Okay, what is poetry?

Okay, what is poetry?”, I got asked by a snooping little girl holding open one of my many notebooks.

I was horrified, she clearly had read something but what? There’s no need to introduce this young girl to feelings she probably couldn’t understand. The profanity, the vulgarity, the explicitly of certain poems weren’t really what bothered me, but corrupting a young mind that shouldn’t have to deal with some of my deepest and darkest feelings got me petrified.

Then, other questions started popping up :

What if she tells everyone?? What if she starts asking others questions? What if she researches herself what she doesn’t understand? What if she asks her teachers?? …

One question amongst them all terrified me:

What if she asked me if those are my true feelings?

Well, it’s not that difficult to lie to a young child or to distract them from the matters at hand, to be quite honest it wouldn’t even be challenging to convince her that those writings were past homeworks.

But did I want it to? Children are way easier to speak to, when they don’t understand something or get curious, they get super quiet and are attentive listeners. I could easily dumb it down or beautify it for her and still get it off my chest. But then, what would have been the point of telling her at all?

If I did a good job, she’d never ask about it again and if I did poorly, well, one word : catastrophy, curiosity at a peak, questions upon questions at any given time.

What if I told her the whole truth? What is the whole truth? That I get very anxious? That I get very sad? That sometimes, I feel nothing at all? That I envy those who have blond hair because they can color so much easier? It digs so deep and sometimes only brushes the surface.

And by the time I’ve been struggling with all of those questions, she had already gotten bored and was heading out of the room.

“It doesn’t matter”, she said as she disappeared from my sight.

“Hmm… I guess you’re right”, I replied a few seconds later.


Abruë – 01

She has a pretty face, 

She has curvy body, 

She has a beautiful voice, 

She has that wonderful smile, 

In many many ways  she looks amazing.
She has a gentle personality, 

She has a very soothing approach, 

She gives sounds advices, 

In many many ways, she’s a smart woman. 
She is kind, she is generous, she is lovely, she is encouraging, she is inspiring, she is charismatic. She is like a goddess within reach. Everyday, she comes out of her house ready to push someone to climb the ladder and every night, she comes back satisfied to have reached her daily goal. 

So many followers, so many fans. So many haters, so many skeptics. It does make sense that one or two would bound to investigate and stalk her out-of-the-spotlight life. But even so, she’s so private, maybe too much. 

And that’s maybe why, she couldn’t be saved. 

Codependency (1/2)

Love may include codependency but the reverse is not always true. 

I know one relationship that emulates perfectly this word. Two people deeply in love with each other, except that one behaves so much like a child that he never had the time to discover his feelings while the other one is so busy taking care of her partner that she completely forgot about hers. HavIng met through mutual friends, she crushed at first sight and decided to push herself onto him, but little did she know that he’ll have her caring for him until death tears her apart from him. 
At first, she would come and hang out and, so shocked by his poor living condition, she’d help around the house. But, by the end of the second anniversary since they met, she had already moved in and was taking care of the household and everything else. He was careless, sloppy, but also cute, affectionate and so well-versed with his words. He was one heck of a romantic poet. Sometimes, she’d think that maybe she inspired her words but she’d blushed because it’d be so unlikely. 

6 months later, she was all about a good schedule of the chores and her work. Her world would revolve around him, the house, her work. Her friends complained, her boss was disappointed that she wouldn’t work more.  She was barely doing okay. By the end of the year, I received a call, she was at the hospital, she tried to commit suicide. I went to visit her but she had been moved to a center treating mental illnesses. All the time, I kept looking for him, asking where he was and when I called, he said he couldn’t take the cab, it was too much of a hassle, he’d wait for her to come back instead. She never did. 

5 years later, she was living quietly in another city, smoothly blossoming. That’s when he knocked at the door, as sloppy as ever, he handed to her an amount of 5 years of poetry in a box and ran away. She spent an entire weekend reading every notebook and every word reminded her of the love that overtook her heart, the love that was buried under so much stress and housework. She had forgotten about her flustering whenever he was looking or her, day dreaming about their future together… 

She never tried to kill herself, at less, she never consciously meant to do it. Everyday, she used to feel trapped, doing things that she never intended to do and no reason would come to mind why she’d do it. But now, she understood. On the hard cover of every notebook, he wrote his contact information and, after a deep breath, she mailed him. He responded quickly and they continued doing so for three whole months. But they never met. 

