St Mary’s Nenagh Poetry
Scraps at Dinner
I begged my parents everyday
For a friend to feed, pet and play
You came into my life fragile and small
A canine companion, a friend to all
Years came by, we both grew up
I’d grown tall, a to c cup
You’d grown out, large and round
Got arthritis that got worse with each pound
‘No more scraps at dinner’ I’d cry
But you just ate more, didn’t even try
We were supposed to keep growing together
However
For you, a future was never
We brought you into the vet one last time
She said your eating habits were a crime
One last goodbye, a kiss on the nose
No more scraps at dinner…I suppose
Girls
There once was two girls,
Their eyes bright and their heads full of curls.
They were kind and gifted
But as they got older something shifted
No longer were their heads full of curls
And no longer were their doodles filled with swirls
Now they were make-up to cover their faces
Just to “earn” some warm embraces
Because from an early age there’s rules to follow
Which make us girls seem quite hollow
When we give some real criticism
Were told to go back to the kitchen
And when we call for feminism
Were told to stop moaning and bitchin’
Presentation
While I stand there,
And as they stare
I hear their laughter
Until long after
The thought of their chatter
seems to be the only thing that matters
They stand and talk to their peers
I stand and face my fears
Their whispered words go through my head
They follow me all the way to bed.
Untitled
Loud and boisterous, of course she is
What a great mask she models.
Center of attention she always craves,
So hard to figure her out, like a maze.
But I see right through her, I always do
Insecure and fragile it’s what she is.
Pretty girls
I hate pretty girls, the girls with the curls
Not because they have pretty privilege or cuz there popular at school
It’s cuz I look at myself every day and night she’s too cruel
They get male validation, I don’t care
I care to think do you have prettiness to spare
I hate them not because there pretty
I hate them that when I look at myself I hate me too
Desert Orbs
A neon gaze haunts my soul,
The remnants of a once blazing sun,
Now turned to a dripping liquid gold,
Her shine harsh against my soft emerald field.
Sand dunes engulf her presence,
Tall and unwavering,
A burnt rust against my shallow crater,
The terra is left marked and scorched.
My rocky kingdom,
My dried out skin,
Oh my heart can only bleed.
I stand before her but my fields are left for dust,
For in that sandy place she pierces through all my being,
What was once fertile is no more,
Grass bows and keels over.