I sometimes wish that we were so advanced, that we could just take trips to the moon and stay there for a while,
Wouldn't it be so ironic if we were able to break the laws of physics, or maybe change the theory, that one day love would be 'uplifting' and not 'falling'? On some days I wake up really lazy, but on some other days I wake up with this desire to leave and start over, I woke up this morning with a desire to be another person, I wanted to uname myself, erase my past and all those experiences and start with a clean sleigh Nonetheless, I was aware that I couldn't do any of that, I couldn't keep waiting for an alternative solution to come, so I could 'not be here' at times that were convenient to me, Couldn't undo anything but, I knew that I was able to change myself and my behaviors, But I had to unlearn everything that was undesirable, Where do you start? When you are a woman with lots of words for everything, and you can't seem to bottle up feelings inside, you are nothing but undesirable in the eyes of any men, If I were to unlearn myself everything I ever knew, what would my name be? Would the woman I become taste better in your mouth? Would you want to go for a second round or maybe third? If I were to undo my sins and reversed my experiences, I wouldn't have anything left to write about, I would be a simple a woman with a clear conscious, But maybe a little bit more lovable, I woke up yesterday thinking about what it meant to not be here, After 10 minutes I felt a serene feeling inside of me, I remembered that if love meant falling hard, and breaking bones, than you don't deserve me at all
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Write poetry.
Beautiful girl, draw pictures in people's minds, make canvases out of unawake souls. write, write, write, until you can't no more I want to write poetry for a living, wake up on Sunday mornings to the smell of lavender outside my window. get inspired by sounds of the cars passing by singing a gospel, but not in this time I am reminded that poetry cuts you open, it exposes the sides of you not visible to the human eye, but what is visible? what can you see about me that would ever make you think I want her I want her whole I want her honest Nobody likes an honest soul Nobody wants to ruin the ambiance with honesty so write, write about those who are here, those who once were and those who are yet to come. make your mind a museum, an orchestra, an exposition, for the world to see, stranded with no clothes, no shelter, no moral compass, no home write. just write and never stop. write until ink on paper bleeds red Society 'teaches us' to be women,
What makes a woman? As young girls we grow up playing doll house, mommy and daddy, and we can't forget how mothers forces us to aspire to marriage, children and having it all together before the age of 25 Be the perfect mother, Be the ageless sister, Be the forgiving wife, Be the young professional and still manage to have enough free time to do your hair, make sure your nails are always done and smile, that smile... 'baby girl, don't you ever forget to smile!' I can still reminisce the voice of my grandmother telling me that every time I felt a little nostalgic But this poem is not about aspiration, its not about dreams or goals, its about the present, its about the truth that lies within bedroom doors of young girls, What does make a woman? I once heard girls talking about what they portrait love to be, I remember the first butterfly feelings of falling on love, You wake up thinking that you have the world at your feet and everything will work out because you are in love... But when do we exactly teach these girls about values? Do you talk to your daughters about virtues and morals? Do you encourage her to make her own life choices and not create a concrete dream for her with stairs that are to high for her to reach? Did it ever occur to you that your daughter might be feeling so ashamed? That she can't meet the expectations of her parents because she no longer wishes to raise a family and be a house wife? She wants to break hearts and travel the world, she wants to experience intimacy without being touched... What really does make a woman? Is it her curves and her full lips? Is it her flawless skin and glowing face? What does make a woman? I once heard two girls talking about what they considered true love to be, and the girl asked the other girl, but how do you know if he really loves you? after a long pause the other girl said with a heavy voice..."after he is done having sex with me, he'd still want to hear about my hopes and dreams. I guess that's what makes a woman, doesn't it?" And that question had me thinking ever since... Daughters are mysterious,
they are full of love to give, full of beauty, If you ever give have a child, I pray for it to be a daughter, Give your daughter empowered names, Empower her to be the best she can be, Teach her about heart break, Tell her about your high school heartbreaks, Late nights, watery eyes, swollen face, Tell her all about it, Tell her about the lies you were ever told, Tell her about false promisses and the debts you owe, Teach her independence, teach her pride, Let her know that she does not need a man to survive, That love can sometimes be cruel and hurting, But tell her too, that love is magic, Show her difference between love and lust, Tell her don't mirror my past, Daughters are called gifts for a reason, they are a reminder to all the fathers who once ever broke a womans heart, A reminder to show them what the face of heartbreak looks like Written by Keyla Reeder Writers are forgetful, and detailed
They always have the right thing to say, sometimes at the worst times I used to think it was a gift, to feel every thing so deeply I have made my mind a museum for the world to admire from up close, and now..it's just a circus, for amusement I wanted to make it stop, stop feeling, stop writing, stop being so full But I couldn't, I couldn't make those words and voices inside my head stop It was like an addiction that fed off my sobriety and ate it whole Was I going insane? Was I the same person that I feared to become? I couldn't change myself as much as tried, and as the years went on and on I found myself lost in the colors and beautiful sight of it all, What a beautiful and tragic gift, to be so full of life and so empty at the same time |
AuthorA collection of a few published poems and spoken words by Keyla. Feel free to go through any of them, feed back is always welcome. Archives
April 2018
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