Lovely Girls

Lovely girls

Dressed in gold

Shimmer and whirl.

Can’t you see them

O’er there?

Spinning, dancing,

Their hair a mess,

Their buttons half undone,

And an unearthly shine in their eyes.

Oh, the joy!

The fire in their eyes!

But then the shot of the gun

Ended all.

The dance of flying-

‘Twas all undone.

Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
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Little Princess

Oh, little princess

Of pink frills and big smiles,

Always remember

To fight that extra mile

Even when you want to cry.

Oh, little princess

Of quick hands and stumbling feet,

Always remember

To open your heart

To those of every class.

Oh, little princess

Of glistening eyes and scuffed knees,

Always remember

That you have knights to help

You slay your dragons.

Oh, little princess

Of messy faces and heavy eyes,

Always remember

That God’s love for you

Is bigger than the skies.

Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Surviving Constructive Criticism (With Nita)

1.  Lights up at the notification.
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2.  Reads comment.
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3.  A proud anger brews inside her as she analyzes the comment.
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4.  Gets really mad/listens to angry music.
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5.  Sobs.
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6.  Thinks that she's such a terrible writer.
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7.  Sobs while listening to angry music.
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8.  Breathes in.

9.  Realizes that the commenter is right and doesn't deserve to die in horrible ways.

10.  Rereads comment.

11.  Smiles.
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12.  Listens to more angry music, and replies back with a civil and polite message.

13.  Adds a smile-y face to the end of said message.
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14.  Writes out a bloody scene.


Loose String

Picking on the loose string

Of days gone by,

Unraveling it further

And saying goodbye.

We wanted to say that you weren’t mine,

As we traveled down the line

Of truth and insincerity.

I couldn’t stop lying

And you grew tired of the person I had become.

Neither of us could let go.

You had to speak up,

Now I prepare for goodbye.

You’re about to speak,

So now you’re a loose string

That I have to clip.

Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Nobody Cares

Chaos,

Fires raging.

Life.

Diseases sweeping the nations.

People dying.

Women crying

As their children are swept

Into a world

Where the past is all but lost.

Forgetting where you come from

May be the biggest crime of all.

It’s hard to keep going on

Because I can’t find any good songs.

They’re all about making love

At the bar,

In the street on the car.

There’s no dignity anymore.

‘Cause saving yourself is ‘Old Fashioned.’

No one cares

If they get STDs.

Welcome to the 21st Century.

Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Too Different

“Be yourself.  No one else can be you.”

“Be unique!”

“You’re so original!”

“Why are you so…  different?

Wait, what?

“Why can’t you be like everyone else?”

“Normal people don’t dress like that.”

“God, you’re such a freak.”

To this day, I hear people compliment my uniqueness and the very same say that I’m too different.

Whatever that means.

I could go on a huge rant about how society conditions young people from childhood to be a certain way, and once they grow up, they’re an adequate example of society.  But the goal of this post is to get my message across in less that two hundred words.

Everyone is different and there will always be those who cut you down for it.

That’s the truth of it.

But guess what?

The same person who says you’re too different is being tormented for being unique, whether that torment is self-inflicted or not.

Be kind, shrug off the negative comment, and embrace the positive ones.

Be ‘too different.’

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Happy Birthday to Me

Slapping my cheek, I shake all negative thought out of my mind.  “They’re just caught in traffic.” I ramble to no one particular.  “Yeah, and they have no cell phone signal.”

Lies.  Nine hundred people live within the town limits.  No one gets caught in traffic.

Florescent blue flakes fall on my lap as I pick at my nail polish, and my eyes flicker between the clock and front door.  Would it hurt for them to at least call? 

The second hand ticks away at a fast, agonizing speed.  3:30, 3:31, 3:32, 3:33, 3:46, 3:50…  The time ticks away, and I begin to pace.

Where are they?

Falling on the love-seat, I scream into a throw pillow.  After a much needed meltdown, I angrily chuck a candle holder at the clock.  Glass showers the carpet.  Reading the clock, I feel a little bit of the frustration dissipate.  It will be eternally stuck at five ‘o’ clock.

The phone rings and I dive over the coffee table.

“Hello?” I rub my severely bruised shins.  “May I ask who’s calling?”

My heart sinks as a gruff voice echoes from the other end.  “Tell Phil that he has until tomorrow to bring me what he owes, or else-”

Slamming the phone on the receiver, I unplug it, throw it to the ground, and stomp on it.  A broken piece of plastic runs into my foot.  I kick it away.  Biting my palm to stop from crying in pain, I hobble into the kitchen.

Milk.  I need milk.  Milk calms my nerves.

Opening the fridge and grabbing the milk carton, I hiss out a blasphemy when it slips out of my grip and smashes down on my foot.  My vision blurs with tears.  Why didn’t they at least call?  I crumple to the ground and sob into my now soiled shirt.  I imagine my friends at our favorite coffee shop and laughing over their choice drinks.

Laughing at me.

“Happy birthday to me.”

Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan

All rights reserved.  This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.