Alice’s awakening

I am not Alice,  I cannot shrink to fit
Or take the potion to grow to be someone I am not.
Admittedly, just for a while
It was something I tried, an experiment
To check if I was a good enough version
Of the me that would be preferable
The person who can be accepted
But I fell down the rabbit hole, through the cracks
Veneer chipped, glaze cracked
Aching from the tiredness a facade creates
Rested
Awoke
Anew
To the dawning, that the show couldn’t go on
Let the curtain come down and be damned!
Damned if I do,  damned if I don’t
Decision made and held
Consequences will be accepted, shock expected
As finally from the chrysalis of fear,
I fly
A moth who will be only free
She, the raw ingredients of a future
That she will define, whatever judgement may say.

Ailsa

Night creeper

Trailing behind you the gossamer threads, like a broken spider web
Telling yourself you’re the bride, so bright, girly and gay
You wander around slowly, twisty and turning
To see who is looking with youthful desire
Twirling, prancing bird on a wire.
In every direction see your head bobbing
As you acknowledge a crowd of…none
Grabbing sadly at any morsel of hope
Your stories spread quickly
Like a raging bushfire
Looking blankly from under the rouge and the kohl
Glimmers of gossip are waiting to roll
To pounce and to grab, twist and turn
Making your insides acid and burn
Creeping upon you in the dead of the night
Wandering off cackling she fades with the light.

Ailsa

Beautiful darkness

Your dark eyed beauty shines before you
Like a beacon to the desolate,
Showing far and wide
You wear a mask of forced solemnity
Keeping away the masses
Unless you choose to take down your barriers
And allow them into your inner sanctum
Where a different you resides
The private you, who is fun loving, caring and wise
Always there for friends
Offering tea, humour, cake and an ear
A special friend, person
Who deserves accolades but wouldn’t accept them
Just shrugs like it’s nothing
But it means a lot.

Ailsa

The changeling who would not

You misunderstood my stilted words
Thinking I had nothing to say
When I walked in to find my possessions strewn
Clothing, books, letters all sorted
Not by me.
You had looked at every last thing
Decided in my absence, without my knowledge
What was acceptable
I begin to look for this or that, randomly
Certain clothes, photographs, letters and books
All gone
They didn’t fit the picture puzzle you’re building
The play you imagine you live in
For a moment I was hopeful
Till you told me what you removed is gone
Taken to the dump with the rubbish
You beamed a smile
Waited for thanks for your help and direction
I could only nod,  wonder what possessed you
To try and wipe me out
Like a dirty smear on a looking glass
Without a by your leave,
But you didn’t wipe away the memories
You couldn’t do that.
However hard you tried to change me.
Hurt with your array of weapons
You taught me well
To fight back, become as rock
Hard and impenetrable when I have to
Show only what I want to those I can trust
And allow in only a chosen few
Who always have my back.

Ailsa

Blind

Your eyes are blinkered to the truth
Looking the five yards ahead you see the summer
There is no harm in this at all
But truth, trust and love go beyond,
Far beyond one season
If they are true.
You test the people who care till they fall
Exhausted in a heap
You stand over them, critical, cold.
In your head you foretold a reckoning day
Where they’d fail your expectations
Looking at the person you have sucked dry,
Like a vampire feeding on loyalty
You spit sourness in their face
Tell them that you have waited for this day
Open your eyes, remove the scales you placed
So tenderly and deliberately.
You planted the seeds, they have grown
You forced them on
They tried resistance but you insisted
One day you will leave me behind, not need me.
Today you feel the right to judge your own creation
The time has come to accept you got your hearts desire
You can reflect forever more
Was it worth it??

Ailsa

Unusual preference

What is it, where is it, how can it be?
That you look at him in preference to me
What is it, where is it, how can you say
You don’t love me and you’ve called it a day
What is it, how is it,
Why does it matter?
That I once had your love but it’s now in tatters
Why do you look on me with disdain
I bought you flowers once, that’s surely a gain
I’ve taken all I could in every way
Trodden on feelings night and day
If you’ll just leave him, give me another chance
It’ll be fine if we just lead the same old dance
How can you say you no longer care?
Can’t you see MY life was always unfair?
So give me a chance, I promise I’ll bring
A new-old life with a much worse sting!!
Just tell me one thing, I’ll leave you alone
I’ll stay away from you, at least never phone
What is it, where is it how can it be
That you look at HIM in preference to Me??

