Pandora's Box, Unleashed, Lucia Roberts [the gingerbread man read aloud TXT] 📗

Stories on Skin

 

I want to write my life on my skin,

Just so all the questions would quit.

 

Why don’t you talk

And why wont you sit?

Why so lost?

Where have you been?

 

I could save myself the pains of loss

If I were to put my flaws on my skin.

I could save the explanations

Save the torture of sin.

 

If I were to write my hopes and love

All over my shoulder

I wonder if it would warm hearts

Or force mine to grow colder.

 

I’d put my virtues

in places you wouldn’t see

And my fears probably

on my knees or tummy.

 

My feet and shoulders bear my trial

All the hurt and defiles

Wrap around my legs ;

Wrap around my ankles.

 

My face would be blank

Because in the end

People will see what they want to see

not the person I wish to be.

Poseidon's Daughter

 

Poseidon goes by many names;

Most of which she knew to be.

Poseidon, Triton, Brother of Zeus

And Father of the Sea.

 

He tried so hard to tell her.

Set shoes for her on the beach,

waved through people of mer,

Made the sea come alive to please her.

 

He tried to reach her through her dreams.

Showed himself through waves.

But nothing is to work it seems.

So he tried one last thing.

 

He whispered an idea to a painter

Of a girl with auburn hair

Covered in seaweed

And sea shells here and there.

 

Well, the daughter found the peice.

Twas entitled Poseidon’s Daughter.

The feeling of rightness and peace

crashed over her in waves.

 

I wandered to the water that night.

I said “Father, I’m here.”

And the sea burst into delight;

the moon smiled through his tears.

Golden Eyes - My shot at a sonnet

 

I sit here in the dark

with but a single candle.

Trying to avoid a mark.

Bearing all the heat that I can handle.

 

I stay warm

by this glow upon my face

though in my eyes there’s a storm;

of which no-one sees a trace.

 

The only thing you’d see

is the gold of my eyes

dancing with entrancing beauty

that seem young, yet speak wise.

 

My eyes and soul burn for you like this candle here;

but can you get past this darkness surrounding me, my fear?

Yours and Mine

 

My dreams are redundant,

because you’re off chasing yours.

Your deepest secret is that you love me;

and mine is that I wish you’d let it show.

 

Raised different than your brother,

you’ve had everything your way.

Raised in chains and dark

I’ve always been alone.

 

When you brought up forever

I begged you to come back down to Earth.

Finally I accepted

and then you pushed me below the Earth.

 

Buried me in my hopes and faults

while smothering your own.

I can’t see our likenesses right now;

but our differences are clear.

 

You avoid things you want

because you can’t accept the trial.

And I hold them closer

because I’m not in denial.

Our Vows

 

Sitting together in the car

just parked somewhere in nowhere

discussing wedding day,

we decided we needed an un-copied, un-overdone vow,

a promise only ours.

To be said in turn and unison we created

“We live, love, pillage and plunder, to be content, and then we die.”

These are our marriage vows.

Our simple perfection against everyone’s rejection.

But this is our reflection of when we learned to say “I love you.”

Smiling til we start to cry

holding to each other til the world tears us apart,

joking til the people hurt and chase us away;

Then we feel complete and now our life is over.

Complete with it’s own catch phrase

“We live, love, pillage and plunder, to be content, and then we die.”

These are our marriage vows.

Our simple perfection against everyone’s rejection.

But this is our reflection of when we learned to say “I love you.”

How much more perfect could this promise be,

to bind us in our insanity?

How much more reflective could it be of you and me?

How much more could it show how our life is planned to go?

It says all it needs to say.

Even if we’re the only ones to understand the phrase,

it’s ok.

It wasn’t meant for them anyway.

Is All Fair in Love and War?

 

“A kiss is a kiss is a kiss” he said;

as he tried to reel me in

with the logic in his head.

You’re not married or even engaged.

There is no lock;

you’re not en-caged.

I wish to know you;

to kiss you,

to hold you.

“What he won’t know won’t hurt” he pleaded.

“I know it’s wrong,

but I want this so bad. I feel defeated.”

“I miss having a girl and I’ve wanted you.

Show me a kindness

and kiss me too.”

I hated the thought of even considering this.

But the words echoed

“A kiss is a kiss is a kiss.”

I am but so young,

and have limited time

but I held my tongue.

I have morals that I need to keep lasting

so I will not be a liar or a cheat;

I’d rather on love be fasting.

“I won’t push you till you break.

I just wish you’d find

a kiss for me to take.”

I looked at him knowing he’s a lost little pup.

Cute; but as much as you want to,

you couldn’t keep up.

The minutes passed and “A kiss is a kiss is a kiss”

are the stupid tempting words

he left me with.

An Empty Snowglobe

 

Un-stained glass; an empty snow-globe.

I’m thirteen and painting.

Remember the time,

for blood stained stars;

that lit the decade and counting years

of incredulous, misconceived silence.

New colors added to the pallet

as each person walks away.

Color the glass with bruised tears of black and blue despise,

angry fists that bleed a golden rusty red,

infectious shades of entangling ivy envy

followed up by memories of lilac laced with royal lust

blinded by pure brilliance of glaring white light.

Mix the colors while you close your eyes.

Open them to see the swirling depths you painted;

that grace the glass in honesty not lies.

See the line of white from where it all began.

Watch the colors swirl and rage within each-other

fighting to be prevalent in your memory

within your past written on the glass.

The homing device

The lights dim;

an inside joke.

Eyes are so bright

that you can feel them smiling back at him.

Why this attachment,

this link,

this connection

exists no-one knows.

A homing device

that sends electric static through their body;

makes their blood pulse so thickly,

making you aware of things your own body makes you feel

that you would never feel before.

I see that the lights are still on,

and I am always aware.

What makes it so that everyone else has these feelings

only when I’m around?

This device, this signal,

knows no sex, no age, no race.

Knows not wealth

or wagers for a pretty face.

It keeps calling and they keep coming.

I wish I could turn it off.

Sirens do not exist