Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide

Jimmy Cricket must have been busy perusing the job ads when you waltzed into the candy store. Mom was busy pushing the cart toward the checkout. The smell of the peppermint dancing in your lungs. Price of the peppermint was 20 cents. Jingle, jingle in her little coin purse. Only 5 cents. While mom was distracted, you put the peppermint in your fuzzy pocket and run out of the store.

As you leave the store mom notices you have the candy. Busted! Tear streaked faced as mom drags you kicking and screaming back into the store to apologize. Then the guilt is poured on like molasses.

Maybe it is bitterness or seasoned experience that causes me to doubt any story that is presented to me. My cynical side has witnessed it all.

I remember when I was younger my sister was running around in the living room in a pink jacket. My dad was trying to take a nap and was annoyed. Half groggy he seen a pink flash. My sister knowing of the impending spanking threw the pink coat on my little brother. Dad, full of anger took my brother and whooped him hard. It didn’t pay off for her as soon as dad realized what really happened she was punished.

This past week has been filled with dishonesty in all shapes and forms. From the call I received asking for the model number on the office fax machine to the man wondering around pretending he ‘ran out of gas’ and needed money. To family members that burn each other continuously. Sadly, even my husband has been caught in a string of whoppers. Maybe I’m too nice to confront the liars, terrified of some retaliation or afraid of the awful truth.

Who am I to complain? I go into the 10 items or less lane with 20 items. I tell my professor my homework was left at home, knowing full well it wasn’t done. When I worked as a cashier I called in sick but I really was hung over.

The lies or truth have a way of biting us in the butt. A few months ago I took my kids to Old Country Buffet. I told the cashier they kids were younger to get a discount. My kids decided to point out the lie and yell “That’s not my age!” I felt exposed and humiliated. Ashamed of myself that I would ask my kids to be dishonest.

The world would be a better place if everyone had Pinocchio syndrome. Or at least a green BFF in a top hat with the battle cry “let your conscience be your guide.”

If only the people around the world would feel guilty like that day in the candy store. Is that temporary sweet reward really worth the crime?

Collection of Poems I wrote

 Inside Out 

Bruised ego
from the hits inflicted
you still have the sore
The sounds of the names yelled
Hurts you just as much as before

I know a secret is not well hidden
The writings on your face
Don’t let people tell you
The feelings you have are forbidden
There is no time for that type of hate

Its got to take a lot of courage
To be the one to step out of hiding
I used to think your were only confused
But then I was just denying

You are an inspiration
This bravery astonishes me
There is no doubt

You are still human
Inside out.

To Be With Me
 Believe in me
When truth is too frosted to see
Measure goodness by soul
Not by appearances that deceive
Even if near drowning
Would you rage against the storm?
If only for a chance to touch my hand
Through tornados that form
Spits you out onto wet sand

When you put my needs before your own
Then my heart will come home
Then I could be yours

I have drawn the shades up
Leaving mere resonant of past
Don’t dwell on you’re sadness
The blues won’t last

When you can say you love me unconditionally
And keep my name in your heart faithfully
Then I could be yours

This heart
Banged up, bandaged
Still has blood coursing through it
Flowing like a lake

This heart longs to be
With someone who aches
To be with me.

  From a womb
Like shelter of a cocoon
Supposedly you bloom
Though life you have tried to break free
Only to be imprisoned spiritually
Vibrant colors need to come alive
Instead of dark forces that keep you locked inside
Oh butterfly
With wings that have not yet formed
Rise above the cruelty
That makes you thoughts deform
Too chocked up to pin point the reason why
Only you know the way to fly

It’s a scary world out there
Instead of emerging
With wings swimming in air
Sticky substance keeps those wings from flying
Angry words always spoken
You have the courage to be all that you can
When wings are broken
Wait awhile and the pain will mend
Butterfly, then you will ascend.

