Hopelessly Lonely

Like cattle being led to slaughter

she feels herself pushed closer to the double doors.
Aware of hard bodies pressed against her softness,
the ride of her shirt up her full torso,
the pinch of her jeans... her mothers choice... cutting into the flesh that spills over the top.
Feeling the silent expectation that her body fit into this piece of denim, conform to this size.

Her mind begins the battle that is waged daily..same time, same place.
A small salad, light dressing, is the healthy choice.
This she knew.
If not a healthy choice than no choice at all, she determined
as she burst through narrow doors into the vast room.

Eyes, like a missile, lock unto the bar filled with vegetables...cold, hard and unyielding.
Laughter, close to her ear, causes a sideways glance.
A cut of the eyes to the impossibly thin, effervescent girls to her left.
Feeling their judgement, trying to ease the lump building in her throat, she slides past the salads.
You've decided...it's no choice then!  Keep moving.
The voice inside her head whispers.

Her eyes catch a reflection of herself and the lithe girls reflected in the stainless steel.
Her body appears immense, her features swollen, her breasts overabundant.
Disgust, sadness, resignation wash over her like oncoming waves.
Her movements quicken, feeling the girls impatience pushing her from behind.
Blindly grabbing, she turns to survey the tables.
Tables filled with raging hormones, false bravado, illusion.
She doesn't fit.

Mercifully, she escapes....slipping into the bathroom....unseen.
Closing the stall door she perches on the porcelain seat.
Tucking feet up, she tries to make herself smaller....tries to make herself disappear.

Glancing to her hand she sees what she mindlessly grabbed.
So pretty in it's pinkness....so perfectly made.
Slowly lifting it to her mouth
She feels the cakey texture yield between her teeth.
The sweetness of the frosting dancing across her tongue.
The rich density sliding down, filling the hole so deep within.

This is the taste of friendship.
This is the comfort of companionship.
Feeding the hope that tomorrow will be different.
Tears trailing silently down her cheeks.


Inspired by:  Mama Kat's prompt~ Write a poem about hope.
                    The Red Dress Club~ write a piece inspired by this delicious shot.

**Note**  I usually write two seperate entries for these sites.  This week I've been ill so I tried to combine the two prompts.  Thanks for your understanding and my apologies to anyone who is offended.

Ugliness Transformed Through Grace

*Describe a time when you saw something ugly, then found the beauty*


I see

 Machines, tubes, coils of wire, and a plastic box that holds a little being, a little soul, a little life.

A tiny needle pierces her soft scalp, tape on her face firmly holding the tube inserted down her throat.

I hear

 Electronic sounds that swoosh and beep, echoing through my entire body. No cry from my babe whos vocal cords are stretched by a ventilator...only tears tracing a path down her face. Silent wailing.

I smell

   The sharp antiseptic smell that reminds me not to touch anything...my nose twitches. The sweet fragrance of newborn skin absent.

I feel. 

 My hands tingle, spots of red where I scrubbed hard, trying to scour away any trace of bacteria, disease, possible infection that I carry just by the sheer fact I'm living.

 Tears, stinging my eyes and a throat impossibly tight with the effort of holding back sobs.

 My hands pressed against the smooth, hard plastic that separates us...for the first time in 9 months.

Being wheeled into the room, my postpartum brain only an hour old, my senses are assaulted. 

 I see, hear, smell, and feel.
Ugliness...pain...death....grief. 

 This is not where I am supposed to be.  

Somehow this ship docked in a different port. Not the sun warmed beach of my intended destination. Instead I've been washed onto the land of a frozen, cold foreign place......and I am sad,confused and angry. "I am not supposed to be here!" is the wail that longs to escape from my  mouth.

Ugly.

God's grace sweeps in ...without my invitation...and alters my senses.

I see. 

 Machines, tubes and coils of wire that sustain life for my babe. 

 Blue eyes that are impossibly large on a rounded face. Rosebud mouth, tiny nose, ten fingers, ten toes, seashell pink ears.

Other mothers eyes that hold mine in empathy.

I hear.

Steady beat of a heart, breath being breathed into tiny lungs, murmuring medical voices, soft lullaby falling from my lips.

I smell.

 Cleanliness...freshness....purity....life.

I feel.

Thankfulness for the medical care that surrounds, comforted by the caring nurses.

Blessed by the wonder of our newest miracle, and cradled by the wings of my guardian angel.

Beauty.

Promise transforms into ugliness which contains beauty. 

Seeing with our heart, with faith eyes, the beauty that is always there.

Sometimes hidden.... but always there.

Inspired by: The Red Dress Club
Shared on:  Poetry Potluck

*That "little babe" is now a healthy, happy, sweet, and sassy 13 year old. (in case anyone was wondering)  :)