poetry from Type-A-Mom talent show….

on September 26, 2010 in poetry, rhyme, things that have fallen out of barbie's mind.... with 2 comments by
Running into Life

Life smacked me in the face

while I was looking the other way

and he said I should be watching

where I walked.

I should be careful what I say

and the silly games I play

‘cause the ones who never listen

always talk.

I said he didn’t make much sense

and that I’d build myself a fence

so he’d have to get the hell

out of my yard.

He smiled, then he laughed

and he said I was a blast,

then got serious and said,

“Let’s play some cards.”

I thought it was a joke.

I nervously lit a smoke,

then invited him to have

a cup of tea.

But I guess he was no joker

‘cause he dealt a hand of poker

and he said the stakes were going

to be me.

If I win, the world is mine.

There’s no hunger and no crime

and I’ll finally make a living

with my words.

But if I lose then I won’t write

and I’ll never sleep at nite

and whatever my pen bleeds

will be absurd.

When I looked at what he dealt

I couldn’t hide the way I felt

‘cause I figured he could never

beat my straight.

Life didn’t bat an eye

but he sighed a peaceful sigh

and I wondered just how tight he was

with Fate.

Then he said, “Well it’s been fun

but I’m afraid that you are done.”

and I said, “You know it does no good

to bluff.”

He said, “You just don’t understand,

your life cannot be planned.”

And to prove it he laid down

a royal flush.

Then he smiled just a little

and said that every life’s a riddle

and the answer is to follow

where it goes.

Every road has many turns,

it’s not where they lead but what you’ve learned,

and when you succeed it’s only you

who knows.

Current Situation

So I’ve been here awhile

But I’m way out of style

And it seems I will never be vogue.

And my van’s still half-packed,

Old regrets in the back

And mementos of all I called home.

And I sit here and write,

But I’m losing the fight

To be who I thought that I was.

Cause the girl in my eyes

Lost all thoughts of the prize

When she found the one boy she could love.

My dilemma’s quite clear

Where do I go from here?

Should I write something

When nothing is wrong?

And if I really am happy

Will my thoughts come out sappy

Like all of those teeny bop songs?

Will my friends think it’s treason

If I forgo rhyme and reason

And write only of flowers and birds?

Will they think that I’m spun

And my career’s finally done

Or I’ve expended all my favorite words?

Or is that the true sin?

That I may just give in

And speak like a top 40 tune?

If I find that’s the case

Then I’ll crank up the bass

And find a nice mattress-filled room.

So I think that instead

I’ll shove the voice from my head

And write of the truths I believe.

So I guess I should start

I’ll just write form the heart

Of all I have tried to achieve.

Do I lead with my hopes or the fears that I choke?

Do I scream all my secrets and sins?

It all seems so easy

Unless the person you’re pleasing

Is the critic who’s living within.

Should I strike the next line?

Does this voice smack of whine?

Cause I get on my last nerve a lot.

Should I try to bedazzle

With a chaos unraveled?

Obfuscate with some Pynchon-like thoughts

So what do you think

Should I just grab a drink

And fall into a dull drunken void?

Cause I’m more than confusing

And quite less than amusing

And I’m certain you’re getting annoyed.

Should I write of my past?

And how long would that lost?

Would it interest a soul besides me?

Or go back to the attic

And the words much more tragic

And invite you all over for tea?

Where’s the Benchley for my table

And why aren’t my thoughts more stable?

Why is comedy found only in my glass?

And does anybody care

That my words have led me here?

And I landed on my head and not my ass?

Should I finish with a smile

Or commend my lack of style

And tell you that I’m sure I’ll be okay?

Or should I be more honest

That I don’t know how far I got us

And I’m sitting here with nothing else to say.

Life as a Girl.
Lately I’ve been breaking off all over the room,

so if you’re going to visit, you’ll want to bring a broom.

And I guess that I should let you know, I’m a little bit confused,

but I’m sure you won’t be bothered, most people seem amused.

See, sometimes I still see myself as this brilliant, sweet young girl,

until somebody mentions how I look upon the world.

Yeah, jaded is my color now, I must look great in green.

But I’m afraid I’m a little bitter, and I’m scared I’m being mean.

So bring a good strong vacuum with when you want to come on by,

so you can suck up where I’ve broken off while I drink and smoke and cry.

Yeah, it’s fun for everybody, a smashing good old time.

Did I mention that I smash things while I scream and yell and whine?

I can tell just what you’re thinking. How did I end up like this?

And really, more importantly, are you, yourself at risk?

Well I know just how it started. I can pinpoint that sad day,

when a stranger sauntered up to me and I didn’t know what to say.

So I started to get worried, and I pondered and I thought.

I used to know just who I was, but I guess I just forgot.

So I looked for help from others, you know, girls about my age,

I guess I wanted references. Some sort of “woman’ gauge.

And I watched all of their TV. shows and I read all of their books,

and I started to get worried about the way I really looked.

From that point on I lost it. And I tried so fucking hard,

but I’m too poor to be a woman, for new clothes and a perky car.

That’s when I succumbed to all the Pretty People lies,

like I’ll never be truly confident unless I have thinner thighs.

And I questioned what my value was without the perfect dress,

and would I ever get that far with these preteen, tiny breasts?

And who do I go asking then? And why would they ever care?

‘Cause my bible’s name was Cosmo and no one heard my prayers.

I soon tired of the life I led, and the low-cal, fat-free food.

I was sick of my appearance and my weary-broken mood.

I couldn’t listen anymore about why my wardrobe’s wrong,

or that some fantastic makeup will make me beautiful and strong.

Now I’m boycotting the companies who can’t do ads without nude chicks,

do they think that I won’t buy their shoes unless I see a little tit?

I don’t want another sleazy ad by Hardee’s and Diet Coke.

All I’m offered is body work when it’s my engine that is broke.

Why does society do this to their women and their girls?

And what do you do as a rag doll when you live in a Barbie Doll world?

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2 comments

  1. posted on Sep 26, 2010 at 12:42 PM  |  

    I just loved your “Life as a girl” poem! Really resonated with and my fave line was “Cause my bible’s name was Cosmo and no one heard my prayers…” Love that. So true.

    • posted on Sep 26, 2010 at 1:17 PM  |  

      thank you. that was a cathartic poem to write. it was how i felt after being dumped by my boyfriend of five years for a girl he called, “the kind of girl i always wanted but never thought i could get.” i realized my self-esteem was based on trying to be what society expected of me and that most of their criteria was based in the “looks” category. that kind of girl is an unattainable goal….and why the hell should we want to be her anyway? : ) i met so many lovely ladies at the Type-A-Mom conference, and they’re all way better than the cosmo girls.

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