Dear ______,... Love, ______

Dear ______,
         Open your eyes man. Look at where we're headed. Don't you see the danger signs? The flashing lights of warning? Don't you hear the sirens wailing? My voice...? Quivering...? On the brink...? Of giving up? Of giving in? Of breaking down? It's sink or swim. ______, don't you see? The bargains they're making are starting to sound better with each passing moment and I'm afraid I can't pass them up; they're a steal. You keep shattering the panes of the window frames you put in place. What's the point? What's your deal? Is there any way I can escape with an easy hand? Have ______, this card shark of a dealer, dole out a win? Maybe I could swim safely away from this infested water instead of getting pulled under, instead of getting further frozen in this emotionless winter, but no, I'm afraid not; it's a sink and a swim relationship, a push and pull, a to and fro, a fall and fly: a controlled chaos. And that's sad to know because eventually something has to give way, even now the balance, the insane yin and yang feeling, the governed anarchy, is tipping, and I wonder if you think that it's the good that's actually dominating.

Love, ______

**Sigh**

People keep pushing me towards ending something I know can be too good to give up. Sometimes I'm happy and aren't those small precious moments enough? It's too hard and it's gone on for so long that to bring it all crashing down around me would be pointless and painful. They say from the outside that I'm in pain now and that walking away from this is so much better and that the pain would subside eventually, but I don't see it. I see bumps on the road, ones conquered and ones that remain and I believe if I stay just a little while longer maybe, just maybe, it'll all smooth over and stay long forgotten in the rear view.

Breaking Inhibition

My fingers hit the keys heavily, furiously,
Due to anxiety to release what’s inside,
To set free to a blank white sky what I’ve tried so hard to hide:
the lonely, dark heavy emotion that’s afraid to publicly show its head.
It waits for the paper and it waits for the pen
So it can fling itself onto the white abyss where it can find its end.

But the pain and fear always return
So I’ll find myself writing again.

I come and I go because it’s always there; writing is my friend.

When I’m writing
I’m releasing emotion:
Bringing calm to the ocean
With it’s current that’s constantly pushing and pulling
On my mind throughout the years
Its constant tide is always there, ebbing in my ears.

When I put pen to paper
My heart flows freely to the lead
So I can finally rest my aching head
From all the pent-up stress
Hidden from the eyes of others
The stuff that’s been building up, that’s been suffocating beneath the covers
Of the façade I put in place for all to see
For fear of what they’ll think of the real me,
The real me who’s alive in the writer me
The me who’s afraid, who’s alone, and who only trusts the barriers she herself has built.

So any one person could understand how sharing my work is terrifying:
I’m fearful someone will take my work, read it, and then frown,
And then, onto me, they shall look down.

Giving someone my work is like letting them take what I hold closest,
It’s saying “Here’s my heart, the one that I’ve always kept so heavily guarded, the one where writer Katelynn resides;
The pl, essentially, the real me hides.”
It’s saying “Take my heart. Go ace whereon and take it. Take it. Take it please”
Letting my heart go should feel like letting all my inhibitions free to float away on the breeze.

Which should feel like letting the real me break through the exterior Katelynn;

It should feel like an exhilarating free-fall where life is only saved by the joyous wings of flight.
Releasing the papers of my work unto another’s eager eyes
Should be as easy as exhaling into the wind
As soon as I’m able to loosen my grip: Once I let go and I just give in.

Hidden

I once asked myself why:
Why am I afraid of another’s touch
Why can’t I drop the facade I always maintain?
Why do I depend on it like a crutch?

I laid in bed one night and dreamt:
I’m in a garden, underneath a full autumn moon
There’s an elaborate masquerade ball
The air is thick with tension like humidity in June

The women wear evening gowns
They’re 18th century, Victorian Style
The men and women dance about the garden
They’re movement are so natural, like boats floating along the Nile

Each mask is unique and gaudy
They sparkle hauntingly in the moonlight
They hide the wearer but brag to the viewer
They sneer in the shadows of the night

They dance a waltz to eerily cheery music
Its daunting notes are muddied in the air as they drift
And the music becomes more and more like a vicious symphony
The tone picks up and then everything sounds desperate

Everyone’s clothes become ratty and ragged
They transform as they dance and then the music stops
Then the people come to a standstill
Simultaneously, all their masks drop

My garish mask and gown remain
I stand alone within the crowd
Their gazes shift from one another to me
Then they all stare me down

