Perfect

Imagine for a minute that you are perfect.

No flaws stain you.
No promises are broken.
No syllables scathe.
No words are untrue.
No hair is out of place.
No thought is out of place.
No temper is flared.
No mistake you make.

I have dreamt of being perfect.
I have whittled away myself,
I have stretched myself thin.
I have screamed in my head,
I have leaked tears
seeking how to be perfect.

One neat stroke without a smudge.
I can’t find it on myself.
One pure thought without a temptation.
I can’t find it in myself.
One smooth path without a roadblock.
I can’t find it by myself.

So I imagine.
I design.
I create.

Submerged in fantasy,
I am no longer my tormented soul.
Fusing into another form,
I become scripted.

Granting myself everything I want,
Removing myself from anything I don’t.

Erase one slip-up,
Backspace one move.

Haven’t you felt the same?
Didn’t you ever wonder?
Don’t you ever pretend?

I never dared question
What defined perfect.
I guess I don’t still,
If I’m still tied up
In my warped visions.

Too consumed,
You will not see me anymore.
You will carry on without knowing.
Falling back,
I am swallowed by my shame.
I have no idea what I am.

If only you could make me believe otherwise.
But whoever could?
I will remain mute,
Deceiving,
For anyone who even cares to know.

I traversed one road
for far too long.
Turning around
is pointless.
This whole quest for perfection
is pointless.

And yet I keep walking it,
slowly
leaving
sanity
behind.

Perfect.

NaPoWriMo 2017 is upon us!

Yikes! I can’t believe how the time flies (I’ll probably continue to repeat this for the rest of eternity. March just started yesterday, I swear!)

NaPoWriMo is already almost here–in less than a week!

its-happening-bridesmaid-gif-17478.gif

National Poetry Writing Month occurs in the month of April every year. The goal is to write one poem a day for all 30 days.

This will be my third year as a participant, but I’m not sure how consistent of a participant I’ll be this year. With three AP exams to study for in April, it’ll be a heck of a lot. But we’ll see. Poetry usually helps calm the nerves. Anyway, allow me to drown you in links before April 1st hits!

NaPo 2015

Read my somewhat cringe-worthy poems of 2015 here.

NaPo 2016

Read my somewhat improved poems of 2016 here.

NaPo Tip Thursdays (2016)

Last year, I wrote a few posts on ways you can prepare for and succeed in NaPo! Read them here, here and here.

Please let me know if you’re participating below in the comment section. I love to keep tabs on my fellow poeting friends to see what they write. Everybody is always so talented. National Poetry Writing Month is a very special event for me. It’s the reason I started this blog! I saw on the site when I first learned of the event that you could submit your own website/blog to count as a ‘participant.’ Well, I wanted to be officially counted as a participant (even though it didn’t matter LOL), so I created this blog!

I am looking forward to the daily prompts the NaPo site provides, and learning new poetry styles and developing my skills. Always love this time of year ❤

Pax in Christo,

Grace

Designs

The whispers of your eyelashes,
The dalliance of our eyes,

the brush of your tongue
that paints words in my ears
they were droplets of lies.

The ocean of your hands,
the timber of your arms,

The steady drum of the rain,
in time with your heart,
spoke volumes in the dark.

The milk of your skin,
The strawberries of your hair,

The rocks of your syllables,
smooth on the surface,
sharp in your swears.

You’re next to me,
then you’re not.

You’re here,
then you’re gone.

In the deepest of lows,
I slide my eyelids shut,
and your head is beside mine.

When I turn to see you,
my hands reaching for yours,
no response awakes me with a tine.

For then I remember,
tears gently spilling down my face
you never existed in the first place.

Identity ‘Christ’us

Life is not easy, as crosses are not light
backbreaking, mandating, troublesome with smite.
these torrents of tears, these shaking of shoulders,
each intensified by fears, that grow as I grow older.

But relinquished are they, when I fasten my eyes,
to the King of the World, who knew what it was like,
to be all alone, to feel alienation,
who ate with those who believed
they deserved damnation.

He extended His arms, when He took His last breath,
And into those arms I fall, when I cannot stand.
Climbing this mountain with doubt and my song,
tripping on temptation, and tumbling down when I’m wrong

I will bounce back again, and lift my eyes to Him
above the waving of fists
and the pointed blades of questions,
I will discard these heavy blankets
that have muffled my voice.

St. Therese once said of her little way
that when I set foot on these stairs
it is then the Lord will carry me.

