Lonely No More!

WOO HOO!

HURRAY!

I finally have friends

Now i finally have someone to help my life mend

There’s a meeting today

At half past 6:00

Oh I hope we get along

We’re just the perfect mix!

So here i am now

Drinking coffee that’s bitter

I’ll throw it away

Cuz’ I don’t want to litter

Whippee!

Huzzah!

Oh look, here they are!

My new friends have just now arrived at the bar.

I shake all their hands. “Hello How do you do?”

“Oh, we’re doing fine! How about you?”

After a long discussion, we finally end

And so I sadly say bye to my new friends.

Then, we put our hands in the center

Oh wait! Another friend enters

We say HIP HIP HURRAY!

Yay! We’re done for the day!

I go wash my hands

Cuz’ I do not like germs

The thought of getting sick

Just make me squirm

Alas, now i must go home

I still have to study for my test on Ancient Rome!

Pencil

A pencil’s words cannot be heard

Because her thoughts stay trapped within her wood

She let’s the writer speak for her

When really she knows that she also could

So could she speak the words that stay locked in her wood?

Because honestly if you ask me; she probably should

Living a Lie

Loving a lonely loser

Is like living a lie

Letting my love light up a life

Is like luring a lamb to death

Loitering around al he loss

Is like learning to live a lazy life

A life where I lie and lose everything

Losing at life as i love a lonely lost lie

Learning to live this lie

As I lose at leaving the lies

Pressured to lie as I live

But learning to live a lie

Leaving my soul to leisure around

Yet I live a lonesome life

Learning a lovely lullaby

But it’s actually a blood lie

Letters can leave my lips

But my thoughts stay living forever

Each line of this poem leaves my lazy face

Measure this tilted lever

My lips are dry now

Like a lingual librarian

This poem has come to an end as i write

The Last Lovely Letter.

The Droplet

A leaf droops down as a droplet falls

The water beckons. “Come Here!” it calls.

So the little drop plunges and hits the lake.

And so it triggers a tremendous earthquake

Ripples surround the poor little drop

And the motion is not even seeming to stop!

The glossy water reflects the sun

But now the droplet and ripples have become one

Tell Me Why?

Everyday I try and try
To make it a good day

Yet all I see is the hate

Around me

Negative energy pulses through my veins

Yet no one wants to help the crumbling flower

Rain on me, is all I ask

As I wilt through the shade of the sun.

The trees are big, they have leaves to shade them

But no one cares about the dying flower.

Each day I wait for a rumbling sky

But all I get is tears as I cry

The clouds are gone

And the sun grows near…………….

The first spot I came to

And maybe the last

I close my eyes slowly as I prepare for

Eternal Slumber

Alas, a rumbling sound is heard.

Tell me why you didn’t come earlier

So now as I fade away, you finally come?!

You won’t be of help since I’m already gone

So now I sit in a happier life.

Where the rains are plenty

And the trees are nice

And the sun doesn’t hate me

The clouds don’t shun me.

I live the luxury

And I’m really quite happy

Yet I never did live

The life I wanted

Because I gave up too early

And you hated me so

I gave up on life

And finally let go

Tell me why i gave up?

Why I quit so soon.?

Because i would still be living if it wasn’t for you

LIFE OF A JANITOR

Janitor. Janitor is a filthy word. You’d Think I was poor and financially struggled. Maybe that’s the stereotype. I see the curious looks of passerby students. As if the only outfit I own is my janitor shirt. Can I help that it says CUSTODIAN in bold white lettering on the back of my dark blue shirt? It’s as if God wants everyone to know that I clean toilets and wipe tables for a living.  Do none of the students know that I have grandchildren? I’m just another stereotypical granny. One who knits sweaters for her well behaved grandchildren. One who bakes brownies for the bingo club. One who framed all my grandchildren’s drawings. It’s not that I’m poor. Just want some extra money. And there’s a reason why.