Codependency (2/2)

They never met because she wasn’t ready yet to dive into this lifestyle again, at least she thought so but he never mentioned it either because he was afraid she’d disappear for real this time. They took their time, getting to know each other again. 

2 months later, he was having a private celebration with family and friends for the release of his collection of poems. My piling love, he called it. He asked of her to come in a formal white dress, so she did, but never could she have imagined that they’d get married that day. All the guests were as shocked as she was but she couldn’t bring herself to say no when he asked her. Of course, they moved in again together. He still acts as spoiled as ever but she discovered a caring side of herself also. 

She loved to know that he’d only rely on her like that, that he’d only behave this way with her, she felt special. Although, she was enjoying this side of their relationship, she didn’t assume all the responsibilities in their relationship, she made him take charge of some of them. And sometimes, he’d had spontaneously done things, for the sake of their love, he grew up and continued doing a little little bit over time. Their marriage was happy. He was still codependent, she was still caring but somehow, they found a perfect balance that keeps them happy.  

I can’t smile 

Today, the sun is shining brightly. The birds are shyly singing from not too far, there are a few white clouds in this clear blue sky and all the colors seem to vividly pop. It’s the perfect get together day between friends and family. 

Reunited since a long time, there are some people here that I had completely forgotten about, their existence erased from my mind, so this little event was really nostalgic and welcomed. I reconnected with friends, school mates, estranged family, so much people that had slipped my mind. So many interactions, I got overwhelmed and got a little me time, sitting on a near lonely bench, to recover. 

It felt weird how this bench was put alone, half surrounded by flowers and half surrounded by a wall. I closed my eyes and relax but at this precise moment, I heard my name. I open my eyes and see him : my lovely, goofy boyfriend. A bit chubby, he’s nice, funny, average looking and so freaking friendly. He’s always surrounded by people and always gets you to do the most unlikely things ever. For example, on our first date, we went mountain climbing. To be quite sincere, I put on a brave face but I really thought I’d die. Oh God, the things you’d do to impress some boy but I really, truly, sincerely liked him already. 

He was walking to me, a big smile on his face then fell unexpectedly. He looked confused and brushed it off and so did I. We went back to the people but my eyes were always checking on him because I’ve been noticing a few odd things. First of all, he wasn’t smiling, it was the first time I never saw him grinning in more than 30mn. It kind of worried me. Second of all, he stopped talking, he’d briefly nod or say monosyllabic words but that was it. I thought he bumped his head harder than I thought and quickly suggest him to go to the hospital but he reassured me again that he was fine, only a bit tired from his all nighter at work the day before. I gave up but brought him home so he could rest and as soon as I saw his innocent sleeping face, I called an ambulance. It would have been impossible for me to move him so I opted for that easiest solution. 

They were pissed I called them on a hunch but the paramedics gave in to my pleas and drove him to the hospital. I talked to some doctor and as he was waking up, stunned by his relocation, the doctor made him do a few exercises. Which he couldn’t do at all. In a state of immediate emergency, the doctor took him to the OR and left me worried sick. I didn’t know what was going but I could guess that it was a grave concussion or something.

A few hours later, a surgeon came to talk to me, he explained that my boyfriend’s brain was practically swimming in blood, apparently, one of his arteries had ruptured. My shock was immediate, I felt so grateful that I had brought him here in time. The doctor said that the operation went well but he was still sleeping, recuperating. They couldn’t possibly inform me on the outcome of the operation until he opened his eyes. 

I spent days at his side, taking care of him, of the room, talking to him. Thankfully, I was on paid leave and his insurance as well as his work were covering the medical bills. I prayed and horrendously watched his brain decayed until the cerebral activity was no more. The doctors were short and brutal : there was no more hope. I cried, alone, beside him, alongside his family, with friends. They asked me what I wanted to do but I couldn’t just give up on him. “Whatever you choose”, I said, “I’ll always side with life, I’ll never lose faith, so you better not include me in the decision making cause I’m blindsided.”

