Tag Archives: personal

Accidental Confidence

In the morning,
I start with my eyes,
Creating them like artwork,

I have accidental confidence,
I have gotten real good,
At creating a mirage,

I apply the primer,
You need a clean slate,
To begin any change,

You know the advice,
Show the world what you want them to see,
They will see it,

I move from the outside in,
Making it bold but natural,
Don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard,

Well, I got real good,
At making myself,
Appear to be someone else.

Picking a color is important,
You want your eye color to pop,
So they can see the twinkle in your eye,

The first time I was told I was confident
I wanted them to elaborate on their view,
Give me a glimpse of my persona,

When you get to the inside,
Apply a nice shimmery color,
That’s where the shadows naturally fall,

I have a pretty face,
A name that is easily remembered,
I have a naturally kind soul,

Blend into your brow bone,
Make sure it doesn’t look like clip art,
They should look like they want to belong,

I turned into an iceberg,
My eyes above water,
Below the water line, deceiving.

Mascara finishes the look,
Those lashes are the curtains,
To the show behind it all,

I have learned to hypnotize,
The colors, the shimmers,
All do their jobs,

I should be pleased,
That you don’t see
My ununiformed to society body,

You insisted that I ride the rollercoaster,
I faked motion sickness,
You accepted that.

Accidental confidence is a product
Of learning how to decipher the code
To be accepted among the masses.

When you pull me into a trendy store,
I don’t have money; I have too much in my closet,
I’m too lazy to try on clothes today,

So when I bat my eye lashes,
I wait for the day when you
Don’t just stop at the gate.

I need you to stroll the grounds,
The curves and hidden pathways,
From the rose garden to the dark forest,

I love that you don’t need to see more to love me,
But I need you to see more of me to love me.

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Don’t Assume

I don’t attend church regularly.
If you asked me to pick up a sign and protest pro-choice on the streets, I’d say you were crazy.
I don’t believe in sex after marriage and I believe that whom you love is whom you love.
I believe that my priest is human.
I don’t believe that I will be struck down in the streets if I eat meat on Friday during Lent.

I do believe in God.

When the pain was not going to stop her,
I prayed that this would be a good trip for her,
Something that would be worth the effort of getting out of bed everyday,
He didn’t take the pain away but
He did bring out the sunshine, blue skies and green fields for miles,
He had the birds singing in the trees, the leaves changing ever so slightly to hues of red,
He pulled bodies out of bed ‪at 5 AM to greet her at the airport,
He got her three shout outs in the wedding speeches
He blessed her with more blessings than the Bride and groom.
He gave her the strength to walk into the church even though the wheelchair was sitting in the trunk of the car.
He gave her security to smile when behind closed doors she could do all but move.

When she returned home to emergency surgery,
It should have been no surprise when the all clear came from the doctor,
Outside was a sunset that can only be describe as a poet’s cliché, heavenly,

I believe that he listens, sometimes like he is just listening to me.
That what I say in my head is like my own personal radio to an all-powerful being.
I don’t have a ritual of getting down on my knees and pressing the palm of my hands together,
The second grader within me urges to fulfill the catholic school rhetoric,
But the adult in me has learned through life,
When I say my thoughts to who is listening, I know that I’m being heard.
I see his answers everyday in opportunities and circumstances that change.
Things happen for a reason because there is a plan,
You are given opportunities when you open your heart to the possibilities.
I believe in God because when my prayers about someone who is that important are answered means I have to be talking to someone pretty special.

I can’t tell you every holy holiday,
I believe that his light shines through my student’s faces,
My bible is an app that exists in a cloud,
I believe he gives me my voice,
I curse at cars on Monday mornings,
In the darkest of times, he will provide clarity,
I don’t declare my faith on my sleeve,
But I do believe in him.

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almost there

365 days

maybe then i can rest

maybe then i can live

but mostly
i’m just learning

how to be ok with me

so i can be ok for you
almost there.