Two months ago, I was living in the house I grew up in. The one my children grew up in. The house my Husband and I made memories together. But now it’s only me now. I remember how caring I was for my children. After starting their families, they gave me a home. Treated me like a dog. I left my house, because my children never helped my pay rent. And yet I was the bank they would go to for buying movie tickets, school fees, and Christmas presents. But no one ever came for me when I was struggling. Instead the solution was SENIOR CITIZEN HOME. They said I would live the luxury; always having a caretaker by my side, unlimited TV time, and galore. But my luxury was different. I wanted to help grow my grandchildren. I wanted to make their breakfasts and take them out for ice cream. But instead I’m placed in a home full of elderly people who fake their happiness. My family thinks I’ll be a burden to them. That they’ll have to take care of me like an infant. Yet I’ve changed all their diapers. It’s like I’m just another lowly baby they need to care for…


So by now I guess you know that I’m a janitor. I always marveled at teachers when I was little. And the rowdy boys would always throw their juice boxes on the floor and making big messes. At the end of class every day, I always silently observed my poor teacher getting on her knees and scrubbing off dried juice from her floors. Pretty soon I started helping her too. It became my dream to make sure all schools were clean. So I started wiping windows after school and cleaning tables. Then came the excessive bullying. After School I became a wife. And since I was a wife I couldn’t work so I became a stay at home mom. And this way I could learn to sew and cook. The. I had the dream of becoming a chef. However back then Women weren’t given privileges. Then my kids all grew up and so I opened a small bakery within my home. After my husband died I quit this work and became a janitor. It took over 50 years but I finally got to do what I always dreamt of doing. Every day I smile at the kids as I pack up the trash bags. I always peer into these garbage cans and all I see is wasted food. Full hamburgers and unopened milk. There was always a small boy who sat by himself at lunch. He never had anything to eat. One day I saw him peering into the trash can. He was about to reach his hand into the trash when I stopped him. I fumbled around my wallet and gave him a $20. I told him that it should be enough to buy lunch for the rest of the month. The boy looked at me and smiled. His eyes started welling up, and he walked away.

The lunch ladies always look at me pathetically, as if they had the better lesser job. But I appreciate my work. It’s easy to be janitor. I don’t have to stare at a screen full of code all day.

So now my house of memories is gone and I’m stuck in my senior citizens home. I don’t have much time left but I’m trying to make my dream come true.


Hi my name is Manushree. I’m not a senior citizen but I just wanted to write something for janitors .

Their job must be hard but I really really appreciate them.

Thank you janitors !

Hold On

Hold on Sweet pea

Things will be okay

Your life will improve

Tomorrow’s another day.

Tomorrow you can prove

That you can do anything

And tomorrow you can show

That you’ll smile at everything

Darling

You’ll rule the world

Some day

But for now

There is tomorrow

Hurt

I know you’re hurt

And it’s ok

It hurts me

How you choose

To shy away

The problems, the hate

It will all be ok

Talk to me darling

And they’ll all go away

Silence

Scribble scribble

Visual artist

Silence silence

Quiet artist

Your silence sketches

The world around you

Tune out the world

With all your silence

Quiet quiet

Little artist

Darling hush

Be the artist

Scribble scribble

Sketch away

Draw all your feelings away

Show me your art

When you’re done for the day.

Beauty

Beauty hurts

It hurts so bad

When the days you look pretty

Are the best you’ve had

You revolve around others

Their thoughts matter to you

The eyeliner is only

A thorn that pricks you

Like a princess who waits

In a tower for her prince

You wait for their thoughts

As if they already knew.

But you wanna be happy

You wanna look right

Your fancy dresses

Flow like a kite

But compared to your brain

Your teeth are bright

Beauty hurts

And it always will...

Petals

Pluck one, pluck two

It’s all you do

For one day you believe that

He’ll come for you.

A prince is the answer.