Ailsa

Back to front

You hurl forth your words, like a stone from a slingshot
Your accuracy of so sure of
But the reaction shocks you to your core.
The smile on your face as you can’t wait to say
You’re just like your grandmother
Awaiting my denial, hot and angry
That doesn’t come
THANKYOU!!
Is my reply, and you are perplexed
At 10 I may have thought otherwise
Now, I know of her life, struggles
Of some of her reasons for being her.
If I am half the person now that she was
If there is a comparison
You expect me to be shamefaced?
For good or ill,
I can look and say I am strong, independent and have faith to follow my path
With wisdom gleaned from someone
Far wiser than me
I have gained from her my future self
What a compliment, again I thank you
Your face turns crimson
As you try to laugh off the shot back firing
In your eyes confusion
You didn’t understand a word I just said

Ailsa

Art

From Chimera Poetry 🙂

chimerapoet's avatarChimera Poetry

troll_bridge

Artist: one who creates art

art·ist

Spelled [ahr-tist

a person who produces works in any of the arts that are primarily subject to aesthetic criteria.

2.

a person who practices one of the fine arts, especially a painter or sculptor.

3.

a person whose trade or profession requires a knowledge of design, drawing, painting, etc.: a commercial artist.

4.

a person who works in one of the performing arts, as an actor, musician, or singer; a public performer: a mime artist; an artist of the dance.

5.

a person whose work exhibits exceptional skill.

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I am an artist.

It has taken me a lifetime to say this without blushing.

Without looking around for someone sniggering.

To not say it in an affected voice or to make light of it. An artist is one who creates art.

Not only great art. Not only popular art.

Not…

View original post 579 more words

Painter

ailsacawley's avatarailsacawley

We talk without the words sometimes,
Squeeze of hand or shoulder
Looking at one another, then smiling
Gentle recognition
Now we’re talking and you say things
Check no-one is around to hear
As you curse the ones you know don’t think
At all mostly
Ask if I mind these curse words, I don’t
Of course you’re aware already, just checking
Your chuckle tells me that
I wonder where all this has come from
Do you just need a sounding board?
Someone who won’t tell you
You can’t say, mustn’t think, shouldn’t feel that!!
Just the canvas on which to paint
That picture swirling in your mind
Because it torments you so
Stopping your colourful imagery for a moment
To check if I’m okay with the canvas
And how you fill it
With happiness, sadness, expletives
Observing that it’s just as it should be, you carry on
A squeeze of the…

View original post 93 more words

Painter

We talk without the words sometimes,
Squeeze of hand or shoulder
Looking at one another, then smiling
Gentle recognition
Now we’re talking and you say things
Check no-one is around to hear
As you curse the ones you know don’t think
At all mostly
Ask if I mind these curse words, I don’t
Of course you’re aware already, just checking
Your chuckle tells me that
I wonder where all this has come from
Do you just need a sounding board?
Someone who won’t tell you
You can’t say, mustn’t think, shouldn’t feel that!!
Just the canvas on which to paint
That picture swirling in your mind
Because it torments you so
Stopping your colourful imagery for a moment
To check if I’m okay with the canvas
And how you fill it
With happiness, sadness, expletives
Observing that it’s just as it should be, you carry on
A squeeze of the hand,
Looking to see who’s listening
Though frankly you have no care
Let them listen, all of them
Your anger has returned again
The painter was told how his canvas should be
He isn’t exactly sure what to do
His fuse has been lit, gunning for you!
Looking, he says what the hell do I do?
Tells me his wishes, needs my support
Calm again now
I’ve said do what YOU want, I’ll fight them all
That’s settled it now, no holding back
Be wary of crossing that sweet looking old man

Ailsa