Pieces of Me

Hello world.  My name is Kristen.  I'd like to invite you inside my head.  Please keep all hands and feet inside the ride at all times and do not feed the monkeys.  They bite.

Ramblings: Entry #1
The Circus

Ladies and Gentlemen!!  Let the competition begin!!  The circus needs 8 new clowns!!  Are you good enough? Can you juggle 5 balls, twirl fire-breathing sticks, while running on a log?  I hope you’ve practiced – the competition is stiff!  The training has been taught, the guidance has been guided:  Say this, smile now, shake hands (firmly enough but don’t crush any bones), Sit up straight, don’t tap your foot, keep that god forsaken monkey on your back hidden well, grab that kink in your chain and weld it back, stuff that big elephant in your pocket and press mute.  Ah yes...we are all in our chosen places and ready.  One by one come forth, careful now – but not too eager!  We’ll check you off, just line up – marking your negatives, circling your flaws, and highlighting your big red nose...too loud, too thin, too blonde, too tall.  Is that a stain on your shirt?  Tsk, tsk – you’re out the door!  Next please!  Oh, it’s such a sight to see – all perfect drones created by higher learning.  Which one will fit the mold?  Which drone can we stamp our influence on?  Not too bold, not too outspoken, but not too reserved.  This is life or death people – we hold your future in our hands.  One press of the button and it’s time to swim.  Get those floaties on just in case.  The circus is finally here so don’t lose the race!!! 

Poems: Entry #1
Brittle breaks of beautiful bounty
Taking its toll on the tiny triumph
Chasms collide as cold winds cover
Below the brunt of bitter battle
Folk and fiction are forgotten forever
Laughing lightly at the life she loves
Sings to his soul, softens his cries
Once the whirlwind wanes of war
And cries of casualties, cast the cure
Her baby bursts of blissful bloom
Sacred he stirs, safe in her womb

Ramblings: Entry #2
 The re-run continues to air on its usual day and time in the soap opera of our life.  This episode presents a twist only we could see coming.  We have been banished from the royal high court.  Her highness has ordered we be taken away in silence during the early morning hours – shackled with a braided rope, carefully laced with friendship that smells of rotting vermin.  Our calloused feet, scraping the morning dew from blades of grass flail in all directions searching for a strong hold.  Grasping for a way to protest this careless act of treachery.  Tomorrow remains a small glimmer just below the horizon, but the wheels have been turning for days now.  As their strict orders are being carried out by the guardsmen, the royals sleep soundly dreaming of emerald castles and stone jewels.  In their silver plated bed adorned with Egyptian tapestry they hide beneath the silk sheets.  At dawn, they wake with fresh clothes on their bosoms and the smell of frying pig sizzling in their senses.  The sun is called forth to rise – to cast its light upon the carefully orchestrated parade of wealth, esteem, and bountiful possessions.  It is not the same sun that rises in our sky, however, miles away on the parched cracked desert landscape.  Our sun shines its light on the isolation that grips our souls, a quiet mockery floating around us, chanting incessantly.  Our sun shines on the madness that constantly knocks at our minds – flaunting its reprieve.  Soothing our hearts with the insatiable promise and satisfaction of a swift revenge.    

Poetry: Entry #2
Scuttle Bug
Bye-Bye scuttle bug
A field of flowers
Where the sun is warm
And the fence is tall

Lie-Lie scuttle bug
A face of smiles
Where you hide the storm
And build your wall

Fly-Fly scuttle bug
A nest of honey
Where the bees can swarm
And the chance is small

Cry-Cry scuttle bug
A prison of roses
Where sharp is the thorn
And blame must fall

Try-Try scuttle bug
A heart of darkness
Where hate is the norm
And guilty is the call

