My Inmost Self

Hey, look, a poem! (I know, right?!) My little sister called it "dark". Do you agree?

What Freud would call the id,
What I will call the soul
Where secrets are all hid,
Inside of one big wall

My soul is like a courtyard,
with an old decaying wall
The remnants of a creation
That once stood bright and tall

Inside you'd see,
Right by the door
A collection of thoughts
scattered on the floor

There's a rose garden to the north,
A pagoda on your right
A path that leads you forth
to a fountain out of sight

Brimming from this fountain
are thoughts, ideas, and such things
When I've run dry, that's where I go
To feed the body that makes me sing

There's a dark place, off to the left
Where no one dares to go
A place full of ugliness and grief
That I would never show

And right in the center
inside a metal fence
A place I've never been to
But what is there, I can sense

Unlocked potential, unconscious dreams,
a love that no one owns
A decision or two, a black locked box
and a purpose that can't be loaned.

But let's instead leave that alone
It was never anyone's to know
Instead I'll take you where
I keep the nicest thing to show

Once inside the pagoda
look right up and you'll see
locked in a smoky glass box
My heart, the life of me.

Beauty and the Beast

I'm calling this prose... 'cause that's what it's supposed to be. Haha. Anyhoo, it's not a fairytale, just a role reversing look at the idea of Beauty and the Beast.



Beauty looked at herself in the mirror, seeing not a flaw. There was none there, nothing that would hinder her superiority. She was perfect, from what was seen. She was beautiful, from what was perceived. She was flawless, from what was visible. Beauty was nothing more.

The Beast cowered in the corner, dwelling on his mistakes. There was nothing, nothing good in all he had done. He was imperfect, from what was accepted. He was ugly, from what was known. He was flawed, from what he'd caused. The Beast was nothing more.

Beauty saw the advantage she had, she laughed gallantly at her gift in appearance. She knew that men look no farther than the exterior, and discovered the world was at her beck and call with just a glance. She realized her power; upon it she acted. Beauty was going astray.

The Beast saw what he was, and wept for his wickedness. He knew the world would look no farther on him than his past, and he could not move forward in the same direction. He realized his mistake; upon it he turned around. The Beast was going back.

Beauty frowned at suffering, and smiled at good fortune. She glowered at poverty, and gazed at riches. She scoffed at ignorance, though she was it. Beauty was on her way.

The Beast frowned at good fortune, and smiled at suffering. He glowered at riches, and gazed at poverty. He sighed at awareness, and he was it. The Beast was on his way.

Beauty embraced the world for all it had, she greeted it with a smile and a kiss. There was nothing she denied herself. She drank in the wealth of the world like an expensive wine, and all was hers, but nothing was hers. She was beginning.

The Beast embraced hard work for all it had, he greeted it like an old friend. There was nothing he couldn't do, or wouldn't try. He was drank the punishment of the world like a nasty medicine, and nothing was his, but all was his. He was beginning.

Beauty had travelled all the world, taking what she could. Fame, riches, food, and drink. Everything was hers, but the things that cannot be owned fled from her presence. Love turned his back, though lust ran rampant. Friendship was not to be found, though fair weathered companions were everywhere. Family was non-existent, though false comforts told her it was fine. Beauty was lost.

The Beast travelled all the land, repaying all he'd taken. Money, time, labor, and favor. Nothing was his, but the things that cannot be owned found him. Love was present, lusts faded away. Friendship was formed, fair weathered companions fell behind. Family was re-united, and false comforts were no more. The Beast was found.

Beauty had faded, her imagery gone. Wrinkles adorned her brow, and her once vibrant hair muddied to but a dull sheen. Sorrow was etched in her eyes, regret in her cheek. Life had rejoiced in her for a while, but it left her as a passing wind. Beauty tore at her hair, and beat her chest. Everything was gone, and she cried out, but no one heard. Beauty became the Beast.

The Beast had faded, his harshness gone. Wrinkles of hardship adorned his face, and his hair had turned to white. Yet happiness was etched in his warm eyes, and relief in his cheek. Life had cursed and beat him for a while, but it changed as the passing of the season. The Beast rubbed his face, and blinked his eyes. Everything was there, and he was silent, his family and love by his side. The Beast became Beautiful.

