For NaPoWriMo Day 27 the Prompt is: “to pick a card (any card) from this online guide to the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.” I’m combining this prompt with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Music Challenge #25, “Man Eater,” sung by Nelly Furtado.
I’m way behind I know lol.
“The sun shines in the zenith, and beneath is a great winged figure with arms extended, pouring down influences. In the foreground are two human figures, male and female, unveiled before each other, as if Adam and Eve when they first occupied the paradise of the earthly body. Behind the man is the Tree of Life, bearing twelve fruits, and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil is behind the woman; the serpent is twining round it. The figures suggest youth, virginity, innocence and love before it is contaminated by gross material desire. This is in all simplicity the card of human love, here exhibited as part of the way, the truth and the life. It replaces, by recourse to first principles, the old card of marriage, which I have described previously, and the later follies which depicted man between vice and virtue. In a very high sense, the card is a mystery of the Covenant and Sabbath.
The suggestion in respect of the woman is that she signifies that attraction towards the sensitive life which carries within it the idea of the Fall of Man, but she is rather the working of a Secret Law of Providence than a willing and conscious temptress. It is through her imputed lapse that man shall arise ultimately, and only by her can he complete himself. The card is therefore in its way another intimation concerning the great mystery of womanhood. The old meanings fall to pieces of necessity with the old pictures, but even as interpretations of the latter, some of them were of the order of commonplace and others were false in symbolism.” — Sacred-Texts.com
“Maneater ” by Nelly Furtado
She tips her head long curls flying,
Owning the floor with each sway and dip;
Her eyes gleam light and pale-blue sight;
You’ll never understand — this seductress saved your life.
She completes your being as she sings off-key,
And her body entices, teasing your thoughts —
Down trails of searing delight.
She’s a maneater stealing your breath,
She’ll make you sweat hard, make your fists clench;
Biting her lip before she sips vodka-neat.
The tan of her skin speaks of wandering,
Of foreign cities where she was a siren calling.
She’s a maneater whose perfected her skills;
She’s completion and desire,
Her skin glowing in moonlight.
She’s the comfort in your heart, and she’s only yours.
She’s a maneater, and you fell hard for her love,
When her lips, and her hips — her generous heart’s core,
Caught yours and clasped on in a vise.
Now, your sipping your beer as she puts on a show,
Practised dance-steps enthralling you still.
Lifting her hair, mahogany thick,
Heated stare all consuming;
As her dewy skin melts makeup’s glamour,
Revealing the girl beneath her eyeliner.
She’s a tiger-woman laughing with her friends;
As they twirl and spin, wide smiles, toothy-grins.
Yet, she’s the only woman that grabs you,
Cradles your heart within hers.
She’s the one who loves you,
Who moves skin-to-skin when you’re too warm.
She was a maneater, but now she’s yours,
Her body and love yours to adore.
You suffer and rejoice,
See her limbs lift and twist.
Her love pulls you deeper,
You yank her off her heels, desperate;
The car speeds home to night’s bliss.
The maneater’s tenderness,
Her head ends on your heart.
Blood thick in your veins,
She caresses your soul.
©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.
Welcome to almost September and a look back at some of past interviews in my ‘Rewind Interviews.’ On my own blog and on the Go Dog Go Cafe, a writer’s community! I anyone wants to be a regular member of the Cafe as a Barista once a week or even every two weeks, please let us know. Also, you can submit questions about this or your own writing to the Contact Page.
I’m excited to share with you a ‘Rewind Interview‘ of my good friend, talented writer, wonderful person, and wise woman: Rosema Gonzales from the Philippines. You can explore her blog at the following link: A Reading Writer .
1. Rosema, Please Share With Us Some Things About Yourself?
I am my blog’s name: A Reading Writer. I read and write and in-between, eat cake and/or drink coffee.
I currently work for a small Public Relations firm as a Public Relations Associate and also a Public Relations Writer. I have a degree in journalism and I dream of becoming a news writer someday; a bonafide journalist. Although, I feel this goal could be a bit impossible, realistically speaking, but who knows?
When I’m not working, I’m blogging and writing. My blog, A Reading Writer , is my fortress and it has changed my writing-self dramatically. I used to only write book reviews and thoughts on books I was reading (wanted to read). Now, I write both poetry and fiction. I never thought I could write poetry or fiction until I joined the WordPress course: Writing 101, last year. Writing 101 changed my perspective on my writing abilities.
