100 Questions

100 Questions 
You ask, “Whatcha doing?

I ask, “Whatcha thinking?”

You ask, “How’s life going?”

I say, “No clue.” “Do you know?”

Here we go,

with our silly game of one-hundred questions.

With each random question,

I learn more and more about you;

About everything to who you are and what you want to do.

Your favorite color is blue,

You just love Chinese food.

You dream of having your very own land

cause you were raised to be a hardworking man. 

Being able to be faithful is all that you want from a girl;

A girl that would always be there.

I’ve asked you many things my friend

but there is still one question remaining;

One question that I always have to stop myself from asking:

Am I the one? 

You ask, “Do you wish that you could predict the future?”

I say, “Sure, would love to know if my happily ever after is near or far.”

Then I ask, “Do you think that you’ll ever meet your dream girl?”

You say, “Don’t think she’s real, only you understand how I feel.”

Secretly wishing that I was the ideal,

I just smile.

Question upon question,

I’m still pondering,

Are we destined to be just companions or something more?

I know all about you, you know all about me

Yet, you still can’t see,

You’re the guy that I completely adore.

You ask, “Whatcha doing?”

I ask, “Whatcha thinking?”

You ask, “How’s life going?”

I say, “No clue.” “Do you know?”

And once again, here we go…

With our silly game of one-hundred questions. 

  

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2013 

Even though I got the idea for this poem from an online chat, it's not about anyone...or is it? ;-) I'll just let you keep guessing, lol.  

Not the Victim

Not the Victim 

For too many years,

I’ve been a damsel in distress;

Screaming for help every time that you suffocate me with cruel words.

You had the power, you held all of the cards.

My heart has painful scars;

They never fade,

Always reminding me of your hate!

But now I finally have a fighting spirit;

Telling me, “Just don’t cry and take it!”

I’m not the victim anymore,

I’ve gained the strength, the courage

because of all of the things that I’ve endured.

It’s time for me to speak up, stand my ground, fight back!

Go ahead, do your worse;

Now my soul won’t crack!

Because that all I say is “Screw you!”

No matter what you say or do,

your dictatorship is through.

The tears have finally turned into anger,

I’m not the victim anymore, I’m not your victim anymore!

   

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2013

This poem is about standing up for yourself.

Just Hope

In a world so harsh, so cruel, it’s so easy to give up. Another news story always seem like another tragedy but I believe in the light. Let’s just hope, just smile, just show kindness to one another. 

My prayers and thoughts are with the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. 

I Realize

I realize how lucky I am to have such awesome family and friends. I realize that not everyone has angels on Earth to protect them and that God has truly blessed me. I find the beauty, the magic in our laughter, in our obstacles. Nothing can break me as long as love and understanding surrounds me.   

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2013 

Happy Easter! 

A Song's Beat

A Song's Beat  

When a song’s beat is faster than my own heart,

I feel so alive.

Blaring it, singing it,

knowing what being carefree is all about.

Smile, dance;

Alone in my room or with friends,

As long as the music is on,

I wouldn’t care if the world ends,

Just keep giving me those beats!

   

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2013 

This poem is about my love for music.

Fayette

 Fayette

Thirteen-year-old Fayette “Fay” Marigold was petite for her age but had the biggest personality and mind. She was fearless, opinionated, loud, and sometimes a troublemaker with the cockiest grin which seemed to make her impish attitude stand out even more. Even though she thought that telling people was as unimportant as knowing the names of the Kardashians, she was also born with cerebral palsy. She was in a wheelchair and her speech was slightly garbled but she lived a regular life and never became a poster child for the pity party. She was actually more of an advocate for the rebellious and the smart ass.

One brisk, fall evening, she went to a Halloween carnival with her sixteen-year-old brother Warren. Fun, creepy music and the sound of children laughing and squealing surrounded them with the smell of buttery popcorn and sweet cotton candy in the air.  She and Warren were waiting in line to go on a roller-coaster. When they first arrived at the line, the ride was already going and they were only letting six people at a time go. Fay saw a lot of spooky things at that carnival but none were as beastly as the boy that was standing in front of them. The boy was much younger, around ten or eleven and he was staring a hole through her. Of course, the boy’s parents were nowhere to be found.

Fay said to the boy sarcastically, “You never saw a person in a wheelchair before, right? It’s okay, just remember to blink though or your eyes will burn.”

Warren chuckled in his throat. She didn’t think that the rude boy understood her but he did and began to pick on her.

“You talk weird,” said the boy wickedly, “Um, this ride is for normal people…only and you ain’t normal.”

“You think so,” exclaimed Fay with fake excitement, “Really?” Thanks!”

“Man, I bet that it ain’t no fun having a wheelchair girl for a sister,” said the boy to Warren, acting like she wasn’t there, “Sorry that she is like that.”

“Whatever kid,” said Warren dryly, glaring at him.

“Sorry?” Fay laughed, “Why are you sorry? Did you create cerebral palsy?”

Still ignoring her, the boy said, “I bet that she can’t do nothing on her own.”

