“Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.”

When I read this poem here, I knew I just had to share it.

“For My Daughter” is written by Sarah McMane, a poet and English teacher in Upstate New York and mom to a two-year-old daughter. Clementine Paddleford, who is quoted in the poem, was an American food writer, journalist and an activist.

For My Daughter:

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don’t dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes—
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.
Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women—
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.
Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.
Tramp muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birch branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Anne chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.
Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress—
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.
Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear—
know that you are free.

And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where your backbone ought to be.
Poem by: Sarah McMane 

Me

I'm a disease, 
One without a cure.
Pain is cold
Like waves on the shore.

I am weird,
Right outta my head.
Pain is agony
Like the sun, but dead.

I am alone,
No one to lean on.
Pain is free
Like the lands forlorn.

I am Me,
just a wanderer.
Pain is Me
Dark forever.

I wrote this poem on January 28th 2010. I had a very high fever at the time.

Human nature

Human nature

This is a beautiful passage/poem by the amazing Anna Peters. I saw this on my Facebook newsfeed and I just couldn’t scroll past it. It’s written so beautifully, and it completely drew me in. Wow. She is an amazing writer. Her thought process is beautiful and very intriguing. I’m in awe. Brilliant writing this is.

The WAND…

I wrote this poem in 2007, in Istanbul, Turkey- the night we got there… We were eating at this restaurant when I formed this poem in my head. Time: 10:45 pm. Later, we went to our rooms and then I properly wrote it in black and white…

She was sitting
on the strange bed
on the night of July 22nd.

Her surroundings were unfamiliar,
everything was cold around her
despite the warm weather.

And with tears
streaming down her face,
she recalled what her father just gave her now….

Beatings, thrashings, unforgivable harsh blows.

And she shivered.

Clutching the wand
in her hand
She wanted to cause
herself pain…
She wanted to kill herself
for being born in this family.

She has been of no use
Just caused havocs and pain….
and she hated herself for that.

She pointed her wand
to her chest
and said “Crucio!”
yet she felt no pain.

She yelled “Sectumsempra!”
but still she felt no pang.

She bellowed “Diffindo!”
Her hopes high
yet nothing happened.

She cried “Impedimenta!”
still—
no spark came out.

Her eyes blurred–
more tears to come.

She shook her wand
and yelled “Stupefy!”
and yet again
she felt no pain.

And then

At last, as if
recognizing her defeat,
She help up her wand
more firmly to her chest
and brokenly whispered “Avada Kedavra”
She had no choice…
Yet, she didn’t die..

Because the thing
she was clutching
in her hand was not a wand,

It was just a mere piece of wood…

Stars…

Lying underneath the stars
Velvet sky above.
Staring hard,
The universe stares back at you.
So vast, so big
It makes you wonder…
The grass tickles the back of your neck
But you like it there,
Surrounded by lush trees
that rustle beneath the gentle breeze,
the soft sounds forming a melody
as crickets chirp close by,
and an owl hoots above the trees,
glorifying nature’s epiphany.
Breathing in the sweet fragrance,
Makes you feel trusted, wanted, belonged.
Home, as if you’re in Heaven.
Watching twinkling stars,
Shooting stars,
Mesmerized by their beauty.
And you forget how lonely you are…