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.


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


I stand in the dark alone 

I stand in the light alone 

At dusk, I watch the sun set alone 

And at dawn, I watch it rise alone. 

I was born alone 

And I will also die alone .

By the Creator, I will be judged alone 

And I will be rewarded or punished alone. 

I will set my path in this World alone 

And I will fall or rise alone. 

The things I feel, it will affect me alone 

The things I do, they’ll be blamed on me alone. 

Everything that concerns me has a full impact on me alone 

And everything that comes out of it will be cast on me, alone. 

Everything Perfect Today 

#MiracleChallenge – Week 3 : Writing Prompt no. 2

I put on a brave face today

I dressed up, put on makeup 

I look perfect today. 
I won’t be brought down,

I am not going to cry or frown,

I’m in a perfect mood today. 


I take on the streets 

I walk like I own the block. 

It’s behind me, trying to mock me 

But I don’t care, this feeling of freedom is too sweet. 
It has been long 

Since I could finally back up one of my decisions 

Today was the perfect day 

And I didn’t even have to lit a candle 

Didn’t have to pray 

To keep that dark ball away. 

The first raindrop 

Then more and more 

The dark ball is increasing, 


“You forgot your umbrella 

As expected you can’t do a thing right… ”

I start doubting, 


Bow down and take the road back. 
And now my perfect dress, 

So bright, it competed with the sun

So white, it could be used as light 

Is now soaked, dull and tainted

By the rain, by the dark ball behind me 

And mostly by me 

Because once again I betrayed me.
But I looked perfect today 

And it was a perfect day  

Taking the challenge 

So I was wandering here when I saw Miracle’s post about a writing challenge. 

You can read it here :

“MiracleChallenge Week – 3” dated 28th June, 2016 – http://wp.me/p7uUNQ-kM

I liked the idea, at least it appealed to me so I’ll be taking this challenge and try to do every prompts on this week’s challenge. 

I’ll be trying to blend my day’s concerns with the topic (s) he’ll give, let’s see how this turns out. 

Intro to the #MiracleChallenge 


In desperate need of serenity
Uncertainties, doubts and fears have conquered my heart
My soul is about to be torn up
I need a good place to dock my hope and faith,
The little I have left.

My confidence is gone
There’s no place for me to calm down at home
My vessel is a wreck, it’s really scared
I feel weak and small
I feel powerless and vulnerable

A reassuring place to fix myself
A better place to get myself together
A motivational background to help me recover

I’m in desperate need to get rid of or tame these parts of me


I’m under no pressure
Over relaxing
Lazying all over
Heavy past, dead present and no future

Everyday is the same
I woke up, I eat, I bath, I sleep
I chat, I laugh, I scream, I beef
I cry, I sulk, I smile, I text
I wash, I clean, I create, I think
I imagine, I love, I feel, I daydream

It seems a lot
But it all comes down to the same
It never changes
It’s a straight line
A dead end

I pray
I confide in God, the universe, myself
I forget about humanity
Its cruelty, its brutality

I put my faith in right and wrong
In justice and perfect retribution
In my aspirations, vision and goals
I believe

Everything is messed up though
I either forget everything around me
And live in peace
Or I take action, make a change
And probably end up killed

I can close my eyes
I know there’s no light
But when my eyelids separate
Some places still are dark

I’m tired, I’m over thinking
I’m overwhelmed, I’m over working
I’m depressed, I’m insensible
I’m no longer seeing, hearing and breathing,
I’m no longer living
I can’t do both
I can’t make both worlds work

But I still can’t decide where to go
Time is ticking
I’m still thinking
Perfectly in the middle
Taking a break
Though, empty solution

Dark, Deep and Wide

How should I fill the void inside me?
How should I even come near it without being hypnotized then engulfed by its depth?
Where does it go when I’m living life normally? When I’m feeling.
How comes when I feel numb it suddenly reappears?
Did it hide? Or is it formed by my emptiness? Like the top crumbled a bit, letting its inside be seen.
How come I still can’t understand, after I spent so many times staring at it? Like I’m studying it.
Wait, does it mean that I’m shallow? That there’s only a superficial layer and nothing more? Or does it mean that I’m getting rotten or eating from the inside out?
Maybe if I had really put some effort into it?
All I ever do is lay down, crawled into the ground, watching a wide, deep black hole.

Living the Barbie store life

I read every single letter, every little detail, every punctuation.
I agree to the terms and conditions.
I will be leaving my head and heart.
I will accept your owning of my person.
There is only something I wish though,
Please don’t let me leave my sisters
(Take one or two with you),
Please take Ken with you too.
I also can’t live without the pink convertible
And life would be so much easier with the house…
I really hate amateur sewed clothes
And please pick the right color of shoes,
The Plastic Collection has them all.
My hair is not for testing and attempting weird hairstyles.
After all I have my pride,
If you can’t agree with that,
Take that “Brat” or “American something” with you.
But I know you’ll want me,
After all class is spelled with Barbie.