That’s what they all say

Yet the princess triumphs

At the end of the day

Maybe it’s false

Maybe it’s true

But the real truth is

He’ll never love you

Because love is flawed

It’s useless too

As useless as God

And yet you

Think all your problems will be solved

When actually

All your problems will forever

Be flawed

Me and Mama

A  tangy sweetness spreads across my tongue, as I take a bite. My teeth feel vulnerable and cold. That’s the thing about eating fruit. It makes your teeth cold and fresh but also exposed and sensitive. It’s a bittersweet feeling. Apples are delicious. No doubt. They’re Mother Nature’s miracle. Plus they keep the doctors away.  Whether they’re from the store or from Granny Mabel’s, there is no denying the crisp sugariness of an apple. There’s a sudden noise and I hear panting after. My mom stumbles through the door frame. “Good Morning, Cinnabon!” Mama shouts while fixing her hair with a fork. Sometimes we have to take matters into our own hands when we can’t find the combs. Well, that and we always break them. It’s pretty hard to manage life with annoyingly frizzy hair. Mama sure does look like she’s in a hurry. I look up at Mama and nod my head. Mama takes a plate and examines her reflection. “Baby, do I look presentable?” she questions. I object “Mama if you going on a date…”  Mama is always trying to find us a new daddy after our old one decided to…. Um whatever I dont wanna talk about it. "No, no Baby! I got a meeting with the boss.” Mama intervenes. Her boss is pretty cool but she really don’t have a mind of her own.  She’s a good boss but too susceptible to make her own decisions. I look up and down at Mama. She sure doesn’t look like she dressed for a meeting. Or like she cares about it. Pretty disrespectful for meeting the boss, if  you ask me. It’s clearly visible that she has hurriedly dressed up. Her hair is very frizzy and she looks like she’s wearing a brown sheep on her head! Mama’s eyeliner is smudged at the corner of her eye and you can see she didn’t blend in her face makeup. The woman’s missing a hoop earring and her shirt is all wrinkly! Someone obviously didn’t do the ironing. I point this out to her and she coos. “Oh… my baby is getting too old for me..” I roll my eyes playfully and help Mama sit on the wooden stool. Back to my prey. I take one last bite of my apple before I  toss the core into the trash. Or at least attempt to. My apple is lying on the floor next to the bin. Whatever, I’m too lazy to pick it up. Mama grabs a banana out of the fruit basket and peels it. I watch her crossed panty-hosed legs as she peels the banana. She’s wearing the dark-green heels Nana got me for Christmas. Mama sets the peel on the table. She’s too lazy to throw it into our fruit bin. Ha! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Nana Marge collects our peels so Uncle Paul can compost em’.  She also bought Mama the hideous lipstick she’s wearing. I’m sorry, but Peach Blossom ain’t workin’ on Mama. Mama stands up and ruffles her pencil skirt and I grab her handbag and keys. She gives me an approving look as I offer her belongings. Mama inserts her key into the keyhole and turns the knob. She peeks her head through the door opening and gushes. “Baby, good luck on that history test! And wish me luck!” she exclaims, crossing her fingers. I wait for Mama to close the door. I don’t know why but something tells me Mama doesn’t have a normal meeting today… I shake off my negative thought and hike my backpack onto my shoulder. I blow a kiss to the microwave and head out the door. My friends used to tease me about it. Now I only have one. But I always feel like my house is a family member. I always want to leave the house on good terms so if it burns down I’ll be happy I said goodbye at least. I know that’s all pretty pessimistic (this week’s vocab word) but I'm not that religious so my superstitions go into the account. I wait for my bus stop. Oh, here comes Hillary! “Hey, Beautiful!” Hillary exclaims. Hillary struts toward me. Even though we have a uniform she always tries to be trendy. Hillary’s sewn a flower border at the hem of her uniform. And our uniforms ain’t the fancy kind either. Just a white button-down and a khaki skirt. Pretty basic. She also made the button-down into a V- neck. And she’s paired the outfit with a charm necklace, bracelets, and dangly earrings.  