Listen to the Heart
The heart
An exuberant vessel
Speaks in beating rhythmus
Slower then faster
Through time it molds
Into ever changing forms
Emotions once thought to be lost forever
Springs to life then surrenders
I should try to listen to my own heart sometime
Analyzing what it is trying to convey
But I can be stubborn as a mule at times
This heart is no ordinary organ anyway
Extraordinary, but I find myself taking it for granted again
It pounds so loudly to capture my attention
Only for a split second I pause to listen
Then the thought drifts away.

Over Zealous Ruler
On an over elaborate throne you reside
A wreath of leaves circles the jeweled crown
Why isn’t there a queen by your side?
Ambiguous ruler, you try to dictate the town
Yet you will never dictate me
Lavish estate filled with fearful servants to do your bidding
You’re cankerous ways makes townspeople flee
No one in line to kiss your ring, no women in line wanting you’re romancing
On a high horse you sit up right at the grand parade
I throw sharp rocks and sticks your way
Rose-colored glasses block your view of your real fame
Although you may be king in your own head,
Nobody made you judge, jury and executioner in this town of dread
I’d much prefer to marry a common man then to be stuck next to you
I await for your evil rein to be overturned.

Rainy Afternoon
A drop of rain cascades from the sky
As if a teardrop
Dripping sorrow from my eyes
Crack of thunder pops
Skipped my heart into irregular beats
The gray overcast
Fills the sky
With lingered pasts
That repeats itself sometimes
Storms violent, winds harsh
Thrash against my door
Fool I am for answering the knock
It was pity waiting at the door.

My Admirer
Wheels spin round in your mind
Then rusted, they stop at one thought
And make it a wondrous find
How appealing it must be
To hold on tight to love sought
Time after time
But your love is not returned
Images of her glow like starlight
Never mind her innocence is tarnished
In reality her elegance couldn’t light this night
Anymore than you could make it as bright.

 Love's Blush
Love’s Blush
On my cheek
Sensual touch on rosy lips
I crush
The melody of your name, the heart skips a beat
Oh, I’ve been floating over the skyline ever since
Anticipating the trumpets to sound
Upon hearing your name over and over again called
In your absence
I still feel love’s blush present
I crush.

Pieces of You
Alone, but it’s not the way I choose
Thinking of an excuse to call you
But I know that it wouldn’t be playing by the rules
Could you sneak away for a minute?
I know we would end up paying for it
And both of us would be lonely again

Every night I dream of kissing you
And that’s all I have wanted to do
But I know your heart belongs to another
Dividing your life between us two
You break each time for one or the other
All I end up with are pieces of you

If only your heart would beat only for me
If only one look in my eyes would sparkle a gleam
I need you in my world right now
Please don’t leave me
I’d rather see beautiful colors then live in blue
I want it all instead of pieces of you.

Spoon Fed
Silver spoon fed, sleeping in your golden bed
Life is so damn good to you

Don’t you know how it is to live in this pain?
You don’t care as long as nothing ruins your fame
Oh high roller, you are so spoiled inside your over sized head
Does it hurt when thoughts of goodness are now gone and dead?

Poor thing, money is no problem as long as you got your youth
It’s a damn pity all the crisis’s you go through
Just try to walk a mile in my shoes
Try to climb those mountains that kiss the extending sky
Ride those long roads, as another opportunity passes by

Live for a day
Cry for today
Let the joyous music play
Because when you’re gone
 Tomorrow doesn’t mean as much as today.

Funny how time flies by
Years pass in a blink of an eye
As they go by
I want you to be always by my side
My love is a circle that has no end
Sister, you’re my best friend

We are years apart
But not in my heart
Amazed at the young lady that you are
I see I’ve done my part
Everyday till the end
Sister, you’re my best friend

As we travel down the road
My respect for you continues to grow
I’ll be there for if you’re broken heart needs a mend
If you are lonely and need a friend
You are the best thing in life for me
A sister that’s a friend, you will always be
My best friend.

