Cinderella's Slipper

—Poems by Linda M. Crate, Meadville, PA

—Anonymous Photos
 

you need a better personality

i am who i am,
but you were always trying
to tame and cage me;
domesticate me when i was never meant to
be anything less than a free bird
flying through sunsets without a care
or fear in the world—
you told me i could model
if i lost a few pounds,
and you don't know how much that affected
my mental health
when we came shattering down
like cinderella's broken glass slipper thundering
into the floor of the universe;
for the longest time i didn't want to eat
or drink or sleep
just wanted to talk to you so i could see if the
monster in the mirror was really me or a manifestation
in my mind
i had so much to say,
but you wouldn't let me
speak;
perhaps because you knew you were wrong
or because you never really cared how i felt about anything—
maybe lose a few flaws and you'd have a personality
worth having.

 

beautiful monster

in the dawn of older mornings
my love for you fluted like
the songs of nesting birdsong through
rivers of trees and slants of golden days and
the white of rainy remembrances,
but it never seemed
to reach you;
i loved you so much i abandoned sense
and morality
giving you the choicest of my flowers
only so you could abandon me
beneath the harsh white kisses of winter
cold and distant as your
very heart and soul—
i realize now
sometimes the most beautiful faces are those of
monsters,
but i will slay all the wickedness of this world
that i am able;
for while other girls found they were princesses
i have always known i am a warrior
of light and virtue and love.

forever may you burn

there are shadows of us
hanging in my
memories
little ghosts to haunt me
just when i get to
thinking that i
am fine,
and i wish i could just exorcise
my mind because there's
no need for wolves to linger where
they should no longer tread;
you're never coming back because you
were never mine
even if i must forever be
yours—
if i could have read between the lines
i would have just left before you
shattered me into a thousand shards
so your soul had someone to
sing to
because i loved you with all of me
simply so you could hold me in your lowest
esteem of lust,
and i remember the cutting words and the
tears i cried at your last letter;
may every sunset bring with you the fires of my rage
forever may you burn.

stranger in my skin

we drank two glasses of
peach champagne
before
anyone else arrived
convinced of our own brilliance
and immortality
slipping into the vague slipper of
happiness
every laughter knows,
and i think that was the night i realized
that maybe i wasn't quite
as straight as i thought i was
the day i fell in love with you although i wouldn't
admit that to anyone
not even myself;
felt like a stranger in my own skin
so i laughed too hard at
jokes
and fell asleep to the ambience of crickets
strumming their legs like violins
dreaming of the pink
that i once knew was your hair. 

 carnival

i remember the carnival
a party
in august where we
could all play and dress up,
and people were
gawking;
whispering "it's not even halloween"
they couldn't understand us
even if they tried
i tried not to let them bother me
but their narrow-minded
notions
grated heavily on my
nerves—
i was the leopard girl that asked for
an apple tini that was more tini
than apple,
and i remember how that guy hit on me;
until he was told i was
dating the
"preacher's boy"—
it was fun
to lose myself in the music,
the drinks, the poutine;
it's not something i have at home.

it wouldn't be right

be gentle
i'm more broken than i'll ever say
because i've never wished
to burden anyone
not even you,
my enemy,
who's hurt me more than any apology
could ever atone for;
i was icarus
and you were the sun that doubted my love
burning away my wings
until i fell away
into this ocean of ice and misery—
words cannot express
adequately all my rage and my pain and sorrow
being left behind like this
i learned to fly again,
and my wings regrew;
wanted to fly back into your arms but they were
already taken by someone else—
i thought how nice it would be to see the water from
beneath it upon the heads of river stones,
and yet i realized that it wouldn't be right to surrender my
power or worth to a man who couldn't even remember what
his heart was used for.

_________________

Today’s LittleNip:

My life is like a lone, forgotten Q-tip in the second-to-last drawer.

—Carrie Fisher

________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Crate from far-away p-a—another step toward the new year!

 Celebrate!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.