This was a fun poem to write. We were given the prompt to write a poem about a piece of artwork. In one of the books of art he passed out, there was a painting by one of my favorite artists Edgar Degas. I wrote this poem about that beautiful painting of dancers and an open studio…

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I tiptoe timidly into the teal room.

Met with a sea of swimming tulle tutus,

Every hair on their heads pinned perfectly into place;

Their feet clad in blush colored silk.

I see their faces wince from aching feet with every Pirouette,

Hips popping through a Grand Jete.

The choreographer pushing their young bodies to a breaking point.

In this spotlight flooded world,

The day you turn twenty-five you’re more than half-way to the grave.

Title of prima ballerina passed to a new generation,

Pointe shoes are hung in shadow boxes,

Just to be seen as a memory of life on stage already lived.

Tutus are still a safety blanket for my boney hips,

The sight of pointe shoes still bring pins and needles to my feet.

The four teal walls were still a home for me,

Even though I no longer leap on those Marley floors.

 

HEJ

Birth Mother.

Since I am adopted, I never got to meet my birth mother nor do I know anything about her. I wrote this poem about how I thought she might have felt and handled giving me up for adoption…

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The day you turn sixteen is supposed to be a celebration,

But my gift was two vivid blue lines on a pregnancy test.

I knew there would be nothing sweet about this sixteen.

 

How could I tell him?

He was promised a full ride to college,

A pregnant girlfriend would trap him like a rabid animal in a hunter’s trap.

 

Thoughts of motherhood stole my sleep,

I felt like someone was smothering me with a pillow.

What could a junior in high school offer to a baby?

 

“It’s a girl.”

Visions of hot pink dresses and ballet classes flooded my thoughts,

In all these visions I was a single mother.

I knew I could not raise the baby girl, so young and alone.

 

The following months brought on many papers signing away my parental rights.

I met a new Mark Brady and Carol Martin every month.

They may have been the cookie cutter parents,

But none of them seemed worthy of the baby girl that made my belly grow,

Until the Jordan’s walked through the agency’s doors.

 

The woman’s eyes glassed over from tears when she saw my swollen belly,

Every woman before her painted a fake pearly white smile on their faces.

The man shook my hand firmly while the other men were shaky with nerves,

My baby girl would be like a porcelain doll shattering on a hardwood floor if they held her.

This couple would be the ones to bring up my nameless baby.

 

After ten hours of labor,

Pain coursing though my body like every nerve ending was being pinched by a hot iron.

One final push and she was there,

The baby I was just a temporary home for.

 

The nurse placed a mucus covered baby in my arms,

For a minute I was her mother.

Then the Jordan’s cane into my hospital room,

And their family of three became a complete family of four.

 

HEJ

They Told Me.

This is a poem I wrote about my parents telling me I was adopted when I was 5-years-old…

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I walked into the kitchen,

Climbing into one of the tall chairs we had around our round oak table.

My mother looked at me sideways,

As I sat there in complete silence.

 

Then the question rushed out of my mouth like rapids in a river,

“Mommy? Daddy? Why don’t I look like you?”

I pulled up my hair and then tugged on my mothers,

One dirty blonde, one raven black.

 

My mother’s brows furrowed,

My father’s mouth parted slightly.

They share a look and pause for a breath,

Like they were about to tell me new that would send me into a fit.

 

Did the old children’s rhymes ring true?

Was I sent down the chimney by a stork?

My mother pulled me into her lap and looked me directly in the eye,

“You are adopted, my sweet girl, you did not come from mommy’s tummy.”

 

I was not sure what that meant.

My mother further explained,

“Jesus decided that you were better off as a Jordan, so He led your birth mommy to us.”

 

Even though I still did not fully understand,

I wrapped my arms around my parent’s necks,

“You’re the only mommy and daddy.” I say grinning.

I could feels the tears roll down her face, while her cheek rose into a smile.

 

HEJ

Studio 3

I wrote this and a few more poems. This started as a free write about a place and event that made an impact on our childhood. I danced from the time I was 4 to the time I was 18, in those times, improve days in modern class were always a day to break free and just dance. That is what this poem is about…

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The right corner of that room,

That is where I create my bubble.