When I’m not writing or blogging, I have a thirst for reading. Mitch Albom who is my favorite author. I love all the novels I have that Mitch Albom wrote, but it would take too long to name them all :D)
When I am not reading I am drinking a cuppa of dark coffee and wishing I could be eating cheesecake! 😀
2. When Did You First Start Writing and Blogging?
Technically, my first post was published on August 28, 2014, close to three-years-ago now. My first post was only the beginning of my ‘existence’ as a blogger. My ‘real’ more than existing as a blogger, began when I joined Writing 101 in September 2015. For me, this course offered by WordPress, somehow signaled the ‘rebirth’ of my A Reading Writer blog.
“My ‘real’ more than existing as a blogger, began when I joined Writing 101 in September 2015. For me, this course offered by WordPress, somehow signaled the ‘rebirth’ of my A Reading Writer blog.” – Rosema Gonzales
3. What Does Your Writing and Poetry Mean to You? Why Do You Write and Where Do You Find Your Inspiration and Motivation?
For me, writing is like breathing with words. No one can survive without breathing; that’s how vital writing and poetry arefor me. My motivation and inspiration can come from anywhere. I had a writing piece which was inspired by a garbage truck once. Seriously! But the majority of my poetry and fiction are written while I’m riding the bus. I think my brain churns more when I’m commuting. Reading and music alsoinspire and motivate me, and have recently given birth to some unpublished poems, too. 🙂
4. Do You Find There Is A Time of Day You Most Enjoy Writing?
Hmmm. As I said before, I usually write on a bus so it’s either early morning or at night when I write. Although, I think there is something about the silence and darkness of night that inspiresmore creative pieces as compared to when it’s daytime.
“For me, writing is like breathing with words. No one can survive without breathing; that’s how vital writing and poetry are form me. My motivation and inspiration can come from anywhere.” – Rosema Gonzales
5. Do You Have Any Current Writing Projects or Any Hopeful Writing Projects?
If hosting a writing challenge is a project then, I would say my most recent project called: Word-High July has been my focus. #WordHighJuly featured thirty beautiful Filipino words as word prompts. Many poets and bloggers have written impeccable pieces inspired by these Filipino words such as halakhak, a noun which means loud uninhibited laughter, or kaulayai, a noun which means a pleasant and intimate companion. In terms of future projects, I’m dreaming of publishing my own poetry book in the future.
Note: Rosema has done just that and published her first book on Amazon.com, earlier in the summer. It’s called Between My Bleeding Lines by R.C. Gonzales and is available as a Kindle ebook and in Paperback!
Below is also n example of an image and word prompt used in Rosema’s #WordHighJuly writing challenge last year
6. Have You Published Any Of Your Writing Or Are You Planning to Publish Works of Writing In The Future? Can You Briefly Describe Your Publishing and Writing Process?
All my written works are published on WordPress only for the moment. It’s part of my future plan to publish them soon maybe on my own, because scouting for a publisher is a tough task. I’m still building up the courage to finally, begin writing my own book.
Because I’m not even one step towards publishing my work beyond my blog, I think I’m not a good writer or blogger to describe the process of publishing my writing. HOWEVER, I have great blogging friends who have successfully published their books and I’m sure they will willingly help people who like me, will eventually need tips on the entire publishing process. I have been reading some online material about self-publishing. So, I have gathered a ton of information there.
(See above Rosema self-published her poetry book!)
7. What Is Your Writing Process Like?
I have an erratic writing process. I write anywhere and anytime, because story ideas sprout unexpectedly. There are times for instance, when I am just walking and I come across someone who I don’t know and a poem is born! It’s an unpredictable process so I always have my phone handy because it’s my stockroom for poetry and fiction.
“I have an erratic writing process. I write anywhere and anytime, because story ideas sprout unexpectedly.” – Rosema Gonzales
8. Do You Prefer Certain Areas of Writing or Reading Styles and/or Genres?
I prefer reading in bed. I’m a certified librocubicularist. 🙂
When it comes to reading genres, I love Young-Adult, Mystery, Thrillers, Contemporary Literature, Historical Fiction, Poetry, and Faith related books.When it comes to writing, my most chosen genre is Romance; love, and more so, unrequited love. I also write realistic fiction and about tragedy. My blog friend Mel, of In Media Res has been joking about putting a death toll counterin my blog. HAHA. I’m close to considering it !