Her hair always seems to be styled in a different way every day. Today she’s chosen to incorporate pom-poms into her ponytail. Brave choice. She almost looks as tacky as Mama did in her high school days. Back then they had weird jacket dresses, petticoats and chunky jewelry. No one seems to say anything about Hillary bedazzling her uniform because she is such a teacher’s pet. Everyone loves her! Especially the guys. No wonder she’s the cutest girl in school. Hillary brushes her dirty blonde bangs from her face and leans against the stop sign. “Baby, are you wearing the same earrings from Tuesday? You know Cheryl’s gonna tease you!” Hillary scolded. I roll my eyes. Cheryl Watson is the most popular girl in our grade. And the meanest. Her parents are white supremacists. So she’s one too. “I don’t really care about what Cheryl has to say,” I remark. Hillary pats my back as she did at Nana’s uncle’s funeral. The bus arrives. Time for yet another grueling day of High school. I originally planned to study for my history test on the bus but I guess I’ll catch a few z’s. My throat is so dry. Like sandpaper. I should ask Mr. Jeremy for a hall pass. No, no THINK! What was The Boston Tea Party? Well, I remember Mama saying something about Indians and Tea. Lord! UGH! I should’ve studied! This test is so hard. “Salene?” GULP! Mr. Jeremy’s staring at me. Can he hear my thoughts? You’re a GREAT teacher, Mr. J! He beckons to me. I swallow hard and tiptoe to his desk. Mr. J isn’t that scary. In fact, he’s pretty average-looking. But his stubble and dark circles are too visible. He looks like a classic overworked man. Mr. J hands me a huge stack of papers, as I stare at his moving mouth. He’s got some unfortunately visible coffee-stained teeth. He walks me outside and closes the door. I gulp again and stare at the papers. What am i supposed to do with these papers? I have a severe problem when it comes to listening. Everything distracts me. I probably have ADHD. Mental Note: Consult School Counselor about ADHD pamphlet. I recognize Julie’s Mom’s handwriting. Julie’s nice but not real smart yet her Mom is such a typical class mom. She brings the class donuts on special days and always chaperones the field trips. I even hear she’s president of PTA! The stack is full of signed syllabi and attendance sheets. My flats squeak as I walk down the empty hallways. After a few minutes, I reach the office. It smells like bleach and air freshener. The office secretary looks up and smiles. Miss Kelly is so nice to everyone. Her husband died a few months ago from cardiac arrest. The funeral was held in our auditorium and almost everyone attended. Miss Kelly nearly broke down when Hillary gave the eulogy. She gave Miss K one of her famous back-pats. Miss Kelly straightens her glasses and smiles. “What’ll it be Sweet Pea?” she asks. I smile and hand her the stack. She straightens her glasses again and sets the stack down. She hands me two lollipops and waves goodbye to me. I stare at the second lollipop. As if on cue she says “For your Mother.” Mama don’t like lollipops. I smile and walk out the polished wood door. I head out and begin the long walk down the hall. There’s a water fountain near me. I’m sure Mr. J wouldn’t mind if i took a quick sip. Besides what’s the worst he can do? I doubt I’d get arrested for hydrating myself. Above the fountain, there’s a sign that says WHITES ONLY. I look around and I there’s no one in the hall. Now if Mama were here she’d slap the black off of me. She knows that I know better than to use a WHITES fountain. But Mama ain’t here and Little Sally’s feeling a bit rebellious. I walk towards the fountain and bend my head. I take a sip of the refreshing water. The water is much colder at this fountain. I hear footsteps behind me. “Well well, if it isn’t the rule-breaker! Honey, you can’t be here. Better scurry off to class before someone gets suspended.” I should’ve known. Who else wears high heeled rhinestone boots to school? I slowly turn around at stare at Cheryl Watson. I wanna strangle her right now. She furrows her perfectly penciled eyebrows at me and squints her perfect cat-eye lined eyes at me. She pouts out her perfectly plump pink lips and scowls. I gulp and blink back tears as I walk to class. I can feel Cheryl’s evil eyes on me. I open the door and sit back down. I’m too pissed to finish this test. I’m sitting at a table. By myself. I am absolutely sickened by what happened today. I poke at my chicken sandwich and take a sip of milk. I’m a big foodie but today I’m just not feeling it. The immediate sweetness of chocolate milk wakes me up a little. However the sweetness only lasts for a while.  