(W)Restling
Sarah L. Keck
Table of Contents Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................ iii Part 1: Rumination Your Help .....................................................................................................................................2 Stop, Stare, and Think ..................................................................................................................3 Why the Injustice? ........................................................................................................................5 Part 2: Revulsion The Worst Pain .............................................................................................................................8 Terror in the Night ........................................................................................................................9 Nun too Scary .............................................................................................................................11 Thanklessgiving .........................................................................................................................12 Part 3: Release Dirge of Rain ..............................................................................................................................14 October’s Mixed Emotion ..........................................................................................................15 From the Casket .........................................................................................................................17 Ishes with Dishes ........................................................................................................................19 Part 4: Retaliate Burning .......................................................................................................................................22 An Explosion Waiting to Happen ..............................................................................................23 I’m Not Your Robot (I’m Just Me) ............................................................................................24 Cold Killer ..................................................................................................................................25 Part 5: Remember Running ......................................................................................................................................28 My Sister, My Friend .................................................................................................................30 Light Shine .................................................................................................................................31
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Acknowledgements Cover Design Hands and Shoes: Clip Art Other Artwork: Sarah Keck A few nightmares, news stories, and personal life experiences have inspired most of my poems. They are what a lot of people can go through in life, and the parts divided up make up the process in how I deal with my own hardships with it. I hope that with these poems, readers can relate to what I go through and perhaps learn how to deal with their own troubles with life.
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Part 1 Ruminate
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Your Help When was the last time you heard, “Stay out of it”? Your response ranged from an eye roll to a pleading gesture. The nagging feeling squeezing inside telling you to follow your instincts Will not go away. Your hands are numb, as you open your mouth, as you form your words. You wanted to help. You’re still at it but wonder if every action is empty as more of it is needed. Every other hour is rushed; The struggle to go on is tearing you down yet you can’t just stop and say “no.” You can keep this up and forget about yourself for those hours, For days even, trying to make peace for you and the person. What answer do you expect? No matter what the outcome, Whether someone lambasts you until frustrated tears dampen your eyes, rebukes you until you feel like you’ve wronged the person instead, accuses you as if you were “helping” to make the person’s life miserable, or if they thank you for being there, Your help is selfless, well-meaning, And never ill-willed.
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Stop, Stare, and Think I look out the window, out at a sky covered in blankets of silver cotton, lined with shiny rips. I do this often, not for creativity or inspiration. That’s too cliché here. It’s easier to stare up when thinking about the things that have passed. Shambles My home is not a home anymore. The outside is scenic and welcoming, plants line up near the walkway like they’re allowing you to pass. But inside is a whole ‘nother story. The bull in a china shop must be true because every room is stripped as if the bull’s horns jabbed into everything. Its feet were oversized hammers and stamped cabinets and counters like it was desperately searching for cud. How can anyone go home now when damage turns it hostile within? Procrastination Then there’s the battle inside that seems to commence when I wake. Do I want to do something? Or do I want to just sit and do nothing? There are important things to do but I’m not feeling the motivation. I never felt this way before and it scares me to think I slack. What if it equates with a person in trouble? I’m not a perfect person; not everything can get done, but doing nothing tops it for the worst. Foolish Evil Everything I watch is like staring at free riots. People today act like protection is evil. They act like loving your country is racist.
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They act like faith is void and immature. They act like they have a right to know everything from privacy to past lives Come on! They mattered like gnats flying around! They act like Pharisees, those damn teachers of the law. They think they’re right all the time and persecute people who won’t agree. Is leaving people alone too much to ask? Do they ever think beyond bias? They act like they can do whatever they want even if what happens touches parasitism; they benefit while the others are harmed. It’s the land of the free, Not of the oppressed. Now What? I feel like sleeping but I know I can’t do that. There are still things to do, Things to think about, Plus I’m not even really tired, and it’s not easy to sleep when thinking too much. Maybe everybody should stop and start thinking. Who knows what they’ll do after that?
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Why the Injustice? Why are such terrible things in life on our case? Is color really an issue to worry about? Why is the word “different” a threat that needs to be wiped out? What makes people think they’ll accomplish something by throwing their pain around? Why is the truth hidden to keep the victims bound? How is obscene language making us lose our breath in laughter? Why do people believe in something that makes the sense of grading lunches? What are people afraid of when we don’t conform to standards they’re after? Why does a single act of change threaten to receive punches? Does a simple explanation really have to hurt someone no matter the meaning? Why are the wrong people blamed over crimes and heartbreaks? Where does love get so many definitions that may be meaningless? Why do we indulge ourselves in pleasures that can make us deteriorate? When we say all life matters, do we really include all life? Why do the unremorseful commit evil acts and not cower? Are the higher-ups ever going to seek justice and not just power? Why do green paper and metal coins turn honest people to strife? Will we escape the pandemic of injustice we face?