They decided to officially end it all, he was clinically dead after all. As they unplug him, I was right beside him, holding his hands, keeping my tears to myself. Later on, while watching the empty bed, I wonder if he suffered, if he felt the agony of being out of air, if we did the right thing, if I did let them kill him, if I helped in condemning him to death before giving him the chance to struggle and reach out. 

His funerals were hard on me, I was surprised that I had more tears left to cry. It was held in a little church on a cold rainy day, everything seemed gray and lifeless to me… as he was… My tears were warm but couldn’t possibly rise my freezing body’s temperature. I shivered. I couldn’t believe he was really gone. I had lost him and I wished I was some kind of psychic so I could see or feel his spirit. I eventually accepted my lack of supernatural talent and gradually moved on but I never got him out of this cozy place in my heart. 


My heart was ripped of my chest years ago, before my teens precisely. My mother was a drug addict who tried to blackmail my rich father with her pregnancy. It backfired when he rolled her over with his brand new car. 

Luckily, I wasn’t badly hurt but my mother has been limping ever since. Her left leg couldn’t flex anymore and her back, because of the impact on her spinal cord, has been torturing her ever since. She became a junkie, addicted to pain medicine and quickly to other powerful drugs. When I was 7, we moved in with her drug dealer. He would shove the medicines down her throat, smirking while she’d foamed and her eyes would go white. And just at the last moment would he save her. He was a nurse who got his licensed revoked for smuggling pills. I was an early bloomer, at 9, my breasts were already showing and my hips were a bit wide. I couldn’t wear mini skirts anymore because my ass was getting in the way. My mother was always high or coming down from a bad trip (they’ve been ineffective for a long time now), so I never really understood what was going on with me, my body was changing, sometimes I would feel hot for no reason, I would have a few pimples here and there… I started to care about my appearance, I wasn’t the same anymore but I did my best to still look the same. 

One afternoon, it started raining cats and dogs while I was coming back from school. When I got home, I was drenched, I was soaked to the bones. My step father was watching the weather report and my mom had passed out on the ground, in the corner of the room. She looked so pitiful, my step father took one look at me and was instantly surprised. He told me I should take a hot bath, otherwise I would catch a cold. I went upstairs and got into the bath, thinking what could have caused his reaction. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him coming in. I only realised his presence when he entered the bathtub behind me, pushing me to make some space. 

I remembered feeling weird about it since it was the first time we took a bath together. I remembered feeling something hard poking my back. He made me take a pill, telling me it would prevent the cold and reinforce my immune system. I didn’t question it, a few minutes later, I started to feel warmer and warmer, my body was itching and fidgeting, my mind was a bit blurry, I was really bothered. At the same moment, I felt hands on my chest, gripping it hardly. Then they started touching my body all over and I would get even warmer, letting out little noises. I closed my eyes, lost and confused, and right after, I felt fingers down there. Things escalated pretty quickly, he took my innocence in the bath. It was scary, it was weird, confusing but his words were sweet and I felt this warmth hungrily eating me from the inside until it was all over. When I came down, I was broken and I couldn’t understand why. Since this day, I’ve been my step father’s partner. As I got older, his games would intensify. He even got my mother involved, making her do things to me. Every time, I was drugged, high on aphrodisiacs. 

When I was in middle school, he’d make me do all kind of sick things : once I didn’t wear panties and another time, we did it right before I went to school. When the bell rang for lunch and I tried to stand up, a white liquid flowed out of me, disgusting my classmates who reported it to the teacher. I was called to the principal office, my parents were called too and there was a social worker. My step father lied through his teeth, putting all the blame on me, saying I haven’t been home lately, that I’ve been hanging out with weird people, that I was imitating my ill mother. They sympathized with him, I didn’t know what to respond, I kept my mouth shut. We were put on probation and my mom was sent to jail. I was only 13 years old, it was still a crime. At this moment, I became my step father’s play thing. He would invite a lot of his friends over while he was gone. As soon as I would close the door behind them, they would jump on me and do their thing. Sometimes, they were more than 1, it would get as much as 6. It was terrifying, I never knew what they would do to me. Some would be sweet, others brutal, I started to stop caring, I stopped reacting and because of that, they would drugged me, so I could feel it. 