“Shut up kid before I---!” began Warren, becoming furious, his big fists turning white. Fay stopped him with an assuring smile.

“It’s true,” she replied sardonically, “I can’t walk, I’m just one of the fastest in any wheelchair race. My handwriting is crummy, I can just type ninety words per minute on the computer. I can’t talk clearly, I’m just unafraid to speak my mind. You’re sooo right. I can’t do anything at all.” 

The boy looked puzzled. She and Warren just laughed. Then, the roller-coaster was beginning to stop and the boy gave her an evil smile. He said mockingly to her, “Uh oh, there’s five people ahead of you and only six is allowed. Looks like your brother will have to leave his wheelchair sister behind.”

She just grinned.  The ticket taker then walked by. The boy tried to give his ticket and walked on but Fay held up a blue pass and the ticket taker stopped him, letting her and Warren go in front.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, “I was here first!”

“I’m sorry,” said the ticket taker, “She has a disability pass and he needs to accompany her. You have to wait. We only so much room and I heard how you were treating this nice, young lady.”’

“But that ain’t fair,” he yelled.

“If only you were abnormal like me…,” she smiled, as Warren picked her up from her chair and helped her into the ride.

“You are only gettin’ special treatment cause you’re in a wheelchair,” he bellowed.

“Well, it pays to be the wheelchair girl,” she said cheekily, winking as the roller-coaster rolled away and leaving the little boy behind.    

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2013 

This is a funny satire, poking fun at all of the bullies throughout my life and at myself. It was fun to write. 

Dear Steven

Dear Steven,

I feel so blessed to have known you,

To have laughed with you.

I’ll always remember your friendship that was so honest, so true. 

You meant a lot to me,

But I never said,  you never knew.

Dear Steven,

Thank you for the jokes and the ridiculous songs,

Turning any moment into complete fun.

Thank you for all of those things that we talked about at lunchtime;

Those simple, goofy conversations will always replay in my mind.

I miss you more than anything,

But I know that you wouldn’t want anyone to morn anymore;

You would want us to remember how happy you were.

The goodbye isn’t forever.

Oh dear Steven, dear Steven,

my friend, 

I know that someday, we all will be together again.   

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2013 

We all love you Steven! We think of you everyday.

Christmastime (Happy Birthday Jesus)

Christmastime is here,

It’s the time to care, time to share.

Complete joyfulness is in the air,  

as snow is falling everywhere,

making the city a land of powder sugar.

Children’s eyes are sparkling with awe and absolute wonder;

at this season that is so magical.

With sweet peppermint coating on my tongue,

I’m wishing “Merry Christmas” to everyone.

Angels in Heaven are also singing,

reminding us of the blessing that was born in a manger,

one holy, cold night in December.

We praise Jesus,

with our warm Christmas wishes. 

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2012  

Merry Christmas! 

Thanks

Thanks to my family for always, ALWAYS supporting me, for loving me no matter what. Thanks for making laugh. Thank you Mom, Dad, sister (Amanda, you're the best sissy ever), aunts (you rock!), uncles (the most awesome) , grandparents (love ya!), my trillions of cousins (lol, including Tammy, Chris, and Dave), and my niece Grace. You make me smile constantly. 

Thanks to my friends, online and in real life. Thank you for listening and caring. Thank you Carl for being a such good friend. Despite what others might say, you're a great person.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Birthday Steven

Happy birthday Steven! I know that you're partying like every birthday. :-) Everyone still thinks about you and misses you. I miss your jokes and goofy songs. A kid on Halloween said the "hallow  weenie" joke about the vampire and the witch and it made me smile. :-D I still remember those inappropriate jokes, lol!  Have fun today up there.  We all love you.

the Halloween Ball

the Halloween Ball  

By: Lena Holdman

As the town clock strikes midnight in the distance, the Halloween ball begins in a pitch black graveyard. Wild spirits scream and sing wickedly, jack-‘o-lanterns chuckle crazily, cackling witches and wizards wear outlandish, flowing robes that make them look like they are swirling on air, gruesome looking zombies with oozing, decaying faces groan hungrily, and vampires smile seductively, baring their sharp fangs. Grinning skeletons start the music and everyone does a funeral march-like waltz. One…two, one…two, one…two, one…two.

When the clock strikes three and when the moon turns red, an evil tradition then begins. The spirits chose a child in advance. They call to the innocent child; usually a girl with the purest heart and long, scarlet hair. With sing-song, playful voices, they call out: “Come little one, come.” Being in a deep trance, the girl gets out of bed and walks out into her own death.

The helpless girl enters the graveyard and they all surround her eagerly, their mouths watering. The wind howls frightfully and they creep closer…closer…closer. The girl always wakes up just in time for her scream and see shadows consuming her. Blood is drank, skin is pealed from the bone, and the soul is sacrificed to the unthinkable. Where’s her body? I don’t think that you want to know. She becomes another reckless spirit that is invited to the Halloween ball.

    

(c)Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2012

Happy Halloween! ;)