A Glass Beauty

This piece is special to me. I wanted to ask myself why is the mirror feel like a real person. A way to mold me into not liking what I see. Woman especially have to learn to love the flaws and imperfections. Take away the mirror for once in our lives. See what image matters in life. None in fact is greater then looking within ourselves. There is one thing other than looking wanting to be perfect. Take the perfect selfie. We are all people with a heartbeat. 

A Glass Beauty

a mirror stands before me

my reflection like no other
It says do you like yourself
take away the voice within

reshape the past doubt
mold your mind allow
clay forms a perfect person
push past the ideal

see each different layer
outer beauty may fade
frizz wrinkles,spots and more
learn to love each flaw

uncover a person inside
with spoken word as a tool
hold magic in our hands
beating louder than ever

a new picture awaits
my image is whole
we say I like myself
but underneath that selfie
     a heartbeat
Becca Joy

Alice

Alice

What if like Alice,
a sip of potion shrinks you
bouncing from macro into...
the microscopic
a whole new world unvieled
every detail more vibrant

What if like Alice,
a bite of cake makes you taller
growing in confidence
standing before a chess board
my next move queen Alice
never afraid inside nooks and crannies

What if like Alice,
playing the game excites;
awakens a power
I am a pawn of the white queen
only a second rank my dear

What if like Alice,
a train ride boosts spirits
first move as pawn ; two spaces
fourth rank here I come
my journey has begun


What if like Alice,
meeting with the white queen
alters thoughts inside the mind
on a boat ready to cross over
the brooks edge like  brick wall


What if like Alice,
the queen becomes a sheep
talking in another language
you try to paddle faster
will I make it across to see more
maybe this is possible after all
one-two-three brooks I have traversed

What if like Alice,
brave throuh waters deep
scared in the 7th rank
watching her heart sink
oh hi I am the white knight
seeing red in the last obstacle


What if like Alice,
a queen is crowned
becoming hostess of own celebration
I grab red queen in a fit of rage
you made me play this game


What if like Alice,
capturing her made it calm
it was a strange end indeed
Mr. Red king put into checkmate
Alice awoke to just a dream


What if Alice,
had not looked through the glass
and seen a new side
confident ; adventerous and brave.
                                 Becca Joy

Poem from high school

                               The viola
                    The middle –- no choices
                 stuck in the unknown
                 faltering on a thin line
                 getting boxed in slowly
                 boxed in with the violin --
                 the boss



                 cello,a step toward friendship,
                 the boss takes over and shines;
                 two voices compete --
                 to gain there place.
                 Ever so more - important
                 1/5 octave higher ,
                 viola a standout
                 friends to enemies
                 The cello,irate
                 stubborn like the roots of a tree
                 Maybe right minded;
                 are better
               
             
                 higher and louder--so perfect
                 the alto
                 too low,
                 ignored like a broken string
                 in its case
                 orchestra music begins to play;
                 one note starts to harmonize.
                 you heard the middle man
                 edging his way to the front
                 the boss- always one step behind
                 not bragging about our mere chance;
                 in the  spotlight
               

                 constant- never wavering from  conformity
                 never trading places with the boss
                 I'd like to think that ( maybe ),
                 the middle is balanced (perhaps a little skewed)
                 I sit on the edge and smile knowing “viola –-
                 was a  violin with a college education”.*
                 a violist always compared
                 the violinist – escapes
                 the guilt,
                 piano never apologizes fully
                 I want equality – music --
                 written just for me --
                 no not the violin
               
                  my mind wanders to the greats
                  inferior was I
                  nary would I be as talented
                  Beethoven – Bach – my heroes.
                  the audience claps – but not for me
                  shown how worthless the middle man must be
                  I was a violist
                I am the viola
              *attributed to Primose