One afternoon, while three on them were roughly doing a drugged me, the door opened and my step father entered along with the social worker. She screamed, horrified and I got sent to juvie. While I was there, I got a break from the raping, from the drugs, it felt like a paradise and my heart was slowly getting pieced together. Only, until I got released for good behavior. I knew nobody would believe my story, specially since I was caught in the act. I asked to be put on a foster home but my social worker, charmed by my step father scolded me and took me back to his house. That night, as I was blindfolded, my legs and arms tied, my climaxing step father told me that my recovering and guilty mother died, she overdosed. I cried and yelled. As the last tear rolled down my cheeks, I knew everything was over, I was done for, there was nothing left for me. 

When I went back to school, the reasons why I got into juvie led to many rumors. Most of them stated my sexual drive. Number of times, I was locked into bathrooms or lockers just because they wanted their way with me, students (male, female), teachers, the janitor and even some parents. I got used to it. I let them do what they wanted with me, then dusted myself off and went on my way. At home, my step father would wait for me with more and more friends. People that I would have to suck, to ride, to please. My life became all about fucking. 

Before I knew it, I was a prostitute owned by my step father. The only thing he cared about was my health because he said that sick hoes weren’t valuable. Once he knew about the raping in school, he made a huge scandal, the school had to pay him big money, he scared those who assaulted me. Only there, did I have a bit of calm and peace. I grew up beautiful, I grew up with a perfect body and I entered a whole other class. My clients were rich and I would spend my nights in luxurious hotels. 

All of this were until now, I was coming back from my step father’s funeral, he died from a heart attack, on me. The irony was that I was given a whole lot of cash, around 2 millions. I didn’t know what to do with all of this. All I’ve ever done in my life was fucking, I was never taught better, it was my destiny, the only thing I knew how to do. I opened up a secret high class escort club. With my connections, it got popular pretty quick, I was always busy, I even had to employ some other girls. 

I kept on doing the same thing, until I couldn’t anymore, until I was no longer wanted. And I got rejected pretty quick, it wasn’t  a surprise, I was worn out, and because of a few abortions, my body wasn’t what it used to be. At 34, I was again aimless in life. An old geezer married me, he was as perverted as my step father. You would thought that passed the sixties, a man would focus on his health. Well this one spent his money on Viagra and his time literally on me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t good for his heart so he enjoyed watching all type of people, that he would have paid beforehand, have their way with me at the most odd hours and places. There was this time at a coffee shop at lunch hour, or that one time in the bathroom at church or that time behind the counter in the reception hall at his company. He recorded all those times and sold them to a porn production company. 

 When he died 20 years later, I thought that I was at the end of the rope. Aged of 54 years old, who would want me? Billionaire from my escort business and my late husband’s inheritance, I couldn’t decide what to do. And at that moment, after a long long time, I felt a heartbeat, strong and powerful, it even hurt me. Slowly, I felt my heart pulsing in my veins again and I cried. I cried and cried and cried and cried. 
It took me more than 30 years but I was finally back from the dead, my soul had been struggling to be free and it even awakened my heart. I undergo plastic surgery, I changed my identity, I sold my escort business, I transferred my money and I moved far away. It’s been long since I felt something and I would love to experience it before I died. I don’t know if it’s too much to ask. I don’t know if my slutty ways will keep me from it. But I just want to try, to life a tiny part of the life I was deprived of. 

Past the deadline 

You gave me one week to seriously think about it, to analyze thoroughly your proposition and take a decision. You made me promise to think it through, to dream about it, to imagine the option you were offering but I postponed it. 

