healed

She feeds on their very essence

Their will, their soul, their very presence

And so, the cottage stands alone

A place where darkness has made its home

Beware the mushrooms and heed this call

Stay away, or risk losing it all.

helpless

                    how vicious this unkindness is

          how cruelly vicious

             as you're mourning the day after

                 whilst i am contending with a past replayed

           battling memories of earlier nightmares

                  i wasn't made for this god awful madness

                i wasn't made for this intense melancholy

         why did i wake up screaming?

         is there nothing more we can do,

to make it stop?                                                                                             

                               this rough draft of

                   an indecent aggression

           carrying on in this way                                                                            

                      could it really be?

       i guess it's a sad affair

                    heartache has put everyone on notice

          going from here to there

   with no one real around anywhere                                           

                     an unmeasured mediocrity

  with broken parts

         an unendurable craziness

  by all accounts

      it's in no one's hands

Princess Castle

Ballgowns trail and twirlIn the grand halls of a castle,

As you race through the corridors,

Your gown fluttering behind you with the breeze.

The fabric shimmers and whispers

As you tread with the poise of a princess,

Feeling powerful and elegant,

A smile on your lips and a glint in your eye.

The scent of fresh books wafts through the air,

As you make your way through the library's stacks,

The pages alive with knowledge and wonder,

A sanctuary for the curious mind.

With your ballgown enveloping you,

You feel the magic of the castle stir

,A tapestry of history and mystery,

A world of enchantment to explore.

So dance through the halls and rooms,

In your ballgown's flowing waves,

Let the castle's spirit embrace you,

And the thrill of adventure fill your heart.

Apocalypse

As the crows circle high,

Foretelling the end of time,

The sky of red and black dye,

A bloodstained hue void of design.

The apocalypse is here,

Its wrath unfurled upon the earth,

The end is nigh, we fear,

And we face the oblivion of our worth.

No more do we stand tall,

No more do we rule the land,

We witness the crumble and fall,

As we're consumed by the apocalypse's hand.

Our blood taints the ground,

As we fight in vain,

Against the end that's found,

And the coming of eternal pain.

With each passing moment,

We slip further into the abyss,

Our fate marked with torment,

As we face the end with no bliss.

The crows scream and screech,

As they feast on death and gore,

Their darkness beyond reach,

A dire omen for us to deplore.

In the end, all fades away,

No trace of what we've been,

And in the silence we lay,

Mere relics of a world that's been.

Autopilot

Days blur together in a routine haze

As I wander through life,

lost in a daze

Trying to find my place, searching high and low

But everything feels distant,

like a faded glow,

A bystander to my own existence,

a show.

Living on autopilot,

 feeling dissociated

A life that's muted, yet still so complicated.

Lost in the crowd,

like a stranger, underrated

I yearn to break free, to be seen and

heard

To be more than just a bystander,

a blurred image

 in a world where identity's slurred

My true self hidden behind a mask

A jumble of identities,

a daunting task

Looking for a way to belong, to fit in

But the more I try,

the more I spin,

Lost in the chaos, searching for kin

I want to be perceived in a certain way

To be understood, to have something to say

But my identity's vague,

 like a dream that won't stay.

Mother Rabbit

Mother rabbits eat their young

When they sense danger

Or when they cannot provide

For their litter anymore.

My mother didn't eat me

In the literal sense

But she consumed me

In other ways.

She devoured my dreams

Tore apart my aspirations

And chewed on my self-worth

Until there was nothing left.

She feasted on my potential

Until it was just a memory

And swallowed my confidence

Leaving me empty.

I was once her precious creation

But now I am just a shell,

A hollow carcass of who I could have been

All because she couldn't handle the responsibility.

Like the mother rabbit,

She saw me as a threat

To her own security and comfort

So she devoured me whole.

The wounds still remain

Raw and bleeding, never quite healing

The pain lingers on, a constant reminder

Of what was lost, of what was taken away.

And though I try to move on

To let go of the hurt and the anger,

The memories of her devouring me

Haunt me still, in the darkest hours of the night.

For even though I have rebuilt myself

And forged a new path, a new life,

The scars of her consumption remain

A testament to the sorrow and the loss.