Mr. Fake Personality
Fake Personality
Not in the realm of reality
Fake Personality
You don’t know what you are headed for

Games you play in others’ heads
Leaves them down and sad
Just flash that deceptive smile
And they’ll have believed everything you said

Oh you are a slick one
Knock down anyone
To get what you desire

Playing with hearts and minds
This time you will find
You’re playing with fire

Fake Personality
Inhaling your last breath of sanity
Fake Personality
Never changed from what you were before

Just about everyone hates you down to your core
When someone calls you their grievances
Out come Oscar winning performances
And you get away with murder once more

One day it’ll all fall back on you
The lies told become unglued
And you’ll be exposed as a liar
Oh you’re a slick one
Knock down anyone
But now you’re playing with fire.

Click, click, click
Eye brow sweating, veins twitching
Fingers rapidly shifting
Body glued to the seat
Snug in bed loved ones you should be missing
The gleam of the screen, smell of deceit
Must be intoxicating
Tick, Tick, Tick
Repetitive eye movements
Clock hands becoming invisible
Secrecy replaces intimate moments
Take in everything
Learning nothing
Click, click, click.


Let me think
Ponder here for a moment or two
Your presence here has frozen my tongue
Up to my knees in love’s quicksand, I sink
Is your heart racing to?
With one look in my eyes, I come undone
My words unintelligent
Face a shade of crimson
Clumsy but not for you enjoyment
Why can’t I be smooth like those other women?

Your voice
Soothing and lush
Like the sound of an angel’s call
Only I have the choice
To confess my crush
Or risk my inevitable fall
I go in circles unable to follow through
Contemplating telling you, at the brink
Let me think
Ponder here a moment or two.

My Life as a Soap Opera

Erica Kane has it easy. Of course she is a fictional soap character on “All My Children,” but her life of cliff hangers, love affairs and tragedy is more exciting than mine. Why it is that life and soap operas collide at times?

Me, I’m a plain Jane trying to get by. I don’t meddle in my friends’ lives. But between my own family and in laws, sometimes high drama becomes a sudsy entertainment for everyone to watch unfold.

I’m no Jennifer Aniston or Reese Witherspoon. Little do people know I’m actually a rather boring character. My character would likely get killed off by a microchip implanted in my brain or remarry my long lost love after much endurance.

By day I answer phones, and the most exciting thing that happens to me in my job as a receptionist, is when I get a prank call. On my desk are piles of papers. No champagne chilling; just a regular cup of java. Sometimes I spice it up by adding a half cappuccino. Wow, what a rebel. There are no fancy martini glasses or suave men in silk suits hanging on my every word.

When I go home, I kick off the heels, and put on my ugly sweats—the one you wear at an all you can eat buffet. Admit it, everyone does it.

My hair is almost always pulled in a messy ponytail. My bedspread is not made of fine silk ruffles or chenille. The bedspread is a tattered old comforter.

Where Erica Kane would have a full bar with exotic liquors, I bide my time guzzling back a diet coke. When I want to get down and funky I might drink a glass of boxed wine. Erica would be so proud.

I don’t attend glitzy balls or fancy parties. Some Fridays I might go to a local bar and hang with friends. Most often I’m watching my prized Sex and the City collection with my husband.

To listen to some folks, though, you’d think I was living in Pine Valley with my fourth millionaire husband. Obviously, they’re not paying attention.

Whatever the case may be, life is not a soap opera. I spend my days trying do the best job I can at everything I do—work, grad school, friendships. I have never performed brain surgery in a cave on a deserted island or rescued my father from a busty blond gold digger.

Unlike characters on a soap opera, we don’t come back from the dead when our contract is renewed, or come back as a long lost identical twin with amnesia. I have a twin brother, so unless he wears a wig, this won’t be happening.

We have one chance to make our lives worthwhile. Let’s spend it building each other up and making ourselves and others happy. Let’s not move to Pine Valley just yet. Erica has plenty of future bridesmaids at her fingertips.

New York

Jagged buildings crowd under Manhattan sky

Blurry splashes of moving colors whizzing by

Rushing movement of people scattered along the subway line

Pulsating sounds scramble the focused mind

Constant lights blinking, throbbing eyes

Sounds of the city, jolts the heart alive.

