Apr 22

Broken

A sculptor
stands at a 
work table,
staring at 
his masterpiece.
A face 
of an unknown
stranger,
sits on an armature,
staring back at him.
And, 
as he takes his last look,
turns away,
he bumps the table's corner.
Down
falls the stranger,
down to the floor.
'Crash',
sounds the stranger,
as it collides with tile.
Gone,
goes the stranger,
for the only remnants of 
its face,
are shattered shards 
of the dried clay
that once made it
to be.
The sculptor watches,
listens,
and sees his weeks of work
become fallen,
broken.
Down
sinks the sculptor,
down to his knees.
'Sob',
sounds the sculptor,
as his tears fall aimlessly.
Gone,
go his dreams
of presenting this piece,
this stranger,
as his work of art. 
But after a moment,
his tears stop falling.
After a moment, 
Apr 11

Behind This Mask

A mask,
like a heavy coat
of snow,
like a sweater
on an autumn
Sunday morning,
can hide many things.
It hides one's
thoughts,
it hides one's
opinions,
it hides one's
self.
At some point,
we all walk around 
with a mask,
while our face is still
completely revealed,
while it appears with a smile,
while it appears with a grin,
while it appears with a pair of
laughing lips.
We discover secrets,
our insides burn,
but we keep our skin cool.
We inherit disappointment,
the lines between our eyebrows
deepening,
but immediately fading away.
We become stressed,
we lose sleep,
letting any weight that burdens us fall
into our eyes,
where we forever conceal it,
keeping the dark circles,
the heavy bags,
only to ourselves. 
But at some point,
this weight becomes too much to carry.
Feb 18
poem challenge: Lifeline

With Every Breath

With every breath we take,
with every inch we travel,
our planet becomes
sicker. 
If our planet is so hurt,
how is everything still here,
how are we still here?
We are still here,
because of the trees.
These trees,
the ones that 
make life on Earth
possible,
are the most important 
things on our planet.
Not bees,
not flowers,
not us,
but trees.
They swallow our breath,
they consume the Co2 that leaves our lips,
and they produce what we need to survive,
what everyone,
everything,
needs to survive.
The oxygen,
the air we breathe.
Without trees,
these life-saving trees,
the chain would break. 
It would simply shatter,
leaving us with nothing.
Trees are our flowers.
They produce the pollen,
and we,
the bees,
the insects,
we use the pollen to carry out 
jobs,
things that must get done 
Feb 17

Stepping on Ice

As her eyes
skim the
silent ground,
the icy ground,
she waits for fear.
And from her cracking lips
escapes a
suffocating breath,
while her heart beats on steadily. 
She waits.
She waits for the 
voice in her head,
telling her to stop.
Telling her to be careful,
to be cautious.
But as of this moment,
this frozen,
quiet moment,
nothing is speaking of such to her.
Not the gossiping trees,
not the whispering wind,
not even the birds
that are shivering from the chill
of the biting frost. 
It is time for her mind to move,
time for her limbs to move.
And as she steps onto the ice,
her breath catches. 
This pause in reality,
this moment in which
her mind questions everything,
is the moment that makes her foot slide.
As she steps onto the ice,
she's wondering what will happen.
As she steps onto the ice,
she's afraid.
Feb 06

The Thing About Hope

As I dance 
across the floor,
I know it is the
dance I love,
to the music I love.
I want this part 
so deeply in my heart,
that I dream of 
practicing it,
of improving upon it,
of performing it in the spring.
And in my mind,
I can see myself 
dancing to this music,
floating across the stage,
smiling. 
But,
is this part meant for me?
Is it possible for this wish to truly come to life?
This feeling, 
of some part of you
knowing,
while another part of you 
doubts,
is called hope. 
Hope isn't 
the act of being sure,
it is the act of wanting 
something so bad,
and the feeling,
even if it is the smallest 
of feelings,
that this dream 
could become real.
Hope pushes you to 
do as much as you can do,
but occasionally,
there can be too much.
Occasionally,
your hopes may fly
too high.
Jan 19

History is History

I walk down
the busy streets,
and I spot
many different people,
many different things,
many different lives.
I see sister-in-laws
gossiping,
brothers arguing,
parents holding their 
children close. 
And I see history,
in every one of them.
Whether it's a history
of joy,
of sadness,
hope,
grief,
there is always history. 
Without someone's past,
there is no present,
no future. 
Without someone's mistakes,
there are no goals.
And though your past may 
create you,
define you,
it can't be
looked back upon constantly,
no matter how momentous
or weighted the events 
that lie there may be. 
Your history creates 
the blueprints for your future,
but you can do so much more than 
let your past become your future,
your life. 
You can mix things up a bit,
you can change,
you can get better,
Dec 31

Another Year Waits

Hundreds of days have passed,
hundreds of seconds,
of words,
whispers,
glances,
since we were faced 
with trouble.
Maybe more than that,
for some.
And,
we have been able to 
continue on through
these troubles,
no matter the effect 
on our lives. 
We have confronted
every moment 
with answers,
questions,
emotion,
and still,
another year waits for us.
Another year waits
even though we have been 
chosen by challenges.
Another year waits
even though we have
made mistakes.
Another year waits 
even though we are
tired of fighting so hard. 
And no matter 
how unsure,
or scared,
or exhausted
some may be,
we still have to keep going,
keep trying,
keep living,
because another year waits,
with intents of fresh starts,
resolution,
and perhaps the occasional stressful night,
Dec 11

Showtime!

A moment I have been 
waiting for,
a moment I have 
looked forward to 
for months,
is here,
and now that the day
has come,
I have endless streams
of butterflies swarming 
my stomach.
When I dance in 
the studio,
in a place where
I feel comfortable 
and alright with making mistakes,
my nerves are somewhat easy to control.
But, 
on stage,
with lights shining from every possible direction,
my fear is hard to let go of. 
And so,
as I sit here writing,
I am telling myself to 
stop thinking about things
I could do wrong,
but the things that could go 
really well. 

 
Nov 14

Perfect for me

When someone says 
"perfect,"
many immediately think
"flawless."
They hear the word,
and they picture no
problems,
no issues, 
nothing to worry about.
But how perfect 
would this world truly be,
if there was nothing to
worry about,
nothing to strive for?
If I am scared,
nervous about something,
it simply feels so much better
when I work hard 
to acknowledge it,
to achieve it,
to adapt to it, even. 
What would life look like 
with no goals,
no dreams,
nothing to try for?
When someone says,
"Nothing's perfect,"
know that nothing can be
exactly right,
but it can be exactly right 
for you. 
When I think of perfect,
I think of something being
perfect for me,
for my life,
for my world. 
Oct 16

My Eyes

For so long,
I have listened to others,
others' opinions,
others' words.
I have heard them 
speak,
I have heard them debate,
and I have only 
wished a single thing,
to be able to know
what I agree with.
In this world,
I am realizing that 
there are many,
many struggles,
that there are  
things that so many 
people feel strongly about,
and I am finding that 
I truly don't know
how I feel about these topics.
What is my opinion?
For a while now,
I would listen to those I 
know closely,
and I would nod
as they talked about 
their thoughts on something.
I would immediately think,
"This must be the right decision
if it's coming from them."
However,
if there is anything I've learned
from experiencing this pandemic,
it is that not everyone agrees.
Not everyone agrees,
even if they are friends,

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