Monday, March 26, 2012

the Torn Girl


Once upon a time,
there was a girl who was completely torn.
She had a man that told that he loved her;
vowed that he would die without her but she was doubting forever,
for her heart was longing for another.
Even though she really cared,
even though she would never hurt him,
he wasn’t the one in her daydreams.

She was mesmerized by the tattooed soldier with a magical smile;
the charming soldier that she loved from afar.
He wasn’t like the others.
Fun and captivating, the kind of romance that she desired.
The soldier then went bravely off to war and her lonely soul ended up in the arms of her anxious lover.

Now as the horror went on outside of her door,
she looked at her overprotective lover,
wishing that he was the breathtaking soldier.
In her mind she would confess her true devotion and ask:
“Why can’t you be him?
Why can’t you love me like he loves me?
Can’t you see that we’re meant to be?
Oh please,
all I wish for is you,
your face haunts me no matter what I do.”

She wanted to run through the trenches;
to her soldier but her fear took over.
What if everyone abandoned her?
Being alone is what she couldn’t bear.
Her overbearing lover is all she had.
As the bombs went off, she silently screamed.
She was trapped…trapped…trapped!


(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2012 

About a fictional love triangle

Update


My poem "Phantom in My Head" is published in World Poetry Movement's "Stars in Our Hearts: Tranquility" http://www.amazon.com/Stars-Hearts-World-Poetry-Movement/dp/161936025X

Thursday, March 8, 2012

the Giggling Girl


She’s walking almost in a daze. It was nearing midnight and eighteen-year-old Bethany was still out in her mother’s garden. She had dizzying, frustrating thoughts of heartbreaks, failures, and back-stabbing friends that prevented her from sleeping. “What if I did this,” she thought, “What if I said that?” It was an agonizing cycle of questions about things in life that she couldn’t control. She then thought desperately, “I would give anything just to be a little kid again so I could be oblivious to everything or at lease change some things.”  She was on the verge of tears when she heard a little girl’s giggle.
“Who’s there?” she called out, turning on the flashlight that she was holding. No one answered. She just stood there for a moment and she heard the mischievous giggle again. It was coming from her mother’s labyrinth. Most people thought that it was strange that her mother actually wanted a labyrinth in the backyard but Bethany thought that it was cool and she had mastered it over the years.  The labyrinth was medium-sized but very tall and was made with gray, massive stone.
The little girl with curly, brown hair, who looked five or six and wore a blue, frilly dress, stood at the entrance of the labyrinth with her hand stretched out. The girl looked so similar to Bethany but she had no clue from where.   “Are you lost?” she asked the girl. The girl didn’t say anything, just giggled and ran into the labyrinth.
“Wait,” Bethany exclaimed, running in after her. The labyrinth seemed more closed-in than usual but she thought that it was just because it was in the middle of the night and her nerves out of whack.  She went through the labyrinth, zigzagging, going right then left. Even though she knew this labyrinth like the back of her hand, she was running into dead end after dead end and she couldn’t catch up to the girl. She would get a glimpse of the girl from only steps away but when she got close, the girl would be suddenly gone.
“What the hell,” she yelled in frustration. Resting for a moment, she leaned back against a stone.  Then the girl came out of nowhere and was now standing next to Bethany, making her jump out of her skin. She gasped, “Whoa!” She dropped the flashlight but caught it in time so it didn’t hit the ground and break. Light shining on the girl, Bethany got a good look of the girl and became pale with shock, smashing the flashlight at her feet.
The little girl was a mirrored image of Bethany from long ago, at age six. She had her curly, black hair, her freckles that she used to get every summer, and the blue dress that her aunt gave her. Bethany got goose bumps and fear possessed her. “This has to be a dream,” she thought, “or I’m finally going crazy.”
“You’re…” she uttered but being unable to speak.
“Come on,” giggled the six-year-old Bethany, grabbing her hand, “my friend wants to meet you!” Being speechless and in a trance, she let her young clone drag her along. She was led to an opening in the labyrinth that she never saw before and it looked like they stepped into a different dimension; the sky being blood red, three moons and suns shining, the trees dying all around, and the temperature was incredibly hot, causing steam to come up out from the ground. Then she saw a tall man dressed in red.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“My friend,” replied the child version of herself.
“Who is he though?” she asked.
“Satan.” Bethany’s heart practically stopped when her child self said the name. She tried to pull back but her tiny double had amazing strength. As they approached, she saw that the man was tanned, had black hair and mustache, bared horrific fangs behind an inviting smile, and fiery red eyes that were ablaze in the dark. Bethany began screaming hysterically as they got closer and closer.
“Quiet my dear Bethany,” said Satan, “I want to help you.”
“I don’t want your help!” she replied angrily. 
“But you said that you would give anything to be a child again,” he said happily.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, her voice now shaking, “You can’t turn me back into a child and besides, I know what ‘anything’ means. You just want my soul!”
“Not just your soul,” he smiled, “and no, I can’t turn you back into a child but with some assistance from my little helper, I can change your past and future.” He was pointing to her clone who was beaming.
“What?” she exclaimed.
“I can make her back to your past and she could relive your life for you,” Satan explained, “and I can give her different circumstances, different experiences so she couldn’t make any of your mistakes and your life will worth something…but for her to do that for you, you have to be my slave.” 
“NO,” she shouted, “I DON’T WANT OR NEED YOUR HELP!” She tried to run away but shadowy hands came up out from scorching ground and grabbed her ankles, dragging her back. She screamed and screamed in agony. She was trying to fight the hands, digging her nails in the dirt but it was no use.
“I was going to give this chance as a gift,” said Satan when the demonic hands brought her back, “but I think that I won’t give you an option. You messed up your life and you know it. You’re such a loser that it makes me ill! She’ll live out your life better than you!” He then slapped Bethany in the face and clapped his two hands in the air.
Dark clouds began to surround her, making it difficult to breathe and see. It also felt like a million hands were crushing her ribcage but she couldn’t scream out. She could only hear Satan and her clone talking.
“Are you ready?” asked Satan.
“Yeah,” she giggled. Satan snapped his fingers and suddenly the girl was gone in smoke. All that Bethany could hear now was the girl’s giggles echoing in her mind. Bethany then disappeared into the hellish unknown with Satan and was never missed or even remembered. Her life was taken over.    



(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2012

Smashing the Mirror



I am standing in front of a smashed mirror.
The glass is cracked and pieces are everywhere on the floor;
My reflection is distorted, so beyond repair.
Blood drips off of the broken glass as angry tears fill my eyes.
My closed fist has deep cuts from trying to punch out a person that I sometimes hate,
a pathetic soul that tries to hide from her own life.

It’s the woman crying in the mirror.
She is possessed with loneliness and fear.
She still feels like a helpless little girl,
not knowing who she can trust anymore.
Her heart has been abused by insecurity and betrayal. 
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who is the most lost of them all?

I loathe what she is becoming,
She believes that her spirit has been shot down
but I swear, she will remember how to fight again.
I will remind her after the tears, she won’t hurt forever.
The happy thoughts are waiting for her
and I will be smiling into a whole new mirror.  


(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2012

Very therapeutic.