The Strongest Woman I Know

I would like to dedicate this week's post to a very important friend of mine. I will not give her name, for the sake of protecting her in case anyone who knows who she is comes across this. But this friend of mine makes me grateful for the things I have. She has gone through a turbulent childhood, sexual abuse, a failed marriage, heroin addiction, and now the Lord has placed another obstacle along her path- she is going blind. While most people who have gone through half of the troubles she has faced would sit solemnly, feeling sorry for themselves, she lives for the best in life. She doesn't let her scars hold her back; she is a loving person, and she is always willing to help a friend in need. She has embraced the roadblocks she has faced, and in the wake of losing her vision she has learned to see the world with brand new eyes. Obviously that is a figure of speech. Knowing this woman has taught me to not feel sorry for myself. She is proof that, although I have faced considerable challenges in my few years, my life could be so much worse. I am grateful to call her my friend, and for the lessons she has taught me. She truly is the strongest woman I know. Unfortunately I don't have a poem prepared tonight and on top of that I'm really sick and extremely busy trying to clean. I will hopefully have something prepared by tomorrow night when I get off work.

Appreciate the things with which you are blessed; you never know when your life will change for good.

Please keep my friend in your prayers, for their is still hope that she can regain her vision with time and the proper medical care.

Curtain Call

I do not feel.
My mind is racing.
My heart beats like a drum.
I search my soul,
I part my lips;
But forth do no words come.
My spirit blank,
my being crushed,
I've lost all will to live.
I have no strength,
no point in life...
What have I to give?
A million ways
to end the show,
one dramatic final scene.
I cannot choose,
I can't decide,
the one befitting me.
To bleed would be
too gruesome-
'Twould stain my porcelain skin.
A thund'rous boom,
a bullet wound,
belies the quiet war within.
But to close the act
with too much
of a gratifying thing,
to bid the world
adieu as such
is a feat of which to sing.
With grace, yet without
dignity,
the curtains finally close.
And I shall lie
forevermore
in beautiful repose.

Freeze Frame

I feel really bad about not posting last night. But I was slammed with slave labor, and out-of-sorts as it was. To top it off, I must give all credit to a serious case of writer's block for the briefness of this week's piece. Brief as in four lines. But here it is:

Not by weakness,
but by will,
I gave you my heart
and time stood still.

Apocalypse

I wrote this for someone in whom I put much faith. My ignorance caused me to be blind to their flaws. But now that Ihave come to see them for who they are, I am overwhelmed with dissapointment. The literal definition of the word "apocalypse" is "the lifting of the veil." So that explains the title. Personally, I hate this poem. I wrote it on the fly and it's all I have for this week. Sorry.

Such the babe, I bought the lie-
ill-constructed alibi.
Angelic face built to belie
the empty crevace deep inside.

Young, naive, I trusted you.
A guiding light, you saw me through
my darkest hours 'neath the moon,
to dawning sun and skies so blue.

But now the clouds are turning gray,
your angel wings begin to fade;
pernicious every word you say.
An entity no longer staid.

My mind is blank, my heart is numb;
for you, I've ceased to feel.
The time to lift the veil has come.
The truth shall be revealed.

Billie

I wrote this poem for Joan Crawford. She's one of my favorite actresses, and definitely my girl crush. She was far more beautiful than people give her credit for nowadays. Not to mention a hell of a lot more talented than most entertainers these days (she could REALLY sing, dance, and act; nothing about her was mediocre). So, this weeks poem, entitled "Billie," is written just for that true star and legend.

Her eyes were blue and shining,
her skin was white as snow.
Her smile warmed the spirit,
and her voice would smoothly flow.

The outside, made of porcelain;
her core was made of stone.
She was headstrong and undaunted
in the face of the unknown.

Like the rose, a treasured beauty,
and abundant were her thorns.
But imperfections scatter
‘neath the footstall she adorns.

We regard her as a Goddess-
a deity of the arts.
She’s the empress of extravagance;
the queen of broken hearts.

But if we lift the golden veil
we’ll see what lies behind the glamour:
a child, sweet and impish,
with the power to enamor.

As Joan, Miss Crawford, Mommie Dearest,
alas, we knew her well.
But Billie wields the charming wand-
‘tis she who casts the spell.