The Happy Pill

He chooses a pill to fill him with the joy
that was lost so long ago.
When she left. She left him sad.
She left because he was already sad.
Well, she didn’t necessarily leave.
More like escaped.
And now he too needs to escape the memory of her.
He falsely remembers being happy.
Happy with her.
If he remembered the truth,
the truth that he was never really happy,
he just may end it all.
He chooses a pill to stay happy.
To remember she too was happy.

To survive.

— The Pretty Platform

Trapped in the Quicksand of Love

Here’s something a bit different. Actually, very different. I’ve been challenging my writing with stabs at… Poetry! I sometimes need to step out of my comfort zone, away from my safety net and this definitely makes me feel both vulnerable and somewhat uncomfortable. I’ll be posting them up regularly. Let me know your thoughts. Be honest (honestly) since like I said, this is supposed to be a challenge. (But if it’s accolades you want to bestow upon me, well, who am I to stop you).

 

Love was your mask.
Bitterness disguised.
Not ever genuine.
Our kinship and bloodline
you compromised, sacrificed.

Love was your hold on me.
Frequently misused and confused.
Your self-appointed power.
A reign you abused.

Suffocated in your excuses.
I was left breathless,
mute, expressionless.
My inner self insignificant.
An outer shell, lifeless
For you to possess.

You never saw me.
You never cared for me.
You used love to guilt me.

I listened to your words.
Read between the lines.
You’d convince her to never birth me
if you could turn back time.
You alone,
to shine in her eyes.

You torture me
for the love you never felt.
You blame me.
You shame me.
You nail me
to the cross
for the life you couldn’t help.

My heart trusted you
gold-plated
served on a platter.
I hoped for you.
She asked me to.
None of it ever mattered.

Now empty and buoyant
Exhausted and depleted
One day I’m to rise above.
Until then I remain static
to avoid drowning
in your quicksand of love.

— The Pretty Platform

Human”Kind”

I freed my mind.
I made myself strong.
A decision many feel is wrong.
Electing my own path.
Despite the daggers and wrath.
All because I did the math.

Wrong with what though?
Not putting their leaders on a throne,
or not feeling they’ve been bestowed?
To not serve your way or not regret?
Or to be an Independent Thinker lest not forget.

So I’m shunned despite being a good mom and loving wife.
A hard worker and loyal friend is how I live my life.
Guiding my children to love and respect,
Because I believe differently; then my worth is stamped REJECT!

I’m told that I’m loved and missed.
That I’m in their hearts and thoughts.
But my address hasn’t changed.
My phone remains same.
I reason I’m the same person,
But to deaf ears my words are lost.

I didn’t lie to a leader, extort from a loved one, or betray a marriage oath.
I didn’t harm a soul.
I didn’t turn my back on a friend.
No justice to me, Whatever they say goes.
Even though they surround themselves with an excess of this,
magnified on overload.

“All of this is pardoned” they profess,
“So as long as you confess”;
“The rule of forgiving up to 77 times”.
But I myself committed NO crime.
Yet you bow your head as you walk by
and can’t look at me in the eye.

So I stand firm despite your opinion on “my kind”.
I set an example to my children that loving kindness has no confines.
It doesn’t start and end with those of like mind,
elitists’ are self-assigned.
We are all of human-kind, which means that in MY book…
No man or woman are left behind.
Extending a simple word or smile on to others is how I like to shine.

My exposed thoughts are never meant to offend.
These words are meant to help others comprehend.
I’ve promised to be open and honest from the start.
That I will no longer pretend.
My worth as a person and woman will no longer be pulled apart.
I advise all to take heart,
and be smart…
There is no shame in an open mind,
and that’s all I have to impart.

— The Pretty Platform

National Poetry Writing Month – Tautogram – Challenge

This is my poem for this months Challenge. This style is called Tautogram. Hope you enjoy and understand my story.

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Tantrums, tasks, troubles.

The toddler twists, turns, tumbles.

Tula too tired to try, the toddler too testy to tame.

Tribulation through these tiny, tiny tirades.

Toiling thoughts.

Tom’s toxic tongue torpedoes teasing toward tearful tot.

Terrible tactless taunts.

Tom’s terrifying touches, Tula tortured.

Twosome tremble. Twosome timorous.

Tula takes time to think, too tough to trust.

Told to tolerate, twin takes tot tonight.

Takes taxi to town, to tavern. Tries tequila, tipsy.

Thoughts transport Tula to terrific time tickling toddler to tranquilize torment;

Turbulent Tears.

Telephones twin to thank, to talk, to theorize.

They trade touching tales taking them to teenage times.

They thirst those times.

They treasure those tidbits; their trimesters; their travels.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, Time’s trauma toughen to tolerate.

Trees, tulips, tasty treats, tarnished!

To twinkle, to thrive; Taken! Tainted!

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– Elke