Old Books by Mia

I love the smell
Ink printed on yellowing paper
Corners curled
Binding worn
I love the smell
Of old books
Holding so much mystery
Wisdom
Profoundness
Old Books

The Model by Mia

I flipped through the pages of my magazine. There. There I was. Crouched on the floor, black makeup running down my cheeks, curving around my lips. Thin. So tiny. My bones protruded out in anyway they were able. My shoulders, my back, my face. Over the bones and air brushed skin, I was modeling an artifact of clothing that closely resembled a wedding dress. I turned the page. Now I was lying on a unnecessarily tall bed, lips cherry red, glossed over and open. My wavy blond hair was thrown over my left shoulder carelessly. A golden sheet wrapped around my body, cocooning me in a rather suggestive manner. I was an icon, a piece of art. I was something to be admired, to be sought out. To be a mystery. Not to be loved.
Pages turned. This time I was full body pressed up against another model. His thick fingers in the arch of my back. Stilettos. Torn black dress. Blue paint peeling off the doors.
I remembered when I was a little kid, and flipped through this same type of magazine, wondering who they were. Those models. Those young girls who wore designer clothes and five hours worth of makeup. All of them so----unreal.
I wanted to know their names. I wanted to know who they were. I knew, even then, that behind that mask, behind that beauty, there MUST be a real person. And now, ten years later, I was one of them. A high fashion model that mystifies teenage girls and cries and cries herself to sleep each night because she feels so worthless and objectified.
I could see the resemblance, barely, between ME and the face the world saw. But it wasn't the same. The pictures didn't show my green eyes or naturally straight hair. Nope. It was covered up. They covered me up. They weren't going to cover me up anymore.
I had modeled to Elle, People, Italian Vogue and French Vogue. I had modeled for Victoria Secret and Gap. But I didn't feel beautiful. Weighing a normal weight was not an option. Working out was forbidden----any muscle gain or tone would not only ruin my weight of 105 lbs, but it would "break up" or "disturb" my body complexion that was desirable in photo shoots. Taking off my colored contacts was discouraged. As for makeup, well----I wasn't allowed to take it off until I was alone. Completely alone, with not even the slimmest chance of someone seeing me.
I let the magazine fall to the ground, bending under its own weight on the maple floor. I took the mirror and broke it. Jagged silver clashed on the floor, reflecting me upwards. I took the food from the counter and ate it. I packed my bag and left.
I was done being covered up.

A Slew of Poems by Mia

Haiku

Thick paper, black ink
Creamy white pages turning
A world inside

Diamante

Fire
Mysterious, Raving
Burning, Devouring, Destroying
Forests, Homes, Oceans, Clouds
Flowing, Shapeless, Terrorizing
Blue, Soft
Water


Free Poem

Jealousy

It was only a kiss, how did it turn into this?
Jealousy, turning the best into the sea, choking on the sight before my
eyes
Jealousy, I cannot watch this unfold
She takes his hand now
He takes her lips now
I refuse to look, but my eyes cannot help but watch
How did it turn into this?

Lanturne

Breeze
Balmy
Wind Blowing
Lanterns Glowing
Still


A whole new slew of poems for tomorrow!

Am I Falling or Flying?

Am I falling or flying I asked to myself. I have no answer so I shout to the heavens “Am I falling or flying?” But no answer comes. This feeling is like no other, the feeling of falling free in the air, but nothing compares to the cold crisp wind against you face trying to break through. The question seems so simple, am I flying for I have not hit the ground, or am I falling in a bottomless pit? But wait! I have an answer, am I falling or flying, the answer is neither. I have found my own way. I don’t have to choose from those two choices. Up and down are only two directions, I want to go in any and all.

Progress Reports

Progress reports. Most parts of the year it makes sense get your grade up by the time report cards come around. But for half of the time we were testing. we should not be graded like that. The students should have at least an extra week to get d=graded work in for the teachers. But then again I don't run the place.

Pin Point Vision

My sight is narrowing down....like a darkness...coming down upon me...it comes to take me way...into the abyss which is death...I not fear it...I embrace it and hold it dear...for my time has come...and I must go...so I bid you Ade... but some day I'll see you...

SBA's

Oh, the horror the horror.
The SBA horror.
As hundreds of us are aware, the SBA's, or Standard Based Assessments have come.
Actually, to be more precise, the bout of horror came yesterday.
The actual tests, though pointless and irritating to complete, are not as bad as what the SBA's will do in the long term.
The privatizing of public schools is, to use this word one more time, is horrible.
By 2013, the bare minimum for every student to achieve on the SBA's for each student is 100%.
I could write about this very topic for hours, based on how much it irritates me. But, for the present, I will be content with this unreasonably short rant.