Beverly dims the lights,

So dancers become shadows.

I begin to create my aimless choreograpy.

 

A ron de jambe pulls my body in a pirouette,

Mozart vibrates through the speakers on the shelves.

Feet lead legs,

Hands direct my arms.

I am connected from head to toe.

 

I turn and turn,

Falling dizzily to the ground.

Each fall is accidentally choreographed,

When I am dancing in my bubble.

 

Beverly flicks the lights back to their original brightness,

I stand emotionally naked.

Then I notice,

No one was paying attention to me.

 

In their bubbles,

They dance on the stage in their thoughts,

Creating care-free choreography.

 

HEJ

The Heart of a Giver.

When she smiles

I know

My task is complete.

 

Yet my heart

Weakens

With every given offering.

 

So much of me

Offered

To the holes in you.

 

What will happen?

What will become

Of me?

 

I give and give

Until

I’m nothing but a thought.

 

When I am empty

Is it ok

To take a little too?

-HEJ

Sad Love Poem.

Those words nagged at her,

Every minute of every day,

“Tell him. Tell him.”

Just the thought made her ill with nerves.

 

Everything was too unsure;

A yes could flip her world around,

A no would crush her delicate heart.

Yet those words still nagged.

 

Then the day came;

Fear in every part of her body,

Her heart on her sleeve.

She gave in.

 

“I love you.”

The words carelessly fell over.

Then she looked up,

Seeing every fear come true.

 

His green eyes filled with pity

And without him speaking,

She knew.

His heart did not skip a beat when their eyes met.

 

He does not love her,

Like she deeply loves him.

-HEJ

Happy Love Poem.

She sat on her hands, impatiently

Waiting and waiting.

For several years,

Watching with agony from the distance.

 

When her eyes locked on his,

Her heart ached with longing,

Her prayers for opportunity were relentless.

The desire she had was for a lifetime.

 

One day she decided,

It was time for her heart to speak.

Overwhelmed with anxiety and glee,

She opened her mouth and let it pour out.

 

As she spoke to this dream boy of hers,

His eyes gleamed with joy,

His smille grew with each word.

In that moment their hearts aligned.

 

She sat there in unbelief.

The dream she saw as unreachable,

He was sitting right in front of her;

What she wanted for so long, she had.

-HEJ

I am NOT bound.

Day to day I live

With twine around my wrist

When I get ahead

Or the “right way” is the wrong way

A little tug corrects me

 

I run as fast as I can

Going absolutely nowhere

I snip the twine

Yet it reappears

 

I know it leads me

But it feels like a leash

How do I pray away the strain?

 

One day I look down

That little string of a leash

It is now a hand

A hand holding mine

 

The hand of the Father

Taking me away from danger

Protecting my heart from hurt

His hand becomes a haven.

 

HEJ

My Cactus Flower Heart.

When I wake

Let the rays of Your face shine brighter to me.

 

When I seek your face

Let each features become more vivid to me.

 

Every breath I take

The craving for you grows

Deeper & Deeper

 

Without you

My body aches with emptiness.

 

My soul is like desert

Sitting

Waiting

To be drenched in your rain

 

When it comes

Not if it comes

The cactus flower will bloom.

 

HEJ

The Rolling Yellow Ball.

7-6-18

The way this poem came about was interesting. My friend looked around her, saw a group of people playing kickball with a yellow ball, and she told me to write about it. I do not know if this is what she had in mind but this is what my mind came up with…

………….

When an innocent thought becomes impure

It slowly inches away.

 

When you give that boy a piece of your body

The boy that does not truly love you

It rolls farther into the distance.

 

When you have to pay the first bill

The one you do not have the money for

You wish you could chase after it

Yet it seems too far away.

 

In the hard times

It will be your strongest desire

To hold it tight.

 

As life rolls on

So does that vibrant yellow ball

Filled with your innocence

Your childlike heart just out of reach.

 

HEJ