Daily Twitter Writing

There are so many writing prompts on Twitter. I recently discovered the website below to refer to…you can always check out Ariel Poets and use our hashtag #arielpoets on Twitter.

This month”s writing prompt is sadness and madness..

http://micascottikole.com/daily-twitter-writing-events/

Footsteps yet taken

I suppose when you think about someone’s life

and its variables

you can make an equation

as to its sum of all matters.

I am not a pianist, or a mathematician,

I do not even claim to be a writer. I feel

inadequate at the most. When I think my

worst work is my best, I still

close my eyes. I listen to

instrumental music to block

out all lyrics, all of his poems

that keep me grounded. He says

I am everything and nothing

in the same sentence.  I can

turn to dust on all the footsteps

yet taken. Turn around from the

walk on the beach

and enter the snowstorm of the

year. Play you a song you will

never forget. Write you a poem

you will read over again.

Not from a book, or a blog,

but from my heart.

The ones that make you

think more than you ever

wanted to. The poem that

blends into the next.

The one that refers to the

same person you never

forget.

All these paths

lead me to the same

entrance.

Band-aid and Bruises

It is a dream you are selling

to the neediest girl,

about fancy rides in cars

admiring every part of her body

pretending she is the only woman

on earth that matters

besides your wife

and numerous lovers.

All these band-aids and bruises

you cover up your roles

like a thespian.

Tell me have you discarded morality

as much as you profess?

Have you discovered the ego

is the only thing worth stroking?

Have you forsaken even god

to kiss the devil?

I am too old for fancy cars

and precious poets

who claim to

love me from afar.

When I was eight

I covered up my bruises

with band-aids

they healed.

Now they are invisible.

Who can see the cuts now?

Truly not you,

with your line-up of women

at the door

and your presumption

that I like anyone you have ever met before.

I am not even close

to anything you think I am.

I have not been married three times,

I do not have children from different men

I loved.

I do not have a mental illness,

I do not care for the car you drive

or the clothes you wear,

I do not care about the money

and what I have in my life

I cherish

I hold dear.

And what I’ve lost

I hold even closer.

Your tricks do not work with me

so stop trying.

 

Hymns for the Hopeful

I will make this a Hellenistic hymn to all my ancestors

who believed in the twelve Olympian gods. We had to

memorize them in Greek school, learn how to write

them, practice our diction to continue the traditions

of people I never met. We learned that  Zeus and Hera

were the Queen and the King and everyone that came

after did so with intentions to create this world of caves,

darkness, silent roads,  mountains that reach the

sky. I learned to see mirrors in rivers. I was taught that

stories can corrupt my mind into believing myths

as real. So young, even Hercules became my idol and

my hero. Who can compete with the gods? No mere

mortal man could ever win my heart. I wanted the

top of the echelon. I wanted my own Zeus, who created

the world out of chaos. Who else could tame my soul?

All these hymns for the hopeful left me breathless

for such intrigue and adventure, not even Aphrodite

could have the visions of beauty I imagined. She

took hold of my body and showed  me how to dream

the imaginable. Could you see how I became another

person in my mind, the one that spoke to Goddesses

in Ancient Greek and touched the sky with her

fingertips? Artemis guided me to the moon, to hunt

for my solitude, to hide from all the demons claiming

to be on my side. I learned about deception, betrayal,

brotherhood and sisterhood through the ancient ways

and much like others I became invisible. People mocked

me, sold their adventures to me as golden tickets. All

these leaps, I have taken for no one but my ancient

soul that saw the constellations up close from a

chariot in the sky, along with eleven other friends.

 

Let’s Welcome Back Humility 

Your ego needs a break

stop staring in the mirror

and taking all those selfies

for strangers. your wardrobe is

stale, humidity can be seen

on your clothes. your hands

need pens instead of those 

fake diamond rings.

check your narcissism 

at the bar of outdated dreams

writing is an amazing escape

not a word

to the neighbours

who pretend to not read your status.

please stop telling us where you ate

and how beautiful your lie is

your gray is showing

and your husband is too sweet

for your wicked party ways.

I was raised with more heart

than glamour

mended socks

home-made meals

opera singers 

so let’s welcome back

humility,

it missed you

while you were 

taking another selfie.

  

mental blocks

How do I flee?

tell me  how to get rid of

mental blocks

show me how to stop

the voices

trust me when i say

i want you

to curse me

prepare my will

for all these walls

keep me locked inside

myself.

every time i want to escape from you

you bring me back

clean the snow off my car

let go of the facade

and i can complain

about mental blocks

come here, you say, i’ll show you

exactly how to get rid of them…

but you never realize that

these blocks keep me sane

to stop the intruders

from sucking my soul

and fucking up my brain.