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.

Painted Ladies

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Painted Ladies

Primary colors
bright painted places
all dressed to kill
with wooden faces.

Historic old homes
begging attention
just don’t ask their age
it’s a bone of contention.

Sitting so prettily
rows upon rows
ladies in waiting
in their best clothes.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Photograph by Gary Lo a friend of mine on Google+. (To see more of his work click on his name.) Written for Saturdays Image Write #7. Please drop in and join me for an image write each Saturday. Also linked to Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads for the theme home.

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.

Yesterday

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Yesterday

We stayed in the playhouse
that my dad built me
in the backyard near the lilac bushes
that summer in Indiana
sleeping bags on camping cots
we huddled around cold popcorn
drinking Coca-cola
under flashlights in the dark
listening to Beatles 45’s
on the portable turntable
telling ghost stories
giggling through the night
me and my friends on our own
yet tethered to the real world
by an umbilical extension cord
running from the playhouse
up to the kitchen window.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

The subject of nostalgia made me think about being a child in Michigan City, Indiana. I loved having friends stay in my playhouse in the backyard. One extension cord plug would give us power for the turntable or a light. We didn’t have cell phones, video games or much of anything yet but we had music and friendship.

The artwork is an experiment of mine called Time Warp.

Written with Poets United and shared with dVerse~Poets Pub.

The Old House

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The Old House

The old house was old
older than it could remember
the souls who built it
long gone
children’s toys scattered about
everything there as they had left it.

Now the roof was half caved in
the smell of mildew and defeat
permeated the grounds
as the rain soaked wood
expanded painfully.

The old house dearly missed them
groaning and creaking-
it was almost over
the house thought.

Just then…
footsteps on the porch
as a fawn and its mother came inside
birds made nests in exposed rafters
as small animals followed
finding shelter.

The old house had found a new purpose
and happily settled for it

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Change doesn’t always happen when we expect it or is how we expect it to be but don’t be afraid because change brings new things into our lives.

Written with Poets United.

The Abyss

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The Abyss

I’m thankful for this quiet time
contemplating my meager meal
maybe the last thing I’ll enjoy
before the wolves are at my door.

I own it all-yep every bit
I was in Viet Nam you see
I did the best I could back home
I gave my all for freedoms call.

Alas, I couldn’t buy a home
and all I’d ask is help with rent
the landlord feels real bad of course
but has his family to support.

I packed my things the best I could
the questions screaming in my head
I don’t know where I’m going to go
and there’s the knock upon my door.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

Shared with Poets United.

Lake Michigan

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Lake Michigan

Knee-high dune grasses
slice delicate skin
as I walk.
Droplets of blood
ooze.

My sneakers squeak
in singing sand
under the hot
noonday sun
as I climb
Mt. Baldy.

Over the
whitecaps of
Lake Michigan
l spy Chicago.

Blinding light
reflecting off dunes
and water
remind me to find
my sunglasses.

I fish them
from my back pocket
retrieving bro

                           ken frames.

© RebeccaSanchez2013