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Part 2 Revulsion
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The Worst Pain If we didn’t eat, our body would. Except it would eat itself. Does it have to scream it out As a reminder when I ate That damn, toxic piece of meat? Here’s how it does it: Body sweating like an ice cream bar That’s condensing, My stomach is relentlessly hit, Shot with a thousand thorns from a cactus. A fireball may as well be Growing, ready to combust And consume everything In and out of me As lava after an eruption That steadily feeds the pain. This girl is lying down, feeling like she’s deteriorating from the inside. The two pills compress her, because she ate them without thinking of a risky OD, And threaten to shut her down, even though she tries to prop her eyes and grasp a breath while fighting the thorns. Sad how eating can be a frenemy depending on what functions it has for us inside.
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Terror in the Night I lie down and gaze At the story on my phone And curse at the words. With effort, I sleep But what I read was haunting. Sleep doesn’t seem safe. I wake not in bed But in a chilly bathroom. Exposed, I shiver. My pjs are gone And I look around, frightened. Where are my blankets? Soon I hear voices That petrify me solid Like Medusa would. I realize that The walls around me are glass. I’m a few floors up. I creep up and look And the source of the voices Belong to three men. Something just happened. I flinch back and hit my head. Instantly, it’s dark. Again I wake up, The floor this time is softer. No bed, a car floor. The door flies open And I see an evil smirk. I know what’s coming. His hand is a plane Ready to crash into me, Or, just at my front.
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No! I scream, fist up. This one is a fighter jet, A bomb to his crotch. The three men are there Trying, like in the story, To do what scared me. They are relentless As they struggle to touch me Like I’m a stress ball. I fight them, thinking: What I have and desire Will not be taken. Fin’ly, they’re all down But the battle’s not over. Here comes another. He is demonic. His eyes stab with machetes As he stares at me My hair vanishes In his burly fist. He claims, You have to submit. His hand reaches down. My nightmare is coming true, Or so I had thought. I shoot up and flinch Like I got burned in lava. I’m back in my bed. There is no bathroom, No car, not even four men, But my phone, screen down.
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Nun too Scary Maggie Smith. Mother Superior? Is she Catholic for real? Why is she standing in the driveway, Standing near my car? There’s another nun with her, One heavyset with enthusiasm That rivaled the minds of typical nuns. Kathy Najimy. Sister Mary Patrick? This isn’t Sister Act; No dancing, no singing, no antics, None of those things. Baptism couldn’t be the reason, Nor were they blessing anything. Instead they inspect the car, Like they’re attempting to inspect One’s soul for any sign of evil. What in my car could be evil Except reminders of when I learned to drive? Suddenly there’s a SCREECH As soon as one arm pulls out of the window. They must have rolled it down. They flinch and sign the cross, no, They pulled off my brake. Another car enters the street, In the path of my oncoming car. I shriek for the sisters to catch the car Before a collision is inevitable. An SUV vs. two nuns? Likely defeat. My shrieks are not enough To cease what comes next. The deafening sound of metal on metal Scratching the surfaces, like ten chalkboards. Something breaks inside me And I fall to my knees with a thud. So what if they’re busted on the concrete? No pain in that compared to what may lay ahead. Before the nuns can speak, everything vanishes. It’s darker than it was earlier, as I lay on my back.
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Thanklessgiving There are many things to be thankful for. That’s the gist of this holiday, for sure. But what about the things we don’t want to thank since they serve only to daunt? For me, I used to be thankful for family time; my aunts, uncles, cousins at the day’s prime. However when the swap on the role, host, switched to Mom, it wasn’t something to boast. Now this holiday for me is meaningless It’s now centered on how why we should be thankless.
I am not thankful for the stress that plagues my mother, turning her to a mess. I am not thankful that she says the house is as clean as the life of a head louse. I am not thankful for how she thinks our FAMILY will claim her hosting stinks. I am not thankful for how the preparations Get us into bad situations Like losing patience with each other And ending in rage starting with my brother. I am not thankful for how this year will repeat itself here in my own home, sucking out our gratitude and upping our anxiety and anger to a new altitude. I am not thankful that I feel this way. Will anything about this holiday be okay?
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Part 3 Release
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Dirge of Rain Many drops are falling As if the sky’s mourning With us. Thousands of teardrops Seem to be reflecting The many of whom We’ve lost. Death makes thunder crash Until ears are deafened By rage Lashing out with vengeful bolts. The drops won’t bring life back Since the puddles flow And leave. The wind is blowing, gasping As if trying to catch a breath But can’t because it is overwhelmed by loss of pure, sunny joy and much more. Sad, mad. Above, there’s no color In the sky except puffy pores. It’s dull. We can’t see past the drops That are moistening our eyes As we look up and search For light. It doesn’t last long because Like feelings, weather changes. We change. The sun is out, a new day, Clearing, calming, tears drying As if the air is healing Like us.