Have a Little Faith

Maybe I’m gullible. Perhaps while I’m often cynical and think the worst, I can also believe the best in others. I’ve seen a lot of bad things go down and truthfully have done things I’m not proud of.  I’ve portrayed the villain and damsel in distress so often I could have won an Oscar a million times.  There have been times I’ve been lied to and it felt like I was stabbed in the back. Quite honestly on more than one occasion I was the one holding the knife.

Older and wiser, I know I have matured. The grays in my hair are proof that I am not a mere child anymore. Having been the one with the ‘pants on fire’ I grasp the horrid feeling of being lied to. I teach my children honesty is the best policy. Could it be my difficult upbringing has made me believe in hard work? The little that I own, I worked for.  I can’t stand rationale some people have for doing wrong deeds. For example a person who steals food because they are hungry.  A person who robs a bank because he/she needs the money to pay a bill. What infuriates me the most are people who murder others for their clothing, cars, and lovers.  There is always another option.  There is always another way.  Having come from nothing, I would never take from others. I certainly don’t want my kids to be dishonest.

What is most hurtful is when you trust someone unconditionally and the trust is betrayed. It is one thing for a stranger to do dishonest things but when it comes from someone close it feels like that knife is twisting.
When I care for someone I will have their back no matter what. Unless proven otherwise. Foolishly or full heartedly I trust completely. Even if all the arrows seem to point in one direction, I think there has to be another way. There has to be some other reason for the situation. Maybe it is childish and stupid to assume someone I care for couldn’t possibly be guilty of some wrong doing.

My brothers and sisters had parents who would set traps to get the truth. My parents give just enough rope to hang ourselves. Strangely we would bust ourselves out. A trail of cookie crumbs leading to a bed or dirty hand prints on the broken vase. My husband and I use the same strategy on our kids. The way things are today there is less of a trail that can be left to identify the guilty one.

No one likes to have something (an object, money, food) taken from them.  When my husband and I were first married our laptop and palm pilot was stolen from our hotel room. Those things can be replaced.  It is really painful when it is special to them that cannot be replaced. Sometimes things are just misplaced. One time in high school I wore a necklace that was my late grandma’s.  For safe keeping I put it in my purse. I put the purse down to help with the special education class. In a blink of an eye the purse was gone! I was so upset and furious someone would steal my purse. Years later while working at the local Target store and man came up to me. I guess he worked at my high school as a janitor and remembered me. He said had my purse in lost and found this whole time!  He gave me the purse. I thought for sure it was stripped. The five dollar bill was still in there, a note from a friend and my grandma’s jewelry!

The best thing people can do is be honest and try to do the right thing. I know it is corny and ‘Barney’ like to sternly say that honesty is the best policy.  Everyone makes mistakes. That is part of life. It is how we learn from those mistakes that make us who we are.

The Secretary

The mousy secretary sits behind a desk. Smudged glasses slip down the nose. Paper and files accumulate on the desk. Brown strands of hair brushed in a messy bun.  Rows of cubicles, feels like an endless maze of walls. Gossipy colleagues behaving like high school students.  Warm brown eyes are strained by the constant gleam of the screen.  There has to be more than just a tiring sequence of typing and printing.

 The constant clicking of the keys, hypnotizes the mind into a zombie like state. The ring of the phone snaps the brain out of the boring and draining situation. The only thing to get through the dull eight hours is to allow a quick escape in a form of a daydream. Perhaps there could be a great job opportunity or a winning lottery ticket. The secretary is more than fuzzy sweaters and a soft voice. She is educated and creative. She is strong and vibrant underneath the meekness and timid nature.

There is so much color under the plain baggy clothes. All this energy trapped within the confines of the cube. One day those walls that hold her back will come crashing down. There will be no more constant clock watching and the sounds of keys clicking away. She will still be someone with smudgy glasses but at least not hidden behind a cluttered desk.