You can try to pummel my spirits
with your deterrent disposition.
Even if you claim it is fueled
by prayerful intuition.
I will not waver,
And yet I will still listen.

For I know who I am,
and I know to Whom I belong:

My Lord and
My Savior.

No matter how many times
you tell me I’m wrong.

These Facades

look, my friend.
these facades
these shimmering,
glossy facades.
these glittering,
jeweled facades.
they may wrap around
your mottled spirit,
thick and unyielding.

they may dupe me.
they may provoke me.
these dazzling,
shiny facades.
they may catch me
off guard, streak me
with envy.
they may trick me at first,
poison my thinking.

they pour toxins in me,
mixed with unsavory thoughts.

but these facades show me:
some people are still
trapped in the gilded age.

an invisible standard is
the lengths you go,
the backbreaking lengths
you go.

But why?
Is admittance so locked up
behind thinly painted lips,
it cannot intrude?

look, my friend.
these facades know me,
and I can see right through them.

Take Me Back

take me back to the time where freedom had one meaning,
where the scope with which I looked through was not
shrunken by falsities or beaten down by enmities-

take me back to when we did not have to fear
stepping on shards of glass and pointed steel
where the world was blanketed with soft meadows.

time was but a word, and you were but my friend.
we would sing together in harmony,
but now they tell us homonymy.

they took two sides of fabric we conjoined
and they slowly broke each stitch. Now
we are two colors again, instead of one.

take me back to the time where my tears
were of joy. where my cries were of
happiness. where my heart swelled
because it was filled with love.

not this.
not this.
not where we question everything said
now where suspicion is the thief
that slithers between us
and snatches our words and
wrenches them and pounds them
into foreign voices.

take me back to the time
where I knew you
and you knew me.

and the things they attempted to seed in our minds,
were plastic adages we knew to discard.

Reminders

Remember to complete your homework,
Remember to brush your teeth.
Remember to clean your room.

Remember to open the door for people.
Remember to give strangers a smile,
Remember to shake hands and offer hugs.

Remember to voice your ideas,
Remember to understand other positions.
Remember to stand your ground and rise above.

Remember that you are imperfect;
Remember that everyone else is, too.
Remember that mistakes should be forgiven.

Remember to chase your dreams,
But remember to ground yourself in reality.
Remember to ask for help.

potissimum:

Don’t lose sight of who you are.
Don’t forget Who made you.
Don’t forget Who you belong to.

Where?

where do you plan to go
with a heart breaking?
sitting surrounded by social chatter
and you’re the only trying not to cry.

isn’t it interesting, love,
that you can put on the brightest face,
eyes glowing like a soft sunset,
words carved so neatly into conversation?

yet within you are screaming,
breaking apart,
shattering,
millions of shards
millions of wounds.

How do you do it?
How do you play us?
You plunge deeper,

isolation is a synonym to your name
hands reach to you,
but they don’t reach for you.
They move past you, to someone else.
You were only a second’s thought.

Don’t try to pretend you’re in some movie;
you’re no underdog protagonist, you’re just an extra.
Where there is loneliness, there is hope
that someone is looking at you, noticing you.
But nobody breaks from their bubbles,
to pay even a glance.

Where do you plan to go?

You don’t know.

And so the pain intensifies,
as you produce a harder laugh
to secure your current role.

anakainoo

Anakainoo means “renew” or “change” in Greek. (also not sure about this poem, eek!)


she craved their eyes,
every action was followed
with a hint of hope
they saw her.

she craved their words,
every sentence was followed
with a trace of hope
they would talk to her.

each day would be
another test,
another question,
but not once did she
receive the answer she wanted.

what did she really want?
it would begin to gnaw at her,
and transform into something
more terrifying than their
attention.

it would send her to her knees,
it would force her to open her eyes.
hands of fear gripping her heart
until it beat so fast;
the sweat of guilt sliding down her face.

it would squeeze fresh tears down her cheeks,
choke cries of help from her lungs.
what she swore to never do scared her,
as it stared her in the face.

these constant scars made her realize,
that the emptiness burning inside,
wasn’t meant to be filled this way.

opening her mouth so a song could filter forth,
she asked Him to take herself and mold her;
giving herself as the clay, trusting Him
to be the potter.

He humbled her heart,
He dissolved her vanity,

He cleansed her soul,
and rose her from the ashes.

And most importantly,
with a peace so sweeping
He showed her whose eyes
she should really be craving.