The dream ended suddenly as they began to close in
When I woke, I panted and tried to make myself steady
I gathered my breath and tried to be calm
Coming to grips that the dream was just a dream
Then I realized it mirrored my reality
I thought that maybe it was just fear of rejection
Revealing what’s underneath the mask and the layers of fabric
Only to find, there is nobody with acceptation

I’ll never be what you see
That woman is not a woman at all
She isn’t me, for I am hidden
Hidden beneath a battered armor

I wear an armor but I am not a knight, no, not in the slightest
I’ve not been deemed worthy by my king
I’m just a lonely self employed mercenary, I defend only myself
I push all on the outside away from the treasure within

I keep to my own
They say that I’m crazy, they say that I’m insane
I shut out all the sunlight brought to my door
I keep to my routine

I’ll never leave myself defenseless
I defend against any an all possible weapons
I myself am discluded though
For I alone am allowed to tear myself down

By taking on the beliefs of others of the past
I know that I am letting down everyone
I’m letting down all who see and believe the strong armor
And all who see a woman that not one eye could shun

But inside is a woman who cowers as a child does
Who cowers because she is just a prepubescent girl
She is the child who heard every taunt
And now she lives in a constant turmoil

Lonely and hurt
The girl has retreated and remains hidden beneath the exterior
She fears the day that the sunlight will break through
Showing that she is extremely inferior

The sunlight might burn her
Her fear is immense, she draws further back each day
She shrinks herself down to a speck
Me removing my mask means, her, I have betrayed

She hides between two worlds
One of defense, the other, fear
She can’t find a way back out
She has lost herself in there

She is me and I am her
But we are not one
We’re separated by the space between the worlds
But we were both scarred by the internalization

She’s trusted in the mask
I’ve worn it for all these years because of what it does
It protects us from the outside world
I’ve worn it since I learned what judgment was

We are marred by our past
We live in fear of our present
I’m forever protecting what’s behind the mask
And I swallow the pill of each day down like a psychological depressant

An Artistic Tribute to Nella Larsen

I'll never be what you see
I am a transient, a floater
Beneath the sun and the moon
Can you tell that I am but a mask?

Living duel lives but you'll never tell
for I glide unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of the world
You recognize me as a member of your society, an equal,
But beneath my skin, rich culture flows through my veins.

I shine in the light of a life of possibilities
that were not opportunities presented before.
As I pass from the world of the shadows to the world of the free
I am no longer weighed down by the weight of the chains.
Oh, but I am, I am reminded every dawn;
I am reminded that with this choice
there is an active part of me that I must sun;
How can I neglect to see myself?

The eternal internal war rages.
Why must I be forced to choose between
equal parts of myself, between "separate but equal" stages,
both within the same auditorium of my mind?

Who am I but a face among the crowd?
A face labeled by one of two contrasting colors.
How do I explain that I am both in this judgmental town?
Yes. I am both. But neither one dominates the other.
I am not but one dull color.
I am a myriad of brilliance:
A rainbow to be recognized after the rain and the storm;
I am God's apology and promise of the good to come.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

This piece shows creativity in that I write from the perspective of a mixed race woman much like the main character in Passing by Nella Larsen. I find it engaging in that it forces the reader to think about African American history like I intended because I wrote this for a project for my class but I liked it so much I felt I should share it.. This shows growth in that I hadn't written a poem before where I write from the perspective of someone who is another race than my own... I hope nobody takes offense in that.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time,

I used to dream in Storybook rhymes.

That told of a Prince that would come sweep me off my feet

He’d stand under my window and throw rocks for me.

But that’s just it, it was a childhood dream

Those thoughts and feelings are long gone

And just like chess, I became a pawn

In the game of loveless love my parents had played.

I was on the front lines and I suffered the pain.

The front lines: where their weapons were words;

Their words were filled with venom the players felt their opponent deserved

And I sat as a child and merely observed.

And through my sufferings I learned to deal,

By making a way that I would never need to heal.

Once upon a time,

I closed off this heart of mine,

When I learned that there’s no such thing as storybook love,

No such thing as the fairy tales I would dream of.

I kept it secure and in doing so I became distant and lost

But I did it so I would endure, I made a promise to myself, and on my heart I traced a cross.

But Once Upon a Time

I was a little girl

And I lived inside a Beautiful, Stained Glass World.

Once Upon a Time

My Parents were in love

They Lived A Happily Ever After

And said “I Do” under the church rafters

I believed in love at first sight,

Along with unicorns, and fairies and evil dragons in flight.