The End

When the end is near
What appears?
Is there a brilliant light
That takes over taste, sound and sight?
Unique souls to represent who we are
Is God up in the sky or is he really that far
So many questions that won’t be answered
Until the end is near
A felt presence, of loved ones who have passed before
Sickness and pain fade, life’s restrictions are no more
Nothing left to fear
When the end is here..

Labels Don't Stick

I once found a can of food buried in my pantry. It was dusty and expired a year earlier.  The label was completely torn off. I had no idea what was in that can of food. My only thought was that it was old and should be discarded. A bout of braveness took over and the can was opened. Needless to say it was a slimy and green version of what I want to say was peaches?

Yes, I’m going to compare people to expired cans of food. People don’t stay the same. The marks of life show in dings and dents, displayed on the surface.  I’m not the same person I was years ago.  I’d like to hope somewhere in the span of time my personality has evolved into something more positive. It is unfair to stamp someone a certain way because of how they were when growing up. I’m guilty of labeling people I’ve dealt with based on perceptions of the past.

 I remember this mean girl from high school choir. I made the mistake of being funny and making a goofy face in a picture. She called me out in front of the class and said I was ugly. I went home in tears.  I wrote her off as a cruel bitch. The end of the year before our graduation she came up to me and apologized and said I wasn’t ugly. I wonder what made her see the error of her way.  Maybe the choir teacher put her in her place. Possibly she realized she hurt my feelings? I’m sure she would have been hurt if she heard me say she looked like she hit a few ugly branches on the ugly tree.  Fast forward a decade and she is hopefully a responsible member of society. Perhaps she learned that words hurt people.  Labels hurt people.

I’m not including degenerates in this argument. Rehabilitation is a debacle for another time. How many times has it been said so and so was a brat or horrid as a child/teen? Does this indicate they will always and forever be that way? My husband, I’ve been told was a bit of a handful back in the day. From the stories told he had a quick temper and was a bit of a jerk. Today he is a loving father and husband. He treats me with respect and tells me he loves me every day. He works hard and is good at his job. He has never treated me as if I’m just a ‘step’ parent. To my husband and kids I’m “Mom #2.” To some from his past he is still that nasty 16 year old guy. I would assume after 4 years of marriage red flags would be waved if something was amiss. It is unfair to say people haven’t changed at all.

What really upsets me is to say a person is just like their parent or brother or sister.  As far as I can tell I’m not an exact carbon copy of my mother or father. My father is into learning different languages and cooking ethnic foods. None of my siblings are into these things. Don’t get me started on the grossness that is banana fritters. My mom is very artistic (drawing). Majority of my family excels in art. I can’t even make a stick person correctly. :( Do I have some personality traits as my parents? Of course I do! I’m timid like my mom and impatient like my dad.

I think my son and daughter are very smart and thoughtful. I don’t focus solely on negative aspects (my son can be a crabby or my daughter can be ultra moody). Some of that goes with the territory of being a teen.  I refuse to state kids are spitting images of their parents. Why on earth would you unload an expectation or death sentence on a child? If every human being was a total clone of their parents (when they were younger) the world would be in some trouble.

The funny thing about actual labels is that they come off with some work. There is generally some resistance because it wants to stay stuck like glue. Tugging and peeling it takes some time and effort to remove it.  After the sticky paper is bunched up on the ground there may be some resonates left on the item.  Perhaps you just put a label over the old one. That is how life works. There will always be a reminder of who we were, but there is room to display who we will become.

