Woman Composed Entirely of Turmoil

Woman Composed Entirely of Turmoil - Copy

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Words (poem/poetry)

I am very fragile,

Like a trinket from a faraway land.

A trinket can be dropped, shattered, broken.

I can be shattered by a single word spoken.

You would not think it to look at me, would you?

Your words were like a bull in a china shop.

The Milky’s Cart (poetry/pantoum)

She rode on the back of the milky’s cart,

In her green pyjamas and Donald duck slippers,

The horse knew which way to go,

Around the town and back again.

 

In her green pyjamas and Donald duck slippers,

How did the horse know where to go?

Around the town and back again.

To nan and pop’s back gate.

 

How did the horse know where to go?

It had walked the route so many times,

To nan and pop’s back gate,

She thought the horse so clever.

 

It had walked the route so many times,

The horse knew which way to go,

She thought the horse so clever,

She rode on the back of the milky’s cart.

Fraud (poem/poetry)

Shhhhh! don’t tell, but I’m a fraud,

It makes me cringe when some applaud,

And praise me for what I have done,

Are they telling the truth, or just having fun?

‘Oh, poor love, she gave it a try,

So we’ll humour her with a lie.’

 

I look at things that others do,

And lament, ‘I’m not as good as you,’

But still, some see fit to commend,

As though I am on par with them,

It only serves to confuse,

Perhaps it’s all part of their ruse?

 

Imposter Syndrome is far too grand,

For the likes of who I am,

But an imposter is how I feel,

Just a pretender, nothing real,

Don’t use the writer/artist label,

For me ‘cause all I do is dabble.

 

With educated intellectuals,

My poor mind seems ineffectual,

Enlightened ones in all their wisdom,

I look like a cheap imitation,

Surely someone will discover,

The truth about me and tear me asunder.

 

Fake, Phoney, Charlatan, Sham,

Names I too well understand,

I’m just playing at being clever,

I wonder if I will ever,

Believe the compliments that some give me,

Or forever be burdened by this insecurity?

Thorns (poem/poetry)

Prickly, yes,

A good description,

But no plant evolves thorns without good reason,

And so it is with people.

 

Your thorns have grown from your scars,

Battle wounds,

From everyday skirmishes,

That most people have no comprehension of.

 

Wars that only the few have to fight,

From a very early age,

That tear you down before you’ve even begun to grow up,

That define you, if you let them.

 

Some wear their wounds like a badge of honour,

On display for all to see,

A reason to stay stuck, comfortable and familiar,

But not you.

 

You chose to grow,

To fight back and learn from the battles,

To grow around and past the wounds,

Though, naturally, thorns sprung up from them.

 

And the lessons have served you well,

As have the thorns,

Able to embrace every challenge,

While keeping the fear at bay.

 

Prickly? Yes,

A good description,

But a rose cannot blossom,

Without the thorns that protect it.

Inquisitive (poem/poetry)

There are those who chose to live,

Without an inquisitive,

Nature to any degree,

What they don’t believe,

They cannot see.

 

Believe in every religious story,

Believe in myth and allegory,

Never question,

Trust blind faith,

And watch a good mind go to waste.

 

All good scientists scrutinize,

Every notion they theorize,

Careful claiming absolutes,

In their search,

For the truth.

 

I know which is the path for me,

Analyzing all I see,

Open mind and open heart,

Inquisitiveness,

The place to start.