9. Do You Have Any Helpful Advice for Other Writers?
First, I must say write for yourself not for anyone else. It is blissful to have many people follow and read your work, but it is unusual to have many followers and readers as a writer or blogger starting out. So, do not be discouraged by a lack of other people reading your writing; write for no one but yourself.
Second, I you cannot compare yourself to other writers. Other writers maybe talented but you are talented in your own way as well. Such as fingerprints, each author has their own individual perspective and niche in the writing world. So, be yourself; find your own voice and style, then improve on it.
Lastly, I believe you should always be the first person who believes in your characters, in your poems, in in all your writing. This advice, I often give myself, and is a lesson I’m still trying to learn.
“[Y]ou cannot compare yourself to other writers. Other writers maybe talented but you are talented in your own way as well. Such as fingerprints, each author has their own individual perspective and niche in the writing world. So, be yourself; find your own voice and style, then improve on it.” – Rosema Gonzales
10. Do You Have Anything About Yourself You’d Like to Share With Fellow Writers?
Honestly, I’ve only just found my true writer-self. I think this year is the first, I’ve finally embraced creative writing. My focus before this year, was on writing straight news, real-life nonfiction, becoming a genuine journalist. Now, I am loving what I’ve been discovering about myself through creative writing.
As well, it would not be possible for me to have had such personal growth through writing if I did not have a great bunch of supportive and loving writers in the blogging community on WordPress. I would like to highlight the need for a friendly, honest, and interactive writing community.
11. Any Advice for Other Writers or Bloggers Starting Out?
Bloggers and writers (online and in general), need to be kind enough to read the work of the writers who read your own posts. Let’s be supportive enough to correct grammar mistakes or provide tips on how a writer can improve on his or her work. Leave thoughtful comments on other bloggers and writers posts.
I know life happens and we do not always have a lot of time. But if we have the time and make the time, we need to somehow harness the power of our words to encourage our fellow writers. High praises are not always needed, you can also give constructive criticism or disagree with what another writer wrote. What’s important is to let writers know how their work affects you, how you feel about their work.This is helpful, to all writers.
Writers should be the first to realize completely, the power of their words. I hope we can agree to use words to create an encouraging community. Let’s not underestimate the power of our comments. Comments on a writer’s work can change lives; I’m proof and I can testify to the truth of comments changing my own life and writing.
“I know life happens and we do not always have a lot of time. But if we have the time and make the time, we need to somehow harness the power of our words to encourage our fellow writers. High praises are not always needed, you can also give constructive criticism or disagree with what another writer wrote.” – Rosema Gonzales
11. Please Share With Us Some Pieces Of Your Fiction And Poetry:
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
12. Here are some more Blog Posts from Rosema:
Thanks so much Rosema for filling out interview questions and writing them with your heart. It always comes through in your work, fiction, poetry, or talking about your favourite books. I’m encouraged you will make wonderful strides in creative writing and in your career aspirations.
“Dreams are always possible, sometimes we only have to believe they can be a possibility!” – A.E.
Once again, here is the link to Rosema’s blog: A Reading Writer. Many thanks for reading along. If you would like to be interviewed as a blogger, poet, writer, or blogger or a cause, please let me know. You can reach-out to me through my Contact Page.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.
Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF last week!
Leisbeth crooned to her pet dragon, Brand. She had raised him from when he was nothing but a babe, pushing his way out of his golden egg.
Brand would never be a huge dragon, but he was worth a lot of money to many people. His scales, his wings, and his teeth were valuable so Leisbeth protected him. She cared for his wounds from hunting for large animals and after locals injured him.
Despite being gentle, Leisbeth could be fierce. She knew she was fragile, but she possessed a gift, sorcery not even Brand knew she possessed.
In turn, Brand was Leisbeth’s protector. He knew she was a soft woman, her voice small and melodic. Her hands uncalloused and her long blond hair shiny and flowing. All these traits of beauty put her in danger.
She knew nothing of the cruel world, that men spilled blood, both dragon and human for small amounts of silver. Brand still remembered the screams of his dragon parents slaughtered, as he fought his way from his golden egg. He was tiny then, but he remembered their terrified roars.
However, Liesbeth had saved him so they would always be together. Brand would protect her inherit gentleness while she would guard him with her magic. Those who would hurt her intelligent companion would regret it.