How to Be a Hidden Jerk

Amazing how the smallest slight/inconsiderate moment can regress the age back to decades ago.  I wouldn’t mind being younger when it was just as simple to hang up the phone.  Is it possible to remember a time when the offender could just be avoided at school? If it was siblings who did the slighting it was easy to nark on them to mom. Today’s culture would include deleting a friend on Facebook or snotty emails, texts and social network postings. What happened to the good ole days when a person could talk smack in the cafeteria or on the bus? When busted you could come clean and apologize or just say fake amnesia. Now the evidence is all over the internet and cell phones.
I know it would be far more mature to confront the guilty individual(s). The truth is everyone hides behind technology in some way. The current situation is that in order to jab back there has to be some creativity involved.
  1. Keep them guessing. Post a statement that is gender neutral. “They make me so angry.” People will most likely respond with “who?!” Don’t mention names. Rookie mistake. Plus it can come back to haunt you.
  2. A hidden meaning quote.  Here is an example “There is no pillow so soft as a clear conscience.”  ~French Proverb. The person who ticked you off will probably just ‘like’ it. I have yet to have a person ask who or what a quote was supposed to be about. Using a quote will allow venting and less damaging. What I see is often is song lyrics. Same diff.
  3. Use code names/words/gestures. When I text I’ll usually refer to someone only by a nickname. Some nicknames I frequently use for certain people are beast, dust, scary, wench, and the boy.  I have nicer code names/words too. My daughter is Mega Mia or M&M. My son and I have a funny thing where I flip my pinky finger and he does a fist bump (from the show ‘Friends’). Using codes protects you if your texts are read or shown to other people. Mostly so you can freely have a conversation without getting in trouble.  I know you are wondering who has what nickname. See title for rule #1.
I wish technology wasn’t so advanced that there needs to be well thought out guises. This is the reality of the world we live. When I’m upset I write little stories or poems. Maybe one day retro phones and hand written notes will make a comeback. Until then I’ll just bide my time hiding behind my blog.

Headless Hero (Updated)

During childhood unconditional love is learned and accepted. From a relative, a pet or a beloved toy that is cherished almost like a family member. For me, it was Teela, Master’s of the Universe figure/doll.

 I adored her auburn hair secured in a bun on top of her head. The smooth of her back felt nice on my hand and her lean arms. A golden edged swimsuit like uniform was the only wardrobe for her.

I made her kick Skelator's ass in one assisted move. She didn’t take guff from a yellow toned Evil-Lynn who appeared to be nursing a bad case of jaundice.

Teela harbored a secret crush on He-Man who was actively pursued by Frosta and Sweet Bee.

 Teela was a tough ‘super hero.’ Hours were spent watching He-Man cartoons to see her antics and ballsy moves to protect the sometimes feminine Prince Adam. She was bad ass, something as a youngster I aspired to be. Still aspire to be. 

Most super heroes pretend they don’t have negative aspects about themselves. They mask it away with cool aliases and hearts of gold. There are Clark Kent and Peter Parker who with a blink of an eye turn into flawless creatures.

Like most real life heroes Teela had character faults. She was quick tempered, high strong and bossy. In the real world people can fall from grace. There are no silky spider webs to catch that tragic fall.

Embarrassingly I found out the hard way Teela wasn’t unbreakable. One boring afternoon I had a curious thought. I wondered how Teela’s head was put on her body. I didn’t think of the consequences of my actions, like real life people sometimes don’t do.

I twisted and turned her head still unsure how it was staying intact. The morbid experiment should have ended there. Poor brave and beautiful Teela. I decapitated her. With one evil swoop I popped her head right off.

Stunned I realized with horror what I did. There was her head clutched in my tiny hand. 

God knows I tried putting her back together in an emergency operation. I enlisted no help from my brothers and sisters. I would never hear the end of it. Elmer’s Glue, tape, a cast made of wet toilet paper were some of the medical procedures I attempted.

The surgery wasn’t successful.

I did my best to make her comfortable in her new state of being. I made her a bed, aka a soap dish and a piece of soft tissue for covers.

One day at Shakey’s Pizza I lost her head. Add insult to injury my brothers and sisters made fun of me. 

I mourned my hero and best toy. There was a humiliating denial period where I walked around with a headless Teela.

Finally one day I lost the rest of her (I suspect my mom tossed her away when I wasn’t looking).

The point of this story is that no one is without faults and incapable of hurting. The best heroes admit when they are wrong and work hard to get what they want.

