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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas
"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
David Whyte
This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.
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Prompt: You find yourself trapped in a fairy tale. What happens to you?
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Once upon a time, I was a woman of grace and kindness, but then, I became the infamous Evelyn, the wicked stepmother. Just who put me in this role of the villain in a story I never liked or even this unfortunate event I never foresaw? Just who trapped me into being Evelyn?
I don't like this! Because now, I'm teetering on the edges of sorrow and desperation, laced with my cruelty.
Once, as Evelyn, I had dreams of my own in my youth. I was like a delicate leaf dancing in the moonlight. Yet, those dreams were swept away in a storm when I was made to marry a man with a daughter and the legacy of a perfect, dead wife who loved everyone. Her unseen presence clobbered me and surrounded me in an inescapable fog.
It isn't that I didn't try to embrace this family. I did. Yet, there was no comfort in this step-mother-hood. She, that daughter, saw me not as a beacon of warmth but an intruder to her perfect world with her dad.
Thus, the years wore on, withering my spirit, suffocating me with the weight of broken dreams and unrequited love. My husband was still consumed by his own grief of his "real" first wife and he remained distant to me, creating a chasm between us. Still, we managed to bring to life two daughters who reflected the turmoil of my innards.
In the depths of my despair, especially after my husband passed away, I succumbed to bitterness and envy. In the meantime, Cinderella had blossomed into beauty and grace. She had become a haunting melody against the scratchy tune of my broken life, and so, I forced her into slavery...to me.
Then, fate intervened with that grand ball for maidens to compete for Prince's affections. Just when my own daughters, during the ball, had caught the eye of the prince, a grand reverse happened. A calamity! Cinderella entered the scene, and the rest is history.
When all is said and done, my life journey somewhat resembles that of Cinderella's. Yes, there's some truth to this. When I think of it, in hindsight, it is a tale of loss and longing, of darkness...Well, maybe a hope of light, at its end.
Yet, Cinderella was always bright and pure, and I always misstepped and made mistakes. But now that it is all over, my heart is free from bitterness and regret.
Maybe through some transformation, I'll find redemption. I think, after all, the Creator is all-forgiving and maybe He'll show me the light.
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