Worth (Color Poem 2)

Worth

     Gold

My eyes scan the room

as I step onto the scale

that will decide

my worth and my home.

The flashing numbers on the scale

blur together as the man,

the auctioneer,

beside me

stares at them increasing.

And they stop.

One-hundred-ten

the numbers displayed.

A pound of gold is two-thousand dollars,

so one-hundred-ten two-thousands

is two-hundred-twenty-thousand.

It isn’t much.

The golden numbers are projected

on a screen behind me

for the men and women watching

to see my worth.

I take a deep breath.

This is completely necessary,

     mother had told me.

We need the money to keep living,

     father had explained.

One-hundred-ten.

With barely anything to feed

me, my weight is low.

Most of the others on scales

were at least two-hundred.

But it fits.

My family only sees me as a means

to an end.

The faces come into focus,

some with shining, golden teeth

in their smiles,

   their smirks,

      their sneers,

and they seem satisfied with the low price.

And I know that,

to them and my family,

I am worth my weight in gold.

Alone (Color Poem 1)

Alone

     Red

The edges of the grass prickle

my skin through the crimson, plaid

blanket. I pry open the small basket

mother gave me to pull out a

     single

plump strawberry.

I am too young to understand

the pitied expressions dancing

across the faces of the family

sitting to my left

and the plump couple

crouched in front of me.

I smile and shoo them away,

happy with my treat,

and I take my first bite.

The juice splashes and squirts,

a drop dripping free,

staining my white skirt

     red,

the spot like a tear of blood

   by itself

in a field of snow.

Color Poem Series

Over the next week, I will be posting the first seven poems, out of eight, in the portfolio I made for my poetry class. Each poem is based on a color, and whatever I decided to associate with the color at that point in time. The original draft of one, "Black and White" (now "Music and Morality") is already on here. Each day, I will post the next one. These poems can stand on their own, but there is a - very out-there, slightly dystopian - story-line that you can follow through the poems if you try.

I will not be posting the eighth, and final, poem "Prism." It is extremely personal. And directly pulled from my life. And if certain people were to find this blog, my only secret would then be exposed to the few people that don't already know it. And I will not have that. Plus, even if the people already know, it is embarrassing. I only wrote it because it was on my mind and I couldn't distract myself from... the situation at hand.

So I wrote a poem about it.

And I will never share it. Legit.

Thank you for your time!

C. E. Taylor

Bad Poetry

So I was about to post my second poem for my creative writing class this semester, and then I realized that people I know read this, and it's embarrassing. Like, most of my poems are embarrassing because they are bad, but this one is bad AND really personal. And recent. And a glimpse inside my soul that people who know about the situation just can't see yet. Or I may hyperventilate and die. So maybe, one day, I'll be able to post it. One day.

I'll tell you the title. It is called "Pink." Yeah. Life.

Have a nice day.

Psychology

Hello! I'm chillin, in my psychology class, not really paying attention. It is exactly what we talked about in our recitation yesterday. So I decided to blog about my life instead. I have to write a poem before tomorrow. Or, well, sometime tomorrow. Generally. For my poetry class. I don't like poetry. But it's chill.

I've been dancing a lot lately, and making soooo many friends. It's weird, all this social interaction. In the Japanese Cultural Association, we are doing a culture show. In that culture show, we are doing dances. It's super fun. I'm currently in all three of the ones that were advertised on Facebook. It's exciting. And I'm making friends with lots of people. Similarly, I am making friends with a lot of people on the first floor of my dorm, where one of my friends lives. There's been so much spontaneous social activity lately. I think I have talked to more people, more often, within the last week and a half than I have in the past three years. Not exaggerating.

I have gas. I know, TMI. But it is an issue. And I kind of feel like I am going to throw up. But, you know, I never know how accurate that is. And I like cats. And, oh look, this is really fancy. From one of my new friend's birthday party.

It's awesome. I know. Friends are a great thing to have. And I like cats. And if I could have any wild animal for a pet, it would be a panda. And I have been convinced to become active on tumblr and twitter again. Silly new friends, addicting me to the internet. What do I even do?

We're talking about sleep in psychology. I don't really care about it. At all. But I'll pay attention when he starts talking about dreams. And hypnosis. Because I want to learn about hypnosis. It sounds fun. Seriously. I don't think I have anything else to say. Which is sad. What am I supposed to distract myself with now? I don't even know. I guess I'll go stare at Facebook. And try not to fall asleep.