 No bug bite or chemical plant disturbance can switch a person into a hero. It is how we deal with life that makes heroes in the gleaming eyes of others.

Case of the Butt Kissers

The air smelled like cherry scented chap stick. Lips like their personality, raw and cracked. I pondered if all that butt kissing caused them to lose all ability to think for themselves.

Watching them at times was entertaining. Copying moves and reactions to fit each others moods. Always thought there was some defect within myself.

More mature and educated I often ignored all the obvious disrespect. How depressing it must be to live for everyone else and not yourself. I know a person shouldn't judge but I've been that mile and half in their shoes.

My feet and my heart, battered and sore. I beg for no more of the fake pleasantries. So maxed out and hit the limit ages ago.

It was confessed that I'm too quiet and don't speak up.

Wait a minute, objection!

A shrinking violet I am not!

When I have to be I can be bold and fierce. Don't let my usual solitude fool you. As for the butt kissers they resort to being unruly and self involved.

Unless there is a prize or some gain dangled in front of them. It excites and tantalizes them. There is no need to be obnoxiously loud. Actions speak louder than words. I hear the dismissing of me loud and clear.

Allegedly to them I'm stuck up, reserved and have no personality.

 Truthfully, I'd rather be those things then childish, jealous and petty. How clever they are to paint themselves as the victims. The phony tears and breakdowns are reality television worthy.

Everything they touch has red hand printed stains on it. Any great detective could see right through the facade.

My lawyer encouraged me to let it go and just pretend as if nothing happened.

That is the butt kissers mindset. Act like nothing has changed and everyone is in the same position, standing and ranking that they have always been.

I attempted to argue my case. Everything changes and nothing can ever stay exactly the same.

 A hush came over the jury.

A character witness reported that I am sweet, creative and caring. If given at least half a chance they could have witnessed this themselves.

Sadly they are guilty of being too far up each others.. well judge, you get the general idea. 

I rest my case.

The Tattered Diploma

My college diploma sits on my computer desk. Collecting dust. I should clean it off and frame it. It just stays trapped in that tattered brown holder and protected by the plastic sheet. I feel like my diploma. Sometimes people pass it day after day and not acknowledge it exists (meaning that I have a degree). I worked so hard for my Bachelors degree and it is painful that it sits around unused. Pretty soon I can add a Master's degree diploma.

Every day I click on the keyboard and do data entry. I know I'm lucky to have a job in this economy. However there is a flip side.  Like like diploma covered by the  plastic protective sheet, I hid behind my secretary job. Back in 2006 I had big dreams of making it big as a writer. I used to daydream of moving to New York City and working as a reporter. Yes, a very Sex & the City vision. All I needed was some killer shoes and some smoking hot clothes. I'm not saying everything was a waste. I'm married to a sweet man and have two amazing kids. My husband supports my goals and pushes me. I have some wonderful friends who really encourage me. What happened to that girl who was ambitious and went for what she wanted?

Although I can't go back to 2006, I can get back that burst of ambition. I can stop being a doormat and essentially a pee on. I really can't blame people for making me feel this way. I need to figure out what I want and go for it. Not just say it, but mean it, do it and live it. Otherwise I'll stay 'protected' by a tattered holder with a fake shine off the plastic. It is my turn to finally shine.

The Battle

Rumble says the angry sky
Stormy weather mirrors what remains before us
Thought we won the battle, but I was wrong
Took a hit, wounded my heart yet amazingly alive
All this time, I remained faithful and full of trust
There never was a declared winner all along
Accused of being a traitor, didn’t believe the lies
Where does loyalty get but a face full of dust

Barely made it out alive
Tried waving the white flag but it was too tattered and worn
Sold my plans to the enemy, sold out myself
No epic finale just a weak goodbye
Still a glimmer of passion erupting when together
Lightening attempts to resituates, but the damage is already done
Can’t be bothered to call for help
 Pretending to follow hasn’t worked out for me
No use for parting shots only reluctant surrender
As smoke from the war blends within the angry sky.