I remembered to always look for the silver line,

But that was only once upon a time…

Once upon a time, my parents faced a steep Incline with a cliff on their side,

They were ready to jump and forget about me, myself, and I.

If they had the love that I had learned of,

Why were they so ready to give up?

There was supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel

But the dark just kept dragging on.

What was I supposed to do when they wouldn’t live as one?

And they would tell me that they were still in love?

I would learn to live with how my life became what it is today,

I thought the war had come to an end but I realized it still rages within,

Because even though it’s a few years later

I now see I’ve hit the iceberg, and like the Titanic I’ve sank into a frozen danger.

The waters froze my heart over leaving no room for the warmth and love of another.

This leaves me to wish I could return to my once upon a time,

Where everything around me was part of a soft lie

Leading me to believe that everyone’s life story started with the words “Once upon a time…”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

This piece shows creativity in that I relate the feelings a child experiences during a rough and choppy divorce between their parents which creates a custody battle over the child to common knowledge, games, and history which makes it less hard for the audience to sympathize with. I find it engaging in that it rhymes almost as if it is a twisted "storybook rhyme" and that, for this generation especially, it can be very easily related to the reader's life events if their parent had a divorce. This shows growth in that I hadn't written a poem before where I actually said what life event I was writing of; it's not hidden under a veil of ambiguity that is known as an allegory.

Unnamed

I have insecurities, I can’t help it.

They creep and burrow into my brain like rodents

Then they pop up like whack-a-moles

Only I don’t have a hammer to whack them away;

They just appear and then they remain there

A vicious tease and annoyance.

They forced me into a corner of self-doubt and low esteem.

In this corner, the darkness closed in around me:

It was attracted to the negative ions I had exuded

In my solution of suppressive depression

And the salt bridge formed by my overwhelming tears.

How’s that for the perceived lack of chemistry

Especially when it had come to others?

Eventually I found the surrounding darkness had become comforting

It had welcomed me when it seemed no one else would:

I could be left alone there and have no one question me.

I thought I enjoyed my solitude.

She’s hidden herself from all those around her

And nobody’s found her

Nobody’s even tried.

She remains in the dark because nobody’s saved her,

Nor will they ever;

She is the one they have chosen to forget:

To leave without regret.

She’s left in the dark;

She feels without purpose,

She feels worthless.

She is alone.

In the blackness,

She’s completely defenseless

To her thoughts and her emotions,

Her tears formed an ocean.

The ocean surrounded her;

The ocean drowned her;

Then finally she died

Because all who have claimed to love her had left her behind.

Only when I couldn’t take the stress anymore did I go off;

I was a ticking time bomb.

Stress was my biological trigger,

It flowed through my veins waiting for its signal

In its unforeseeable detonation

I blundered ahead into the mountain of books.

I thought I could handle all that had come with the aspirations I had allotted myself.

Then I noticed that I could see myself, alone and weak:

Unable to succeed at anything.

Her thoughts tore into her,

They all saw the “reality” so they concurred:

They saw a weakling girl with scraggly arms

who had no strength to climb up the mountain, she had no zeal.

Nobody saw her because she lacked an aesthetic appeal,

Her “lacks” automatically made you see that she

Could never be anything she wished she could amount to be.

She didn’t have confidence in herself so nobody else ever could

And she never believed that someday someone would.

When somebody finally recognized and loved her

She found the strength she needed to conquer

Everything except the darkness

That hounded her with her state of being worthless.

She tried her hardest to push her way out

But she could not overcome the seething doubt.

I took time away, I just needed to breathe

This only worsened the situation though.

Like a spark thrown into a room full of gas,

Everything blew back in my face and I had no idea what to do.

I cried every night and couldn’t answer simple questions.

I holed myself away in my room and did nothing but despair

In my eternal gloom. But then a light was shed

And it’s lead me to be who I am today

Even though the feeling still comes back to haunt me

I have a release which is what I needed to begin with,

Something to ride me through my fall and lessen the impact it had on my surroundings.

______________________________________________________

This piece shows creativity in that I haven't written a poem before where I've jumped from one perspective to another, both being the speaker and the outsider looking in on the speaker is quite interesting. I find it engaging in that it is disorienting to read the back and forth of the two perspectives which is what I was aiming for. I wanted the reader to be put in a place where they felt confused and needed to go back and run back through what they read in order to better grasp my tone and the overall feelings behind the poem. This shows growth in that I'm using the two separate perspectives to aid the underlying meaning and tone of the piece.