A stack of binders slams next to me. “Babe, you are not yourself today!” Hillary yells. She looks at me and grabs my hand. “In….. and out…..” she breathes. I take a deep breath in and let it all out. Unfortunately, I let out more than what I expected. I let out a hitched breath and I feel the tears roll down my face. “Sal you are NOT okay!” Hillary pats my shoulder and baby-talks with me. She’s such an amazing person. After a few minutes of crying and whining I emerge from my friend’s shoulder. Everything is brighter and more vivid. Hillary brushes away a bang from my eyes. She takes me by the shoulder and drags me to the library. I notice Cheryl sitting on a table with her perfectly checkered skirt all smoothed out as she crosses her perfect Barbie-silicone legs. She lets out a high-pitched cackle and twirls her perfect black bangs. I play with the carpet as Hillary pep-talks me. “Sallio we need to fix this! You’re not a normally sad person, Baby! I’m here for you, ok?” I fill Hillary in on what happened. Hillary is taken aback as foul words spill from her mouth. “That filthy piece o-” The bell rings. She grabs her books, clearly ticked off, and marches away. I stare at the gray bus seat. All around me there are children laughing, high schoolers whispering dirty jokes to each other, and teachers blowing their whistles, wondering when the dismissal rush will be over. No one acknowledges the black girl sitting by herself with her head down. The bus starts and I stare outside. Hopefully, Mama didn’t have a screwed-up day like me. Hopefully. It’s so nice being a queen in a world full of clouds. All my servants stand by my side, decked out in bright jewels and clothing. I sit in my comfortable red velvet throne as I watch Cheryl being lowered into a guillotine by guards dressed in black. Her perfect face isn’t so perfect anymore while she is strapped down to her final resting place, as the executioner takes his place. My meal should be served soon and I shall watch the show as I munch on heavenly preparations. Ahhh.. This is the life! Wait a minute! A queen in a cloud world? I must be dreaming. Oh, look! Here comes a chef with a platter of food. It even has those fancy food covers that you get in restaurants you can’t afford. He has a curled orange mustache with a towel on his forearm. How fancy! I’m ready to tuck in. I slowly open the dish cover, only to find a miniature rubber school bus. It doesn’t look like it’s made of cheese. Sigh. At least I still get to watch Cheryl suffer. Wait! Where is she? Where are my guards and my servants? Where is the chef? Where is my throne? Everything fades away as a horrid noise emerges from the rubber bus. SCREEEEEECH!!! I’m jutted forward.  Stupid bus driver. I gather all my things. It’s not my fault I fell asleep. No one knows about the horrible day I had. Mama’s waiting in her Cad. Ever since Hillary saw that we got a Cadillac convertible, she always comes over. We don’t get our licenses for until another year, but that doesn’t stop Hill from trying to drive. Mama’s smiling as she waits in our car. She’s probably listening to Fitzgerald. Ella sure is the queen of soul. Her  A Tisket - A Tasket song done made us worship her! Mama looks like she had a nice day. But her face is all wrinkly and she doesn’t ever get wrinkles. Her eyes are red and splotchy. Has Mama been crying? I ain’t ever seen her cry after Daddy left us. I stand on the bus steps, while the driver sings to soul music.  I look behind me. I’m the last one to get off. I fix my stand on the last step. Mama waves at me and wipes her eyes. Oh my god. I don’t wanna get off this bus. Please, Lord. I don’t wanna face my Mama and her tears. Can I just disappear? “HEY!” I turn around “BABY, YOU GON’ GET OFF THIS BUS OR IS I GON’ MAKE YOU?!” Miss Dee look pissed. Her eyes are round and her mouth is fixed into a scowl. Even scarier than Cheryl. What do I do? I can feel the tears coming, but she ain’t gon’ care….. I swallow hard. Please Lord let me disappear… There’s a screech and all I feel is the hot sun, as I hit the grass. The taste of dirt coats my mouth and my faucet is on high-speed. I feel a warm liquid all over my face. All I wanna do is cry…… Thanks for the help, Lord.

