Poem: Morning Time Aubade
Poem: Overflowing
Story: The Only Place I Know as Home
Slam Poem: Yukon's Cherry Coke Phobia Experiment
Slam Poem: 13 Steps to Successfully Kidnap Someone
Group Poem: Melting Into Beauty
Screenplay: The Junebugs' Night Out
MORNING TIME AUBADE
the beauty of waking with the morning
perfect and still and full of quiet
up before all others
rising with the sun,
growing with the rays
as new beginnings awaken
the perfect time to rise,
so don’t miss the beauty,
meet me in the morning time
chasing the sunrise that’s just out of reach,
as day grows and morning ends
only touchable for a second
so rise with the sun
and chase the rays
meet me in the morning time
OVERFLOWING
a new beginning is followed
by the flowing worries and doubts
they take everything in their path,
overflowing happiness and hope
the daily journey of highs and lows
i’ve found something much greater than those
i’ve not found,
but have been found
He’s found me and held me as his own
with him i’m saved and not alone
i’m blessed beyond all measure,
to love and be loved by God
and to faithfully experience his
overflowing grace from above
THE ONLY PLACE I KNOW AS HOME
The past delicious aroma of the kitchen was now ruined by cigarette smoke. The thick cloud
breaking through the air and my dreams, bringing me back to where I really was. I wasn’t
soaking in the sun rays and smelling the salty reviving ocean water. I wasn't listening to the
crashing ocean waves or dancing through them. I was here alone. Although I wasn’t technically
alone due to my fathers presence in the kitchen across from me, I was still alone. But he was
also alone. We were both together but both so alone.
My mother left us here alone. Not by choice, she would have never done that. Cancer had
taken her away from us a year ago. I say this because my father and I used to be “together” in a
family, with my mom. But now the hurt and the pain separate us where they should’ve brought
us together the most.
So as I sit here thinking to myself, I stare across the room at who should be my father, but
recognize someone I have never met. Someone who only cares about himself, money, and his
addictions. Someone who tells his daughter that he still cares about her but would be happy and
just fine if he never saw her again. Someone who lies, cheats, and doesn’t love anything or
anyone anymore, besides his daily pack of cigarettes and alcohol.
I’ve pushed him and begged him to go to therapy, to reach out, and to be the father I once
knew. But no, he claims he “doesn’t need help and we're getting along just fine” which is why I
consider him a liar. He also claims that he “loves me and does everything he can for me”. Mind
you he’s silent when sober and only says things like that when he’s been drinking a few.
Anything more than a few and he’s an angry uncontrollable person. So him saying he loves me
is a lie once again and is told by the presence of alcohol. He is full of lies and that’s all he’ll ever
be.
Without my mom, he is a terrible person. I used to try to convince myself that others'
comments like “You sound just like your mother.” and “you are exactly like your mom when she
was your age” would make me good enough to be the person she was for my father. To change
him and bring happiness back into his life. But I’m not my mother and this man is no longer my
father.
I’m sitting here thinking to myself when a crack of a bottle camp brings me back to reality,
once again. I fight the urge to just stay quiet knowing I cannot help him, but before I know it the
words are out.
“I don’t think you should have another one.”
He looked up at me with a stare that said he wasn’t present.
“What did you say to me?”
The words were direct and full of boiling anger, getting hotter and hotter. My response
trembles out even though I’m not scared.
“I don’t think you need a fifth bottle tonight. It is not good for you.”
He drunkenly chuckles, “You’re always telling me ‘It’s not good for you.’ and ‘You need to
stop.’ and ‘You need help.’ But I know damn good that you only care about yourself. You only
want me to stop so YOU have more money and more attention. YOU are the selfish one, not
me. YOU need help, not me.”
I wasn’t taken aback by the words he slurred at me. He was always yelling and blaming me
for his problems and the life we lived. I broke. I finally yelled back.
“All I do is try to help you and fix everything we used to be. You’re not the only one who was
affected by mom’s death. I’m still living and trying to move in because that’s what she would’ve
wanted. I’m here for you trying and praying that you could be normal again but where were you
when I needed you most? It’s better for mom to be up there than down here with me, suffering in
this hell because of you.”
I could see the anger and hatred growing in his face.
“Take it back right now.”
How could he ask me to take back the truth?
“No. We both now know it’s the truth and if I took it back I’d be a selfish liar like you”
Before I knew it he was punching the walls. He blew up. I blew him up. He threw one of the
bottles through the window. I would yell at him to stop but I knew nothing I said or did would stop
him. The next bottle shattered on the floor and before I knew it the next was coming at me. It
grazed my arm and fell to the floor cutting me anywhere it could. I screamed and wished I
could’ve held it in. Because screaming always makes it worse. Through the screams I could
hear sirens in the distance and in my daze I heard knocking on the door. My father, although he
was drunk out of his mind, heard the warnings as well and ran through the back door. Running
from his problems and from himself. I hope they caught my father and I hope he was taken
away, but I really didn’t care because he was a stranger I no longer knew.
Sitting on the floor in the array of glass, I looked to the officers piling through the door. I
thought I would feel relief knowing that my dad would be gone and they were here for me, but
the endless questions of what next overpowered me. Nothing they could do would heal the hurt
I’ve felt or change the life I’ve lived. The looks on their faces broke like the bottles my father had
thrown when they saw me.
With the officers came the questions to which I had no answers to at the moment. I didn’t
want to be here. I couldn’t be here. So when they carried me out of the house I didn’t refuse. I
wanted the ocean. I needed the ocean to relieve me, to bring me peace, and to take me home.
So I dreamt of it and everything it is. I dreamt of my favorite place and what it brought me.
Before I knew it I was in the sheriff's cruiser that was supposed to take me to safety and
freedom. But it wasn’t because it wasn’t taking me to the ocean.
I knew they were taking me to the hospital and I knew Coastline Dr. ran along the beach.
Before I knew it, we were at the stop by the drive and I was out the car door I had left cracked
open. I quietly made my way out, running to my place of happiness. I know they would follow
me and take me into their control once again but it just made me run faster, for the few moments
I would get in the place I needed most.
Once I felt the sand in my feet and the air blowing through my hair I knew I was where I was
meant to be. The chilly water took my problems away and refreshed my soul. The sound of the
crashing waves and high tides brought me peace. The colors of the sky reflecting off of the
waters made me feel at home. I pray that I would never have to leave this moment and this
place. And I prayed that I could stay here forever, the only place I know as home.