=> 2nd prize, Talking Glass ChallengeĪdelina is commended in Super Mario, Fidget Spinners & Beyoncé: The Pop Culture Poetry Challenge on Young Poets Network. => This poem is commended in the Talking Glass poetry challenge on Young Poets Network in 2022, which was set as part of the International Year of Glass. => glass-ghazal-for-looking-at-my-future-looking-at-my-father You have to remember that we do care, And that we also know that. or anything but I thought it would be nice and maybe it would help a little. You will make it through, But only if you know it, too. Youre Doing Just Fine: Prose & Poetry from a Past That Was Never Present. It will turn around, And no longer will you frown. Life may seem bad now, But it wont always make you feel this low. => Glass Ghazal For Looking at My Future, Looking at My Father Never give up, never surrender, Or you will make others hearts tender. I am a daughter in the same way glass is only glassīecause it once was burned, chemical exchanged, worry-made. In old cathedrals chews up light and reimagines it into somethingĪ little softer. Reads the fine print, and insists everything will work out in the end.Īnd I trust him, because I am daughter in the same way stained glass Shattered glassīottles on the gas station sidewalk, billionaires, red moon, Then, finally, glassįor a little while, before it unspools again. Is just sand so hot and bright and good it turns liquid, then angel, Today, tortoise-shell and soft square, and when I squint I see everyįoreseeable future in his face. Dreamt of turning out every pocket I own and dropping Last night, I dreamt of the QuiraingĪgain-of faraway sheep small as needle points, the sky a foggy gray glass: This reminds me of when I was in a mental institution and this little asian guy tapped on the door for the staff room and I said 'theyre all having lunch' and he just calmly walked to the notice board, pulled out a lighter and set it on fire right next to me and stood infront of it watching it as this massive blaze erupted. Throw words like knives in the dark but I will not listen,įor not listening to sharp words brought me to where I am todayĪnd I believe in the path I’ve been given.Here: a poem in worried mouthfuls. Everything comes to an end, we can't control whenJust cherish the moments that aren't promised againNo matter how hard it rains, expect the sun to shineTears. To newer lands and uncleaned streetsįor I’ve had enough of childish safety in comfort.Įnough of all telling me to look and do, like this and that,Īnd I never meant to please anyone but myself So I fled the me that was never really me and I’m on my way. If this is the place I’ve been given, I’m sure as hell gonna make this work. The forever on going task of explaining this and that,Īnd why I don’t want to look like this andīut still here I am and if this is the body I’ve been given I’m sure as hell gonna make it work. Sometimes burning too bright and too wildīecause I am the slave and ruler of my own bodyĪnd I wish to do with it exactly as I please,Īnd living in this skin is hard and painful, most of the times,īecause I never volunteered to take this on. I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests ![]() I drank wine and slept in the parks and starved…."īecause I’ve been inhabiting routines I don’t want to stand for.įor what is this thing? Trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance,Īnd I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls Any day that I could cheat away from this system of living seemed a good victory for me. The animal-drive and energy of my fellow man amazed me: that a man could change tires all day long or drive and icecream truck or run for Congress or cut into a man’s guts in surgery or murder, this was all beyond me. ![]() ![]() Whether I was a genius or not did not so much concern me as the fact that I simply did not want a part of anything. ![]() It was best to get the sun on my neck and then dream and doze and try not to think of rent and food and America and responsibility. It was best to get an empty table where the sun came through a window and get the sun on my neck and the back of my head and my hands and then I did not feel so bad that all the books were dull in their red and orange and green and blue covers sitting there like mockeries. "In the days when I thought I was a genius and starved and nobody published me I used to waste much more time in the libraries than I do now.
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