I blink for a while as light seeps through my eyelids, burning my pupils. Is this Heaven? Glad I finally made it! I turn my head around and stare at my hand. There’s a clip and tape. Lots and lots of blue tape. There’s a needle going through the inside of my arm. Normally I would panic, because I hate shots. However, I watch the blood slowly drip.My focus blurs and I see Mama sitting at the wall reading a magazine. She looks at me with a startled realization and  hurriedly rushes to my bed. She holds me in a hug and kisses my head repeatedly. “Oh, baby I’m so sorry! Ella was hittin’ the high notes and then you hit the floor! Baby, does it hurt?” Mama’s face seethes with boiling anger. “Baby we gon’ get that bus driver, if its the last thing I do!! I don’t know who De’Nasia thinks she is but she ain’t ever gon’ harm my daughter again!” When Mama’s angry, her hood side comes out, meaning that she goes into full street slang. I look up and tears flood my eyes. Mama stares at me for a long time and cries too. We cry in unison as nothing but whimpers and gasps interrupt our silence. Mama looks at me and her eyebrows furrow. “Baby Girl, you stay strong, ok? We gon’ make it through this! Together baby, together!” The door handle turns and a middle-aged man with red beard steps in. He’s wearing a lab coat and specs. Professional doctor. Oh come on! That apple was supposed to keep the doctor away! He checks his clipboard and starts jabbering. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that your daughter has ruptured her skull. We will need approximately $200 for the surgery alone. And then we have therapy and rehabilitation costs.” Mama pulls out Daddy’s wallet and pulls out a $10. “I’m sorry but this is all I have! I don’t get my paycheck u-until” Mama looks at me with worry  “ Er I mean until next Friday” No. Way. Mama knows that I know she gets her salary every Tuesday. Mama is a well-paid nurse and she takes me out to eat every Friday. And she volunteers at the soup kitchen. We ain’t too poor. Mama works well, and her boss loves her. What happened to her boss? The doctor looks at Mama with disgust. “Then, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave Ma’am.” Before Mama can protest, a flood of nurses spill into my room and pull at my cords and unhook the wires. My IV tube is undone and wheeled to another needy patient. The heart monitor turns off and the flowers are whisked away. In a few minutes, I look at myself in the mirror. My head is all bandaged up. Ugh. I look ugly. Mama looks dismayed as she grabs her handbag. She holds my hand as we walk through the hospital corridors. Looks of disgust and curiosity greet us through the hallways. We pass a room where Doctor Racist-Red Beard is standing. He smiles at a young white couple as the wife rummages through her purse. The pair solemnly look at a bald little boy in the bedsheets. They stare at their cancer-ridden child as the doctor counts his money. Ugh, the nerve. Mama and I go through the “COLORED” exit. There’s a doorman at the “WHITE” exit, but no doorman at this one. Whatever. We can open doors ourselves anyway. We walk down the street and go into Mr. Hue’s Mess. Mr. Hue is my Grandma’s close friend and he has a passion for barbecue. Mama pays for our meal with the rejected $10. After lots of laughter and barbecue, Mama looks at me solemnly and sighs. She takes my hands in her wrinkly hands painted with pink nail polish. I stare contently at my mother’s deep brown eyes. I smile at her and nod. “Baby, there’s something I need to tell you.” she declares My smile drops. Mama squeezes my hand tight, as four stinging words arise from her lips. Each word accompanied by a tear. Each word stings me more than the previous. I hold back my tears and clench my teeth. Mama looks so beautiful with her jet black curls that frame her golden brown face. I notice a silver hair hidden behind all those curls and it dawns on me that one day I may not have Mama anymore. It dawns on me that one day she’ll need me more than i need her. The small cafe clears out as my mother sits before me, she being the only one i see and the only person in the world that i care about. Mama, being the only person for me. My Mama. I’ll help you through everything Mama, I promise. Pinkie Promise Forever and Ever.

“I lost my job.” Turns out Mama did have a screwed-up day. Just like me.