To Leisbeth, Brand was her friend who in private, loved to be held and stroked. Both their abilities would keep the other alive for thousands of years.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.
A few months ago a dear friend passed away at 98 years old. She was a grandma, my great godmother, and in these last few years, a genuine friend. I miss her very much and writing her letters to mail with a poem or small story. It was our thing and I visited her as much as I was able. The last time I saw Evelyn we visited a few hours in her room. Then, I was leaving and I couldn’t get out the door to reach the elevators. Finally, I got to the elevators went out the front time and stopped.
I looked back at the wonderful care facility she’d been staying in these past three years. She was in her own home until she was 95. I had this strange feeling that I woldn’t see her again. I gazed back deciding all I could do was hope that in a month or two, she would still be alive and well. I do wish one more visit might have been possible.
She was a wonderful, outgoing, and opinionated person. She demonstrated great care with people and her hospitality is/was famous. She even drove big trucks and was a mechanic in her day besides working at the Woodwards Department store for many years. For much her life, she was a single mother. Evelyn had many talents, her cooking, her unpredictability, and a spirit that kept on shining and pushing through life’s miseries.
R.I.P Evelyn. I’ve been trying to finish this last poem for you for a few months. It’s taken me awhile to get right! I’m so happy you are with our Heavenly Father and no longer suffering in any way.
A monument falls, crumbles,
Although, she was strong.
An impenetrable force,
A spit-fire, a trail blazer.
You can press your hands against thick steel, rock, or concrete,
Wonder how such monuments are designed,
Buildings of beauty, fortified through time;
How could they fall?
Then you realize that soft skin isn’t stone,
And a woman isn’t a superhero.
When you gaze into the past, into beloved photographs,
You see how smooth marble crinkles,
As fine lines, directions on a map.
The most elegant calligraphy,
Words muted in the unforgiving sun.
And photographs appear in memories,
The warming light of conversation,
Over hearth: satisfying food and laughter.
Yet, still I attempted to see how her puckered lips,
Were once plump, young, and beguiling.
Long gone are her cherubic child’s lips,
Nearly a century ago.
And flawless cream skin is marked,
Lines settled in, can be followed,
A pattern of an Autumn leaf.
No monument left to be seen, no eyes sparkling,
With a smile uniquely hers,
Never to be repeated;
Only in whispers of genealogy.
A monument stood and —
She was significant.
Someone who was seen and not afraid to be,
A grandma who paraded around,
In forty two pairs of shoes — probably more.
Her body could be strengthened with steel,
Knees and hips better off with fabrication;
The real ones worn out.
Do stone monuments feel the pain of lost children?
Of polio’s grasp, sucking the life out of a small boy.
Of a little girl who passed away a whisper.
And of one child who survived,
A reader, a teacher, a traveller, a builder.
One who is imperfectly perfect as her.
My godfather with his wife,
My godmother, both I adore.
Yet, the stubborn cheerfulness,
Of this monument lives on in her family,
In her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren,
And beloved relatives and friends;
Partners who marked her life, always leaving early.
Sisters and brothers, marrying others becoming new brothers and sisters,
How she adored and missed all them all,
Passing away before she could blink.
For the most part, she was unsurpassed in years,
She mourned her family and friends gone first,
But reunites with them now.
And when she fell, the monument’s pieces scattered,
Although all feels lost,
She needed her relief in heaven.
And no one ever thinks that day will come,
Until it crashes upon those left behind.
Monuments fall, it happens every minute of every day,
For every type of personality,
To each person someday;
Special and authentically themselves.
It’s okay to morn the monument’s empty place,
To hunger for her caring advice,
Her kind words.
The silence is hard, her not being,
In her home or in her room.
Now she’s aged, is dust of the earth,
She is the ideal of herself, the creator’s perfection.
Her life was imperfect, as we all are,
It was shadowed by pain and misery;
Yet her optimism always pulled her through it.
Remembering her and taking comfort within,
Her greetings to all those she meets again.
The suffering and sorrow has ended, so do not cry your tears.
For every monument is eclipsed,
Heaven’s radiant light filters into the cracks,
Rebuilds the rubble.
Her figure of faith and grace.
The love she had, that does not die,
But multiplies in eternity,
Waiting for her family someday.
And for her her dear friends.
When we arrive,
She’ll wonder what took us so long.
