Vanishing Act

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Vanishing Act

She could never keep her feet on the ground
she preferred her head above the clouds
daydreams taking her far away
leaving the cruel world behind
to others, just an empty shell
but on the inside…

She could never understand her fate
born free only to become enslaved
told when and how to feel
how to act and what to do and say
a second class citizen with a womb
expected to be a selfless caretaker of others
as if one job that pays less than a man isn’t enough.

She could never find peace in vacations
everywhere she went was the same
people controlling and questioning
lines of strangers greedy and pushing
draining her money and energy
not that any amount could unshackle her.

She could never breakout of her prison
returning to a home that wasn’t hers
“things” that belonged more than she did
a life she couldn’t bear for another instant
the heavy weight of it took her breath away
her heart crushed like so much stardust.

She could never commit suicide
despite her unhappiness with it all
so enthralled by the heavens that night
she made a decision to travel once more
plucking the evening star to wear in her hair
she decorated her robe with the milky way
wearing the rings of Saturn as her crown
a sliver of moon topped her scepter
finally, all the universe was hers alone.

Daydreams taking her far away
never, never to return.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2015/2017

An old poem reworked with my animation from Magpie Tales and shared with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads. This is about women and some of the thoughts we may share about being born a woman in a man’s world. Some of us may dream of vanishing but we all know that there’s more to life. Going crazy (or suicide) is not the answer but I feel for the women who can’t deal and hope they find the help they need.

Truth

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Truth

Dust particles dance
within a shaft of sunlight
slowly crossing the room
traveling over my body
warm and comforting
like a lovers embrace
to the mirror where I stand
contemplating my mortality
the sun has become harsh
I raise a hand in denial.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

We are writing about mirrors this Wednesday at Poets United where I’ll link up then.

Forever In A Dollhouse

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Forever In A Dollhouse

I am lost in my childhood dollhouse
stuck in my dreams
forever waiting for my turn
I wanted a real dollhouse
made of wood with pretty wallpaper
but I got a metal dollhouse
with a plastic family and furniture.

The sky’s a sullen shade of cyan
over the stagnant water
of my metallic pool
the sun burns itself out trying
while rust slowly accumulates
smelling just like blood.

These empty, echoing rooms
scraping by against alloy walls
covered in fake pictures and plants
numb in toxic surroundings
while black mold climbs the stamped stairway
I can’t escape this sinking feeling.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

I really did have a metal dollhouse almost just like this. My artwork and animation unnamed.

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads for the theme home.

The Harvest

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The Harvest

A lone figure was watching the scene unfold
as a young deer crossed the busy highway
it was a beautiful morning.

The truck swerved and disintegrated
sending shrapnel everywhere
sparks flew from scraping metal
the driver was killed instantly.

His truck slammed into a woman’s car
she barely saw it happen-too fast to react
her windshield breaking glass flying
it was the last thing she saw as she died.

Sticky warm blood leaks, drips, and pools
the smell of gasoline was strong
cooling metal making ticking sounds
dead muscles twitching.

The car was unrecognizable
tangled with the truck
the deer mutilated and decapitated
airbags were deployed but did no good
it seemed like forever sirens in the distance
the ambulance was first but the corner was called
firemen and police were busy trying to pick up the pieces.

Death was chuckling as he watched the spirits rise from the wreck
he swings his sickle wide
gathering up the dead his job done.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written for Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads giving an example of incongruity.

Writer’s Block

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Writer’s Block

My book it lies unfinished
that sentence dangling there
the words remain extinguished
it’s like my thoughts are bare.

My first book came so easy
the money made now gone
the blank page makes me queasy
my writing just looks wrong.

I meant to write a story
a word, a phrase, a quote
I wanted all the glory.
One word is all I wrote.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

A flash from the past shared with Poets United.

Loss

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Loss

Stark raving emptiness streams
into the screaming void
I used to recognize,

as me.

My heart’s locked up tight
while loss floods me
under a raging river of uncertainty.

I choke on mouthfuls of regret
gasping for air
while floundering in the inky darkness
my mind squirming like a toad.

Those left behind
prime a minefield of hate and lies
each one taking another limb
my memories are bleeding out.

I can find no closure
leaving me,

lost.

This is about the loss of a parent and what can happen with the siblings/others left behind and how it affects them. The artwork is mine.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

Wonder Woman

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Wonder Woman

She can wash the clothes and hang ’em on the line
she can dress the children and make ’em shine
she feeds the pets and cares for you
yet he’s the one who wears the shoes.

She can look real pretty-she cleans up nice
you never have to ask her twice
her cooking wins at the country fair
yet he’s the one who drives her there.

She’s a real wonder woman she does it all
she does it all at his beck and call
empty inside, it pains me to say
this wonder woman has lost her way.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This picture reminds me of that song, “He brings home the bacon, she fries it up in a pan”, and then something about her man. A real balancing act, keep it up or fall!

My mother’s marriage (the 50’s) and her friends had husbands like this, talented women who gave it all up for marriage and kids. Even today women do it, I did this somewhat myself (the giving up of my career without the kids) and still have a little regret about it now. Today I am older, single and wiser; I like it that way.

Written with Saturdays Image Write and Poets United.