So I mourn the person I could have been

The life that could have been mine,

And I grieve for the mother who devoured me

Leaving nothing but sadness and regret behind.

The Acts

The first act was a struggle,

As I tried to keep up the facade,

The pain inside was too much to handle,

But I kept performing, acting,

Applaud.

I tried to reach out for help,

But my cries were ignored,

So I hid behind my magic,

And kept my sadness stored.

As the second act began,

My desperation grew,

I felt so lost and alone,

And didn't know what to do.

I tried to make sense of it all,

But the darkness closed in,

And as the audience watched me perform,

I knew I couldn't win.

I started to prepare for the end,

And rehearsed it every night,

For the final act was looming,

I knew I had to get it right.

For the final act, I will disappear,

And end my pain and sorrow,

My final trick will be my last,

And I'll be gone by tomorrow.

The crowd watches in silence,

As I step onto the stage,

My heart is heavy with sadness,

As I take center stage.

I take a deep breath, and begin to speak,

And the audience leans in,

But as I say the final words,

I feel my life start to dim.

And with a wave of my hand,

I disappear from sight,

The crowd is stunned and confused,

As I fade into the night.

***Annotation from high school classmate – Another powerful extend metaphor. I can only hope there is no literal truth to this poem? Can we talk about it?

A Spark Ignites

Uncontrollable urge To touch and feel

To grab

To hold on tight.

A chemical reaction Uncontained.

This heat consumes our every thought. The fire that burns bright

Drives us

To seek the warmth of skin. A passion

Without distraction.

Earth’s Gifts

Raindrop. Graceful, falling.

Nourishing the earth’s thirst. Refreshing, replenishing, giving-- Life.

Shipwreck

Life is a shipwreck,

and we are the hapless sailors lost at sea.

Our dreams, once hopeful beacons,

now lead us astray into treacherous waters.

The storms of adversity batter us relentlessly,

tearing our sails and drowning our spirits.

The reefs of challenges puncture our hull,

leaving us adrift and broken.

With each passing day, our will to persevere diminishes,

as we succumb to the weight of despair.

The stars above, once guiding lights,

mock us with their distant, indifferent gaze.

Our journey becomes a futile struggle,

devoid of purpose and meaning.

Peter Pan

In a realm untethered, where dreams take flight

Peter lingers, a symbol of eternal sprite

He, the embodiment of unyielding youth

An analogy, elusive, yet seeking truth

His shadow dances, a silent companion

Reflecting desires, in endless expansion

With innocence's cloak, he wanders afar

Guiding seekers to their innermost star

Stained Fingertips

Stained fingertips,

marked by the artist's touch,

Colors and pigments,

each stroke with such

care and precision,

brought to life on canvas,

Expressing emotions,

their meanings vast.

Each hue a feeling,

each smear a thought,

Mixed with passion,

so intricately wrought,

A work of art,

 a piece of the soul,

Stained fingertips,

bearing the toll.

They tell a story,

of journeys embarked,

Of challenges faced,

of triumphs remarked,

The artist's hands,

their tools of creation,

Leaving behind,

stains of inspiration.

Siren’s Song

Amidst the rocks,

the siren sings her song.

A haunting melody that fills the air,

her voice,

a lure that draws the ships along.

Her beauty,

fierce and wild,

can do no wrong.

A temptress in the depths beyond compare,

amidst the rocks,

the siren sings her song.

Her hair,

a tangled web,

where seagulls throng.Her eyes,

a sea of blue,

beyond compare.

Her voice,

a lure that draws the ships along.

Her song,

a mournful cry,

both sweet and strong.

A melody that sailors cannot bear,

amidst the rocks,

the siren sings her song.

Her heart,

a fathomless abyss,

so long.

A love that cannot be,

nor can repair.

Her voice,

a lure that draws the ships along.

The sailors' fate,

to crash upon the throng,

to meet their end amidst her deadly lair.

Amidst the rocks,

the siren sings her song.

Her voice, a lure that draws the ships along.

Kiss of Nature

Whispering spring breeze,

Cherry blossoms bloom with grace,

Nature's gentle kiss.

Blending of Friendship

In friendship's embrace,

love resides,

A bond so deep,

It gently guides.

From laughter shared,

To tears we mend,

In you, my best friend,

love finds its blend.