Offering a piece of pie, uncooked fresh blueberries in a crust,
With soft dollops of whipped cream.
Her timeless love in cooking, baking, hospitality,
Everyone was always welcome,
If you weren’t, she’d tell you so.
True monuments may appear hard and resilient,
Underneath they are as the rest of us,
They are frail and human.
Time will catch up with everyone,
And we pray we can meet our deaths,
Mansions prepared in the sky.
God the only monument,
Not our crumbled lives.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.
My prison or my home? I shall,
Never know what these empty halls —
Are; if they contain friend or foe,
If they care about me, don’t know.
Married off to a stranger, not unkind, not cruel,
Not a friend, not yet a foe, stately and no one’s fool.
Behind these walls, a sullen keep,
I’m kept, without sunlight’s relief.
My thoughts aren’t considered, nor my —
Opinions valued, I’m defied.
No special princess, just his highnesses wife kept,
Safe from the world, from experience, trapped, bereft.
Where did childhood’s freedom go?
Where are the green fields, wild flowers?
I just want outside but then you’d,
Never find me again, I’d far go —
Back to my father, to a life of freedom glad,
My prison? Tigresses caged attack when mad.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW,
Our condo building has many square courtyards that can be purchased with a high rise condo so that a family can have their own place to garden and have barbecues. Parallel to us was another courtyard, higher up, and we detested the people who used it as they were loud, obnoxious, and cooked a great deal of smelly seafood.
You cannot exactly complain to the landlord about this, although, I tried unsuccessfully. The garbage and beer bottles they threw on our courtyard when we weren’t there proved they had to be breaking some bylaws as did their noise pollution extending beyond 10:00 p.m.
Nevertheless, our twelve-year old daughter, Jeseme, up late on a Saturday and gabbing in the courtyard with her friend, finally had enough of these neighbours and as I am told, screamed bloody murder and more to them in a way as adults, we only wished we could have done earlier. Apparently Jeseme was so frightening the nasty neighbours sold their courtyard and a lovely retired couple purchased the ill kept space. They also have a granddaughter who is the same age as Jeseme and her and April have become fantastic friends. A win win situation from my perspective.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.
Happy Month of May! We are midway through and sometimes I feel as if time passes so fast. Today was one of those days.
On one hand it was my Great-godmother’ a funeral. She was 98 years old and passed way last Sunday from heat failure. She had pretty great health and was in her home until she was 96 and had only been in her newest care home about a year. She did finally think of it as her second home.
I had the privilage of knowing Evelyn both as someone who was another Grandma to myself and my two brothers, probably until I was about 21 years old and she became a good friend after that. I think she did most of the talking but I never minded. I enjoyed sending her letters and she was someone I loved to share my poetry with, sometimes short stories, even some interviews I thought she would find entertaining (etc) for the past few years. Let it be said, writing letters and sending cards with a note saying your thinking of someone, is a dying art.
Her funeral was sad but also happy as she is now without pain or suffering. After years of smoking (even though she did quit) she succumbed to lung cancer which lead to heart complications. I’m thankful for all the time I and my family had with her.
On the other hand, today was my Dad’s 60th Birthday and my mom was gracious to cook a large meal for about twenty of us who celebrated his day. We drank lots of wine and ate all my Mom’s excellent food and had a big happy birthday cheesecake with sparklers and 60 years on the cake for my Dad (he’s gluten free so usually it’s icecream cake so cheesecake was nice change.)
I talked with some of my Dad’s colleagues and friends and spent a lot of time in the kitchen my brothers and my youngest brother’s girlfriend talking about weddings as we each have one coming up very soon for friends. And I get along very well her and like her a lot. We are different but very much the same in many ways so Nathan, better keep this one she’s amazing!
Perks of sitting in the kitchen at the “kids table” was being near the wine, the mascoto my Mom and I love and some red Malbec that was a bit dry, but made better by adding punch ie. making a sangria mixture.
Good conversation and house full of people, I’m glad my Dad enjoyed his birthday and hope on Mother’s Day my Mom can rest. I thought of my grandma and my friend Evelyn, thought how very much she would have enjoyed this celebration or any celebration likewise — the life of the party.