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I see what you did there.
Now, that I am in the clear,
But then, I couldn’t see past my tears.
The pain had created a wall,
In between my anxiety and reason,
Closing any backdoor to gain insight
To what you could clearly see,
But I trusted you blindly,
Even if that meant I was running into mirrors.

If I had still been there now,
It just seems implausible,
Like a chapter that doesn’t flow
With the rest of my story,
To be analyzed for eternity for its existence.
You saw where it would all go wrong,
So instead,
You decided to rip out my heart six chapters early.
No anesthesia or scalpel.

Small waves still wash over the scar
That was left by your hand,
As if you panicked mid scene,
Suddenly aware of the time line,
A car heading into oncoming traffic,
The only thought was to put it to a halt,
You reached into the spine,
Pulling at the true beat of the story,
The melody was fading.

It needed a refresher,
A course in Who Am I 101,
I was at a standstill,
I couldn’t move from A to B,
A malfunction in the wiring,
Looping back around to the starting point,
The part was good,
But it didn’t know how to be selfish,
It needed to learn to request new elements.

So I see what you did there,
You saved me.
I would have been too fargone,
Lost completely to a world,
Where I want to accompany the melody,
My story is flowing at full speed,
I know my purpose.
I forgive you for ripping me apart,
The pain now just a reminder.

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What Was Needed-updated

My Mom says I have a look,
She can see every emotion behind my eyes,
As if there is a movie playing on the walls,
But she didn’t get the invite.
So she watches as a bystander,
Helpless to the thoughts that churn in my head.

I tossed and turned as my nightmares broke through the mirror,
So used to filling the cracks with ink,
Constantly making touch ups until the scenarios become clear,
Until I can make sense of the reality,
A tortured soul lays bruised and bleeding,
Gasping for a breath of virtue.

Reality has turned itself into a padded cell.
I sat in a great common room,
Indian style, hands in my lap.
Wait for the roar that does not come,
Visitors don’t come and go, food does not slide under the door,
Just the silence and the glass on the floor.

Six months:
of no words
of no therapy
of guilt, pain, and confusion
of stab after stab after stab
of darkness.

Drowning,
A new sensation to master.
A notebook and pen my deserted sidekicks.
I was lost without their guidance,
The medicine they produced,
Pushed the water from my lungs so I could float back to the surface.

My lungs heavy,
I was falling and I couldn’t see tomorrow.
My thoughts were frozen in a forever loop,
In the Starbucks line, during my favorite show,
The face that my mother talks about,
Becoming a permanent fixture,
My eyes, the doors to an internal war.

I was gliding through my days when
I noticed a hand print on my shoulder,
In a mirror, I glanced at a pair of hands on my back,
on my chest, another on my wrist,
And the fingerprints woven with words from familiar voices,
Doing the job that I thought only my poetry could do,
Keeping my head above water.

The owners gave encouraging smiles,
Laughs that made my face break character,
Text messages to make sure I was eating,
And when I couldn’t see past the darkness,
They built a campfire in my bedroom,
So at night when I awoke from the nightmares,
I could see their messages of hope on the ceiling.

I leaned on those hands for support until I was swimming,
Full force in open water, no longer weary of unspoken dangers,
Towards any shoreline that could be my new destination,
My anxiety turned into rustling leaves in the bottom of my stomach,
My mother no longer asked what I was watching on the walls,
The darkness now just a scar on my heart,
Six months for it to turn from my present to my past.

I now know what it means to have more than my four walls,
To have more than the words that I wrote down for my sanity,
But my heart still soars while I’m drinking my morning coffee,
A familiar feeling of a fleeting metaphor flies in my mind,
I smile, allowing the words to simmer on the edge of my conscious,
I might get light headed if I move to quickly,
So happy to show them what I have learned in their absence.

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Lost: Creative Spark

When you have found yourself withdrawn

The writer will hold on

For what was here and gone

Might just have a spawn

That could creep up at dawn.

Image

~HonestLynne

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