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October’s Mixed Emotion Sunny, Cool Daze The sky is water coming out of a purifier. The sun is free to wade in the pool above, Happy to not encounter impurities. However, snowy clouds and bloody leaves Will mark that pool on a windy day. Still, too much blue isn’t desired all the time. The ground is covered, yet not with snow. The scent brings a welcoming feeling to me. The rustling sound makes a playful noise as I walk. My eyes will not unglue from these sights. Nor will my nose and ears turn away. I could stand out in this chilly day, breathing it in. Passed The second month in a row, in a year. A final breath exhales with difficulty And water falls in trickles, not to be stopped. One was in pain, and the other was forgetful. Whether physical or mental, it all hurts As the sun sets in the dark horizon. That one day pulled on my seams The next day a year later, it tears them up. All on the same month? Is there a trend? It shouldn’t define what this month is Sure, leaves will fall, as do lives, But they will grow back, it takes time. Frights Before No oven has cooled down so fast When the knob’s turned down. Icy particles begin to emerge like ghosts. Leaves rustle and crinkle As the wind blows them against lamps,
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Casting monstrous shadows. Sounds of cracking and crunching On the ground make me flinch. These nights are both fun and dangerous. It doesn’t have to be that one night For hearts to beat irregularly And breaths to shorten in fear. Heck, it doesn’t need to be that same month Even though it enforces those thoughts. Anything at night like this can be fearful.
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From the Casket My body is still Like a brick on a sidewalk. Touch me, no response. I look like I am sleeping But they can’t wake me. Slowly and surely, I am fading to nothing. I still hear crying. No tears will fall from my eyes. I hate feeling nothing. I see my daughters, My son, and their families. I have to leave them. My grandchildren look at me And they turn away bawling. Now I can see through Myself as if I’m not there. I can’t tell them this. No voice will come out of me Just like my tears that won’t flow. How I long to live Once again and rise out of That depressed ol’ box. I want to tell all of them That I love them very much. All that I will miss: Graduations, wedding bells, First words, corny puns. My friends lost a golf player. And I lost a game. The amount of tears Could flood this room faster Than a leaky pipe. I know I’ll see them one day But that day’s not fast enough. My eyes are still here To take in the last moments.
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A snotty tissue, “Mommy, where is he going?” And a soft, silent goodbye…
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Ishes1 with Dishes Foggy steam blasts into my face As I shove the next round inside The mouth of the roaring machine. It’s not getting enough trays Since they keep coming in, Like they want to be eaten. I am forced to abandon The lone dishes sitting out on the sinks Like lone vegetables on a kid’s plate. My face is as hot as the temperatures Of the wash and rinse cycles. Even my frustration joins the race. The kitchen is empty, except for The occasional coworker, who acts Like I’m not even there. I am buried alive in trays and dishes! I feed the machine fast, not fast enough. It needs dishes, but rushes forbid the feed! Closing time, the coworkers come! I expect help, but not for what’s next. They have their own dishes To clean off, or so I thought. My machine is now being fed by others When it should’ve been by me! Yet, most of them have just rinsed And left the dishes to rot on the sinks, As if my boiling self will do them all! What morons made me the maid? They aren’t my dishes near closing! The sinks are piled high like a toddler’s Poor efforts of stashing toys away. This shift was not meant for one person. My time is coming, to hang my apron And leave for the day, but that’s not Going to happen anytime soon, Not with a greedy dish machine.
1
“Issues” for short
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Part 4 Retaliate
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Burning… Fire burned safety from my thoughts, Fire burned fear into my every waking moment, Fire burned into my eyes as the objects were consumed – It devoured everything until complete silence. Fire burned without remorse of its actions, whether good or bad, Fire burned my trust of living in sanctuary – Even silence had hints of heat stirring. Fire burned in me without anybody knowing the inferno inside me.
Fire burned deep within until even I was blind to it. Fire burned out in dormancy – I am numb to the heat. Seeing it, smelling it, but no response. Fire burned on sight, ready to do its role, Fire burned but didn’t get to continue because I was there, Fire burned but I was burning with something else – Stone shock, then pure rage. Smother until suffocation. Fire burned out. I will not let it consume me again.
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An Explosion Waiting to Happen Annoyance clings its slimy fingers around my brain like a hoard of lustful ticks, Causing me to hear things, And turn me from a gentle wave to a volcano preparing for eruption. Annoyance squeezes my brain, it vibrates violently in my ears when I constantly hear an erupting clichéd pass that’s been unnecessary from the start. If I don’t stifle the explosion inside, like a soldier on top of a grenade, it will start a chain reaction, conjure a mess beyond fixing, and make me wallow in shame. Annoyance, why? Why? Why do you make me feel this way? Why do you make me grow weary of another who means no illness in the words being said? Release your damn tentacles, cling on to something easily impatient, squeeze that until you get yours, and create your own issues Where they’ll be more meaningless Than you have been to me. When that something blows its top I hope your fate is worse than What I would have felt.