I procrastinated this ticking idea without thinking of the consequences, I impulsively put myself in a corner, the last minute corner. I had forgotten all about it and when I saw the clock, it reminded me of the time that had passed. I rushed to the calendar, hoping for a few more days as I was searching for the written entry. 

I had been in complete oblivion and denial for one entire week. When I looked at the time, it was 11 and the day hadn’t officially ended but I distastefully remembered that it was already the morning for you. 

You lived across the planet, so far away from me and you probably watched the sun clean away the night from the sky, waiting for my call, at the same time it washed away all my hopes and desires of being yours again. 

Your wedding probably took place uninterrupted, smoothly and as it ended, all of your feelings for me had to slip away from your heart. I’m a fool for letting love go away, I’m an idiot for taking time for granted and I’m stupid for giving life the golden opportunity to rip me out of your mind and to snatch you from me. 

All for my baby. 

​Under the street lights 

In a gloomy rainy night

I dropped my baby 

In a crafted basket on someone else’s porch. 
I didn’t mean to abandon my sweetie. 

I love my sweetheart so much. 
But the most I could do, 

I always knew,

The only thing, the only gift I could have given her

Was to bring her into this world 

Was solely to give birth to her. 
You don’t know how much I’m hurting 

To step away and hear her cry

But it’s worth my bleeding 

If it can keep her dry. 
I can’t raise her right

Because everyday is a fight. 

A fight for food, for shelter,

Sometimes I even get my water from the sewer. 
She’s my little sunshine 

And I’d love to forever call her mine. 

But I can’t only think of me, 

I have to walk away, I must leave  

While she’ll still able to not remember me. 
I have to grieve.
I just want her to have everything that she could need. 

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 8

4 . Write a Story/ Poem using Prompt Theme – UNDER THE STREETLIGHTS

The storm 

There was a big storm coming that day. The weather news was on repeat everywhere. “Be careful, do not stand near windows or anything made of glass.. “

I remembered hurrying up home to my wife. It had been a week since she was sick. She was so weak, she would end up  exhausted in bed before 8 every night. 

“Remain vigilant, the storm will hit the city at 7:30 sharp, do not take on the road or drive. Please unplug all your electronic devices as well, there’s a high risk of lightning… “

I would leave her medicine close to her night stand every morning along with her breakfast and I would get dinner delivered to her at 5pm everyday. I was really worried, I never thought she was bearing such a weak and fragile body. The medicine seems to be effective only throughout the day until 7. After that, she’d have to rest to properly recover from the day strain on her body. 

“If any of you would be in a dangerous situation, do not use your phone. The cables are prone to lightning attacks too… If you think your house is not safe enough, we have many refuge centers-“

Finally, I was home. It was 5:41. I wanted to come early so I could reinforce the house in order to resist the storm. I wish I hadn’t come that early that day. What I saw… My wife… Under a young energetic stud… Making wild love like animals… No wonder her body couldn’t withstand throughout the day. When you undergo such passion, there’s no way you’d be able to stand after. 

“Alert!  Alert!  The storm is about to hit the city! Please take refuge in a safe and secure place.. “

I ran quietly outside. I didn’t let her know I was there. Before that, I took a few pictures, to convince myself that it had happened. My wife really have a lover. My wife is having an affair. I walked aimlessly in the streets until a young civil servant dragged me to a football stadium that had been transformed into a refuge center. As the wind violently hit the stadium, shaking the structure, I wonder if my wife was doing okay. Obviously, they didn’t know about the storm otherwise they wouldn’t still be at it like monkeys so close to the hit time. The night at the center was horrifying between the people’s afraid screams and my torturing thoughts, I never slept. 

In the morning, as the sun was warmly shining over the city and the sirens were louder than the birds, I headed to my workplace, thankfully it was still standing. This same afternoon, I filed for divorce and forwarded the pictures to my attorney. I never went back to my house. Our love was an illusion of mine and I didn’t want to see my depraved wife. 

I transferred to another city and started over there as a widower because I didn’t want to believe that my wife had been playing me for this long.  I prefer to think that she died in the storm. 

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 8

3. Write a Short Story using below three prompt words-