Ramblings #3

It creeps in so quietly, you barely notice the toxic fumes poisoning your soul.   Silently, piece by piece you are taken apart – shattered within and filled with fear.  The distinct smell of self-doubt fills your senses and the incessant chatter laced with shame and paranoia invade your waking thoughts.  Until one day the person in the mirror staring back at you is no more.  Your heart and soul only a hollowed out shell of the person you once were.  The strength and confidence beaten into submission, only to be cast away to the hungry mouths of the shadows.  The fiber of my being stitched together, with intricately woven threads of wisdom and experience will never falter.  Will never break.  This I know, but how do I stop the constant drain of energy and happiness from seeping through the cracks in my armor?  When I recollect all of the tiny pieces of myself, I am able to nurture them – bring them back to life and help them grow.  But only if I learn how to protect them.  I must build a wall – allowing others to appreciate from a distance.  Close enough to touch, but far enough not to steal.  What would a wall like this be made of?  What is strong enough to contain my heart and soul?  …….ah, yes….I know….LOVE

Poetry Entry #3

The kettle is screaming
My mind is reeling
I can’t stop the sound
constant revealing
the ripping continuous
with laughing insanity
catching my breath
  certain calamity
 the muted monotony
bouncing off the walls
moving reality
it watches me fall

Ramblings #4
She peers through the curtains at the converging crowd.  They are there for her, yes, but to what end?  There is deception behind their smiles and laughter.  There is evil dripping below the surface of their tender words.  She feels it.  She knows it.  But just as she embraces that reality, the ugly isolation grips her heart and tears at her very being.  The masks are not real.  The toothy smiles cover ugly tongues rich with words of slander and hatred.  Is she the only one who can feel their contradictions pulling at her mind?  Why can no one else smell the smoky, rotten scent cast by their jealousy?  Her constant movement is not due to politics or social cues – she runs from the mutiny building around her.  Within careless eyes and busy thoughts, their intentions swarm to her.  Following her every move.  The ignorant bliss of the party-goers is like a dagger to her heart.  Pushing her further into the black cloud of alienation.  She alone must face this pain.  She alone must brace herself for the onslaught that will inevitably come.  Awakened inside her, the filter is not yet secure.  Her defenses are weakened, her proximity a wretched reminder she has no shield. 
Chased and surrounded, she gives in to the fight.  Closing her eyes, she waits for it to be over. 
Closing her eyes, she waits. 

Poetry Entry #4

A knight no longer he would be. 
 Dressed in shiny metal folds, amidst his enemy. 
Armor sliced, the arrow deep, begging his flesh to bleed
Now we know, his stance a sham - he quickly falls to his knees.
With not a word nor countrymen
Facing his destiny
Truth be told, set to sea
A knight no longer he would be.

Ramblings #5
Bravery.  Such a fickle word.  What does it mean?  Savings someone’s life?  Speaking your mind?  Taking a stand?   All of these meanings sound like verbs to me…  And bravery is a noun.  “Bravery (noun): meaning brave spirit or conduct”.  And what, you say, defines a brave spirit?  Why, a spirit that is brave of course.  But now we are back to where we started – the word brave.  I think I hear Pandora’s Box opening…  The word itself has many disguises: an adjective, a noun, a verb, an adverb.  Can it not make up its own mind as to what it wants to be?  That seems pretty cowardly to me…not very brave at all.  Along with its many tricky disguises, it also travels with a slew of sidekicks!  Brave-ness, brave-ly, un-braved, brave-hearted, un-brave-ly, quasi-brave….quasi-brave???  What is that?  You are kind of brave?  Mostly brave with a streak of scared-silly?  If I were brave, I don’t think I’d want to be associated with quasi…I’m just sayin…but maybe that’s why brave is so brave in the first place.  It doesn’t care what others think.  Maybe it’s more comprehensive – encompassing all that is courageous, fearless, and valiant.  But that in itself threatens to discredit the word altogether.  With so many parts and pieces, brave begins to morph and change into something else completely.  And then what are we left with?  Quasi, that’s what.  A whole bunch of quasi. 

Poetry Entry #5
Puppet Master

Mr. Puppet Master, pull your strings,
Make us dance, make us sing
Empty promises of instant glory
Rest for the weary, not part of the story
We work, we dance to your tune alone
We exhaust, we collapse, we turn into stone
Our joints are worn, our clothes are tattered
But still you play, our needs never mattered
If we break or fall, it is our fault alone
You are untouchable, atop your throne
We’re tossed to the side
Replaced by imposters
No loyalty displayed, no guarantees
We’re kicked to the curb,
Then stabbed in the back
No chance of reprieve
On the puppet master’s strings


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