The Second Chance

This poem was inspired by an old friend of mine. When we were in high school she told me a harrowing tale of one of her suicide attempts. Whether or not everything she said was truthful does not matter to me. It was great inspiration, and I have immortalized her story in a poem. The story goes as follows: She was extremely depressed, so she tried to drown herself in her bathtub one night. As she was inching closer to her goal, she recalls seeing nothing but white. Then an angel came to her and told her that it was not her time to go- she had a reason for being on this planet. As far as I know that was the last of her suicide attempts. So, here is what her story inspired: "The Second Chance."


Words are not enough to heal the scars upon my heart.
I tried to mend my broken soul, but still it fell apart.
Hope's a distant memory, there's emptiness ahead.
Faith in love has turned to ash and innocence is dead.

My solace is the butcher's knife I stashed inside my drawer.
Let the water overflow and lock the abthroom door.
Sink into the sacred bath to rid myself of sin.
Three simple steps to cleanse my soul, let retribution in.

Fear is screaming in my brain; my heart is filled with dread.
I know it's very simple- one, two, three and I'll be dead.
Still I hesitate with thoughts of what may happen in the end.
But this hunger that I feel for blood is strong and I give in.

The deed is sone, I think I've won. But what is this I see?
Breaking through the foggy white an angel beckons me.
Her touch is sweet November, and her voice a melody-
"Your time here isn't over," and with that she sets me free.

I wake up from this trance as though I've never lived before,
and right before my very eyes I see an open door.
I step beyond the threshold and I see a smiling face.
The world is bright and, in my heart, I know what's taken place.

My fragile soul was lifted- not to Heaven, but to peace.
With my spirit's newfound joy, this haunting anguish found release.
The dawning sun shines light on all the reasons I've to live.
My journey's far from over- I have so much left to give.

The (Wo)Man in the Iron Mask

I now have a regular blog, on which I hope to post more frequently. I will still be posting my weekly poem here, but I will do my whining and crying on this new one.

Happy reading!

myapologiestothesane.blogspot.com

Chambermaid

I had to make something up really quick in order to meet my weekly deadline. This piece is horrible (I made it up just now; it took me all of 10 minutes), and I will be taking it down and replacing it with something better later. Though I'm actually considering keeping it posted on here and just posting something else as an extra to make up for the lack of skill and poetic beauty in this one. As the title would suggest, it's called "Chambermaid," and it was inspired by the character of Alais (pronounced like "Alice" for those of you who don't know) from the Katharine Hepburn (one of my favorite actresses) classic "The Lion in Winter." It's an excellent, sordid, dryly witty film. I adore it, and highly recommend it to anyone 16 or older. Anyone much younger may not fully understand the film's humor. Anyways, to thee I regrettably present "Chambermaid."

I live to serve thee, master;
I'm on my hands and knees.
Your chambermaid- a love slave
to do with what you please.

I was born to love thee, sire;
my heart doth beat for you.
My tea cup runneth over
with lust that courses through

my veins, my soul, my being.
I'm nothing without you.
You give me shallow purpose,
and a senseless point of view.

I am your chambermaid.
Your wish is my command.
I live to grant each carnal wish.
To the boudoir, take my hand.

Angel

This is a poem inspired by both Judy Garland and my high school guidance counselor, Kerri Anne Mantz. It's kinda sentimental. Hope you enjoy it.


Escape to solitude and lock the door behind me.
Draw back a velvet curtain to the moonless sky above me.
Pitch black night flows through my veins; I'm empty.
I give myself to darkness, and the midnight is within me.

Time slips through my hands and I smile as my eyes close.
I wake to sunlight shining through the cracks in dirty windows.
Unprepared for God to save a soul that once was hollow,
an angel beckons me and so her guiding hand I follow.

I was trapped in endless dusk until her light gave birth to dawn.
I was broken, lost, and faithless; then I heard her healing song.
When a part of me was giving up, she gave me strength to carry on.
She shined a light upon the truth, illuminating all the wrong.

Let No Man Write My Epitaph

A poem I wrote about being bullied. Those people think they know you, so they make fun of what's on the outside, and judge you. But they have no idea who you really are within. Not the most well-written piece, but I still like it.


You couldn't bear what I have seen,
but still you claim to know my pain.
My words, you twist and tumble
'til your truth I do ordain.

You know not if I have sinned,
and yet you place my on a cross.
'Tis here I shall repent,
for now your grievance is my loss.

My tears, to thee, are sweet-
like an early springtime song.
The taste of my defeat
shall remain with you for long.

So I shall hang my head,
give you that for which you've asked.
Joyful hope is dead-
my truths seem now unmasked.

At my sentiment you laugh,
and it shall be forevermore just this.
Let no man write my epitaph
'til one soul do me justice.

Manic-Depression/Gravity

Since my first poem for this post is quite short, I decided to post TWO short poems. One dark, one slightly humorous. The first is "Manic-Depression," a poem I wrote about being Bipolar (thank you, Capt. Obvious). The second is "Gravity." This one I wrote about the fact that I always seem to slip when I wear high heels in my college. Nowhere else do I fall or stumble in these shoes- only at school.

"Manic-Depression"

I bandage all these cuts with lies
as the phoenix in my mind doth rise.
Before I fall down,
upon me they'll frown
when they notice the spark in my eyes.


"Gravity"

I'm a constant victim
to gravity's action,
cuz like a seasoned prostitute
high heels have no traction.

Gisele

I am currently breaking my "one post-per-week" rule to bring you the latest in my poetic excursions. The poem is for Gisele Galante Broida, the woman with whom I am currently enthralled. The 54-year-old Frenchwoman bears a striking resemblance to her mother, screen legend Olivia de Havilland (my IDOL, if you haven't read my past posts), and for some reason I find myself drawn to her. Not in a romantic way (not exactly, anyway), but in that maternal sort of attachment way. As happens to me a lot with older women I find interesting. I wrote the poem with the intent of sounding like a lesbian stalker. It just sounded fun. The poem is still in the working stages, so this is just a preview of what may become a decent piece of literature. So, here for your eyes, is my newest poem, aptly titled "Gisele."


I've watched you from a distance,
looking through the mask you wear.
I've looked beyond your smile,
seeing every scar you bear.

I've heard your heart beat faster
as you try to catch your breath.
Sweet time is rushing past you,
so you'll sleep upon your death.

Illusions smash to pieces
like a glass house kissed by rock.
Innocence is mythical;
sweet romance left the dock.

The pawn has hit the conflict,
like a wall of brick or stone.
So wide the world we venture;
in the end we trek alone.

But I shall follow closely
as you navigate each street,
basking in your victories,
mourning each defeat.

My Gisele, of poise and grace,
of beauty fine and fair-
you're forever in my heart,
in every midnight prayer.

But you shall never see me
for I watch so far away.
I don't wish to disturb thee,
so distant I shall stay.

But still, I watch intently,
seeing all you try to hide.
Close behind your every step
as you walk the world so wide.