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I’m Not Your Robot (I’m Just Me) I’m not your robot So I can live a life according to the buttons I’m not taking after the one before me So I can lose my sense of individuality I’m not joining in the beastly hate So I can desecrate the right and flourish the sin I’m not a clone in which I can pass as another So I can learn the ways of the one closest to me I’m not doing an act for this person So I can let them shift it from an activity to an order I’m not going to conform to the rulebook of my sex So I can later say I do I’m not going to be a sheep So I can follow every head professing as a sage at birth I’m not compromising for an empty trend So I can believe it’s an acceptable way to live I’m not to be controlled by proclaimers of Perfect So I can keep from standing out I’m just me So I can freely live without any imprisoning metal. -
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Inspired by Miley Cyrus’s “Robot”
Cold Killer This may be a letter but I will never say “dear” Because you are not cut Out to be called a dear! My complaint, I shall confess You destroy all that’s good. A desecrator, oh yes. Since the end builds your ‘hood! You’re not seen at the start But whether you’re exposed or not You’ll still aim at the heart. You’re a death sentence if you’re not caught! People endure pain because of you They try to bomb you with chemicals, A genocide will do Against your combined tentacles! Like in a war, something’s lost When fighting the enemy. In plain sight is the cost, How it is painful to see! But you have no remorse, You continue to multiply Your army, to stay on course Until you hear the last sigh!
Your hands are coated thick with blood Of people you took away. Oh, your future is total mud, You sick, vile, murderous plague! I will end here with this: Invincible or not, Ruining lives amiss, Your end is worse than what you’ve got!
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Part 5 Remember
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Running I see a runner Dashing across the sidewalk Wearing pink earphones Steps and beat mismatch As the bass booms in her ears. She’s pounding away. Red shirt shows sweat stains, White shorts cling tight to her thighs, She is being squeezed. Her legs are toothpicks Threatening to snap in two By how fast she goes. I can see her face, Is it determination Or is it fatigue? She puckers and blows Inhaling and exhaling No signs to give up. A hot day to run Is she running to work out? Is it an escape? Perhaps she’s rushing, Is a day a time limit For her to uphold? She may be anxious Because she has much to do That prohibits brakes. Where will it all end When she can slow down the time And drink it all in? She ought to walk more And begin exercising Not her legs, her eyes.
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Why miss everything And lose it all to the blur? Relax, girl! Come on!
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My Sister, My Friend Sister. Blood or no blood, You are a part of me. Not just by a phone’s connection. My love. Friendship. It blossomed then And it blossoms today. Like a sweet flower that is born. Rooted. Conflicts Will anger us. We may yell, we may shout But we will make up in the end. Settled. Our work Keeps us apart. Yes, we have to do it. But we won’t forget each other. Worth it. Leaving. Sad but common. We have to set out soon. We won’t always be together. Missing. Staying. Here or not here, You will stay in my heart. Distance hurts, but it will not win. Bonding. Some days We reunite. I cherish that moment. Short-lived, but there are more to come. Always.
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Light Shine Darkness embalms the room, Nothing can be seen, detected. It’s as thick as condiments; Who could see through that mess? ~~~ Suddenly, the blinds on the window open steadily. As they’re pulled up, a ray emerges. Yellow and shiny, it zaps the floor, revealing specks of dust flying obliviously, like houseflies escaping the swats. As the ray expands, the room is exposed. Light is painted on the floor with a roller. No speed is used because this light wants its print in perfect lining, a masterpiece. Not yet finished, but the result will be outstanding. It’s so bright, no darkness of any kind could conceal it. The temperature creeps up slowly because the darkness is warming up, that’s what’s causing it to vanish with the upward buzz. The brighter the room, the hotter it gets. Rays of the sun don’t burn immediately. Closer to the window, some darkness survives. It’s sheltered behind various objects placed in the room, or strewn everywhere. The light’s rays shift forward, shrinking the shadows. Hiding doesn’t ensure their safety, without the object, it’s “poof” for them. It’s like the light is battling the darkness. I laugh as the light builds up while the former dies. If that’s the case here, it should be for real life. The rays fight the shadows, fighting to triumph. Are we destined for light or are we fated for darkness? Life could use more of this light. Finally, the blinds reach the top and the sun is in full view on the window.
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The condiments of darkness have been wiped away. Eyes can see, eyes can build confidence and their owners may bask in the light. They’re protected from the darkness’s blinds.
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