I do know Evelyn is in Heaven enjoying parties and celebrations that don’t leave a Mom or wife exhausted and are not subject to human frailities tiredness, stress etc. that comes with planning such an event. A big reason to appreciate mothers like mine and Evelyn who sacrifice (d) to make a loved one’s Birthdays special,
As I close a line from a Tennyson poem “I’ll see my pilot face to face, when I have crossed the bar.”
Happy Mother’s Day!
2. Credit: http://www.pinterest.com
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to ” take your inspiration, like our featured interviewee did in the chapbook she co-authored with Ross Gay, from the act of letter-writing. Your poem can be in the form of a letter to a person, place, or thing, or in the form of a back-and-forth correspondence.” The A to Z Challenge letter is O for GoodRead’s quotes and I’m combing these prompts with Roger Shipp’s FFftPP.
“These bits of paper are covered with lies. They poison your minds. And so long as they exist, you cannot hope to see the world as it truly is.(…)You turn to them for answers and salvation. (…) You rely more upon them than upon yourselves. This makes you weak and stupid. You trust in words. Drops of ink. Do you ever stop to think of who put them there? Or why? No. You simply accept their words without question. And what if those words speak falsely, as they often do? This is dangerous.”
― Oliver Bowden, Assassin’s Creed: The Secret Crusade
Read your short,
Letter, it’s awkward,
It reminds me of us,
How the two of us are when —
It’s why I’m,
‘I,’ isn’t us,
And your words they hurt,
Didn’t know you felt so strongly,
Had no idea ‘us’ was,
So much more to —
You; asking —
As much, why you held —
Back; I guess to not be hurt?
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
It’s just I was more,
To you, than
To me; I —
Try to understand,
How I led you on; when I —
Should’ve stopped this charade.
Didn’t know you what,
What you felt,
Now I —
Read your words,
Poisoned tongue you have,
Poison words too in this —
Inked letters; they are —
Only my —
I should’ve seen the ‘writing,
On the wall,’ but I was living,
I loved you,
In ink hides easily.
Poison you’ve written with and —
You’re probably smiling now,
Because I’m dying,
Are you glad?
See I; peer —
Into the past, I —
Know now you were hiding in —
Plain sight; wickedness masked,
You never loved me.
And I loathe,
I was not,
Attracted to you,
I was being nice, I thought —
We were great friends until now.
I know the real you,
Family finds my corpse.
I’ve written one word down for
Your hours of freedom
Be free a short while,
Then justice will reign, they’ll find —
You; you’re not the only one —
Who kills with poison,
In death you’re —
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to “write a poem that is a portrait of someone important to you. It doesn’t need to focus so much on what a person looks (or looked) like, as what they are or were.” The corresponding GoodRead’s Author’s Quote for the A to Z Challenge, begins with the letter I. Thanks to NEEKNERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie who provided the wonderfully creepy photograph.
“If I’d been born a ghoul, I think I would’ve killed people. I just happened to be born a human. That’s the only reason why I’m allowed to live a moral life.” ― Sui Ishida
I knew her as a little girl,
Though others thought her odd.
She had that “something” about her,
People either loved or abhorred.
At first, I thought, she was enormously strange,
But her quirks endeared me to her.
She protected me from those cruel girls,
One smile from her, they stumbled away on their heels.
She had shocking violet hair on one side,
She was never quite a blond.
Always experimenting with new looks,
Trying to glean from her appearance,
Who she was inside herself.
Her eyes a brilliant cornflower blue glimmered,
When some person made her enraged.
Her friends all knew some stupid student,
Would soon regret their actions;
She only had to smile.
And some bullies face turned violet, rouge, or primrose.
My friend was odd but lively,
Never afraid to do anything.
Dragging me along, to be a part of her drama.
Of her wicked practical jokes,
Others whispered she was a bit ‘Tim Burton,’
Calling her the ‘corpse bride.’
But she would always smile,
In a way that scared many,
Who never knew the truth about her —
She was passionate, kind, and loyal.
If you could get past her walls, her insecurities,
She was most lovely and grew to be a beauty.
Her hair still half-purple — it was her thing.
How we knew her for her.
Her terrifying smile gleamed,
She could now afford braces,
For teeth that had scared everyone.
And when the braces disappeared,
Her teeth stood in straight white rows.
Her grim frown had turned forever upside down,
She was no longer that weird girl.
Though there was still ‘something’ about her;
Strange became a talent, something sought after,
When she transformed into a swan.
She became a cut diamond, no longer rough, she was —
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.