The Beauty-turned-Beast groaned with her last breath, bitterness and regret her only companions. Her fleeting ways, her passing joys, all left her empty, cold, and alone. And there she lay, soon to be forever gone, with nothing left of who she'd been. No life left in the ugly frame, only a creature more fearsome than hunger and want. And life was gone from Beauty.

The Beautiful Beast smiled with a deep breath, love and family his dear friends. His ways he'd changed, and his repentance had brought him fulfillment, warmth, and companionship. And there he sat, much time still ahead of him, with nothing left of who he'd been. No pain left in his body, only a creature more kind and gentle than affection and compassion. And life was full for the Beast.

Hey, Barbie

A cheesy little poem I finally finished! (It finally got that last stanza! YES!)

Hey, Barbie, on your department store shelf,
I’ll take you home and have a toy for myself
With your pretty blonde hair and dresses so large,
My mommy says you make her feel like a barge.
When I grow up I’ll look just like you,
I don’t know yet what’s a real size two.

Hey, Barbie, sitting in one of your many houses
Your closets filled with all of your blouses.
Want to be an astronaut, cowgirl, or bride?
There’s just so much; I can’t decide.
Are you a role model for girls like me?
Are you a good picture of what I should be?

Hey, Barbie I’m too old for you now
I look at all of your stuff and think “wow.”
Why’d I spend all those hours dressing you down
Then up nice and fancy in great big ball gowns?
Now outside is my place to play
I could ride bikes and climb trees all day.

Hey, Barbie, you thing of the past
I knew you and Ken would never last.
Your smile is plastic and so is your face
Playing with you is just an unpleasant taste.
Your arms can’t bend, not even your legs
You’re just trash like leftover coffee dregs.

Hey, Barbie, I'm all grown up now
And I spent six long years wondering how
I could ever possibly look like you.
But when I stopped trying, I came out of my blue
And someone saw me for who I am
Now I'm his Barbie, and he's my man.

Fireworks, Some Ducks, and a Miniature Dragon

Just a little something I discovered called "Flash Fiction" for an online writing contest. And no, it's not supposed to make sense :)


I walk towards the house, and when I hear fireworks coming from within, I sigh heavily.
"Why, hello Carrie, come on in!" I'm about to drop my bag on the floor, but when I see the miniature dragon huffing puffs of smoke, I change my mind and place it, along with my shoes, on the end table.
"Roman is hungry" a small girls informs me, while strangling her pet dragon in an attempt to bestow some sort of affection upon him.
"Duck!" yells a boy, as a duck flies over my head and out the door. He tries to follow it, but I redirect his path to the kitchen with my hand atop his head, and close the door. Sorry, duck.
Despite the children's pleas, I don't let the dragon eat at the table. Even if it is convenient because I let the macaroni cool too long. The duck is quacking to be let back in, but I ignore him. The dragon is brooding under the table.
"Roman doesn't like macaroni," the girls tells me.
Then the fireworks go off again, and another duck appears in the fireplace. I grab the duck, and throw him outside with the other one, which doubles the quacking.
By the time I come back, the dragon has set fire to the macaroni, and I send the kids over to the wigwam while I put it out. They whine about being hungry, so I heat up some sort of leftovers from the refrigerator. They devour it, and promptly turn a deep shade of purple.
"Not again!" the boy screams, a sound masked only by fireworks and a third duck's incessant quacking. I send the boy to the wigwam for yelling, and the girl grabs my sleeve, dragging me over to the laundry room.
"Isn't it pretty?" she says, stroking the bubbles formed on the partially melted washing machine. I assure her it is, and usher her out and the troublesome dragon in. "Roman will make more pretty bubbles," she says. Judging by the flames emitting from the base of the door, I assume he is doing just that. We go to the wigwam, and find it full of pixies, one of which I step on. Sorry, Pixie.
I drag the boy up to his room, trying my best to avoid the swarms of pixies now free-flying about the house.
"Brother let the pixies out again. Brother's in trouble," the girl says, trailing behind. I put them both to bed, without singing a lullaby, as I hear more fireworks go off downstairs. I set to work bribing the pixies, who have already brutally slaughtered the newest duck, back into their cage.
When all the pixies have been bribed and look the same shade of purple as the children, I hear the unicorns in the driveway and the parents come in.
"Hope they weren't any trouble!" The mother says as she hands me my pay.