A Tale Told Through Poetry #1

Sometimes, I wonder Not where things should go Where will they go afterwards? Mama calls me silly for thinking too hard about it I differ from her, although we're of the same blood Papa on the other hand, he cares for me He was the one who inspired me to write Ever since then, not a single verse has gone unwritten At least not in my presence One eve, I was hanging out with Dahlia, my sister She picked at the bites of the tiny creatures who suck our blood and fly away like nothing happened It's frankly annoying, but in a small town like this... What can you do? Dahlia sat beside me, silent as I wrote “Now what are you writing about?” She complained I dare not utter a word, for she has eyes “Think, Dahlia” I told her, and refrained from speaking anything else Sometimes I wonder if people have the sense of the common I usually write about what I see Today, I saw nothing Nothing important, nothing of the matter So, I wrote what I could I wrote about the nature around us Humans, animals, insects, bugs, trees, plants Anything of the sort “You're such a freak, you know that?!” Dahlia said She ran inside and I sat on the porch Staring out into the yet undiscovered world When I get famous for my poetry, I will declare my award to the following; Mama, Papa, Lynn, my brother and Willow, my best friend But NOT my sister! I had nothing left to write about what my eyes saw So, I rested inside Mama was cooking up something in the kitchen “Carmen, where are you going without food?” “I shall rest” I said Mama gave me a glare She handed me a plate of rice and chicken with beans I felt my stomach turn “I don't want it” “Excuse me? I KNOW you're not turning into the white folk” Columbian mothers.. what can you do? “Nope! I just don't wish to eat now” “Well later then, but you will be eating this” “Where's Papa?” Suddenly, the phone rang Mama made her way and picked up the little device attached to a box Her voice cracked with every word and soon her calming expression turned into a meaningless sorrowful one “Mama, what’s wrong?” I asked “Stay here, Carmen..” She grabbed her jacket and purse and went out I didn’t know what was happening But suddenly. . . I was in the mood for a poem.