When a True Friend is Needed

when a true friend

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

She’s beautiful, popular and proud.

Her friends are kids, from just the right crowd.

 

Look how she laughs, talks and smiles.

Her admirers swarm, as they walk the school tiles.

 

She looks in the mirror and winks at the image.

Knowing her beauty will win, in any boyfriend scrimmage.

 

Her clothing is perfect, ensuring that name brand labels appear.

Then tossing them carelessly, when there’s a rip or a tear.

 

I dare to walk up to her and say, “hello.”

My knees are shaky, trembling out of control.

 

She looks at me with scorn and contempt.

I feel as though I’ve fallen, and there’s no safety net.

 

Eyebrow arched, her words like a sword.

I’m not the kind of friend that she’s looking for.

 

Her laughter rings true, behind my back.

I hide in my locker to stop the tears in their tracks.

 

But at the end of the day, once her crowd is all gone.

She sits silent and lonely on the bus ride towards home.

 

Her slender shoulders sag, her head hangs down.

The bus stops at her house, her face wears a frown.

 

Framed in the doorway is a well-dressed man.

An angry expression on his face, a drink in his hand.

 

She pauses, walking slowly to the house.

Visibly shrinking into her expensive new blouse.

 

His loud, angry voice carries to the bus.

She cringes and cowers, afraid of his touch.

 

I flinch when I see his hand connect with her face.

A flaw upon her beauty that even make-up can’t erase.

 

I realize I was wrong about the person I thought she was.

How she hides behind an image because of circumstance and cause.

 

How she likely needs a friend who’ll hold her hand as she cries.

A friend who’ll look past her persona and pride.

 

A friend who’ll see the terrified child within.

Screaming to move away from those hidden sins.

 

I may not be the friend that she’s looking for.

But I can be the friend that she needs, so much more.

 

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collision

He struggles with doing the right thing

He wants to let her go

Knows he isn’t doing right by her

 

But when he sees her

His heart speeds up

The anticipation he feels

At knowing how she can make him feel

Keeps him coming back

 

He knows it’s not love

He knows it’s not friendship

All he knows is the how the touch of her hand

On his skin

Makes him shiver

How her whisper in his ear

Heats up his body

How when their lips touch

His mind forgets everything

The longing in her eyes

Makes him feel invincible

Her hand trailing down his arm

Reminds him of the pleasures

She alone can give him

 

His body is hers

She knows that

 

His mind shuts down

And he allows his body to lead

She knows that as well

 

They collide

Only for a moment

But those are the moments

He can’t forget

The Sword

the sword 2

Love is kind.

Love is sweet.

Love makes us complete.

 

For some…maybe.

For others…it’s a lie.

 

It’s the tip of the sword.

Grazing lightly.

Tantalizing.

Delicately covering the heart.

 

It carves gently.

Evenly.

Smoothing over the scars,

Of an open wound.

 

Until it pierces the skin.

Little by little tearing apart,

The shreds that held it together.

 

Then the sword,

Plunges deeply.

Fiercely.

Widening the gap.

Until it becomes an open wound.

 

Bleeding.

Weeping.

Ripping apart the flesh,

That held it together.

 

Leaving the heart,

In pain.

In shreds.

Despairing over the loss,

Of once feeling whole.

 

It lies open.

Vulnerable.

Wasted.

Then thrown away,

When it has no more to give.

 

The sword is then sheathed,

After having conquered.

 

And leaves the remains,

Untouched.

And gelling into obscurity.

A Vision of Peace

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

vision of peace

My brother comes to me in a dream

And speaks to my heart

 

The silence penetrates the stillness

A mist-like fog swallows my body.

 

My arms outstretched

But I touch nothing

 

A feathery lightness grazes my shoulder

Then is gone.

 

A quiet whisper and a playful breeze

Gently lifts my hair

But I see nothing.

 

A soft caress trails across my arm

Giving me the sense of something known

But forgotten.

 

A feeling of trust overwhelms

A shadowy face appears

 

A well-loved smile shines

Through the haze.

 

The voice

Tells me my worries

Can be put aside

 

His soul is at peace.

His diseased body

Now left behind

 

His mind is at ease

 

My worries fade away

My brother is finally free.

Final Reflection

From my poetry notebook….This Ain’t Shakespeare.

final reflection

The darkened window, lit only from behind.

Shows a sharp-angled face, etched with anguish-filled lines.

 

As she stares, long suffocated tears begin to flow.

A life built on trust has been crushed in a single, selfish blow.

 

How did she let this happen? Allow her family to be snatched away?

Now all is gone. Even hope that fate would return them one day.

 

She stands, looking unseeingly at the face reflected back.

Her mind sees a young woman whose life was on the right track.

 

The man of her dreams had swept her off her feet.

Promising to love, honor and cherish til’ death they do meet.

 

A child was born, a sweet little boy.

Endless smiles and bliss at this wonderful joy.

 

A home was provided through a business that soared.

A husband who loved her, a child she adored.

 

Another arrived, from out of the blue.

Claiming friendship that was accepted as true.

 

Manipulating and coveting what belonged to another.

That the bond being built was simply a cover.

 

The true motivation was meant to seduce.

Not caring that lives would be shattered, and true love reduced.

 

The other used emotions to bait its catch.

Listening and offering kindness through a rough patch.

 

The catch had been easily tricked by the bait.

More stroking of an ego made it worth the wait.

 

Reeled and then eaten by a prey too fierce.

Unconcerned how the wounds would hurt and pierce.

 

Guilt overcomes, and a confession needs to be made.

Begging forgiveness, making promises, in order to stay.

 

Eyes blink and she sees once again.

The reflection of a woman cast aside for her sins.

Portrait of Lies

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

portrait of lies

Your eyes see a picture of perfection

But buried beneath the beautiful package

Is something outside the truth

 

Secrets, lies and deception

All tumble over one another

In a wildly beating heart

 

A heart panicked

At the thought of discovery

And the inevitable destination

Of a loss of a life

Carefully crafted

 

A smile tricked out at the corners

Speaks of a lover kept secret

 

Eyes gazing into a memory of

Citrusy rooms and paisley bedspreads

Where two bodies writhe in desperate abandon

 

Chasing away lost hopes and daily drudgery

Looking to find a past youth

And forgotten excitement

 

But ends up with guilt weighing heavily

As true love smiles tenderly

From a portrait of perfection

 

Temptation

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

temptation

https://dorinacostras.com/paintings/

Long lashes lowered.

Full lips over a knowing smile.

Flowing tresses that tease with their softness.

Curves that entice with her every move.

Open and willing, flaunting her needs.

Encouraging, suggesting, ignoring his ring.

****

No one will miss it.

It’s just a few dollars.

They have so much.

She has so little.

The children need shoes.

There’s no food in the cupboards and the rent is due.

So easy to slip the money,

From the cash drawer into her pocket.

****

The doctor says no.

Anymore and he’ll die.

But the need is so strong.

The struggle so fierce.

The addiction controls his every move.

****

Temptation is thrown at us from everywhere.

How we respond to it is our choice.