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The VCR Diaries- Act 2, Part 1

The VCR Diaries: A Poetic Documental
Reece is teary-eyed and Cassandra claps softly, then her platform shrinks into a hole.  There’s still more stage, but she’s turned her place into home, and I suppose this is where her documental begins. 


Her Diary- Cassandra
Think about metallic teal.  If it’s not a color, now that you’ve met Cassandra it is.  Her diary is heavy.  The covers are made of slate and there are veins of metallic teal.  The pages on the inside are soft and flexible.  The book opens flat, and there’s a yellow ribbon hanging out from between the pages where she last wrote.  It’s like finding a daisy in the dead of winter.  You may question it, but you probably wouldn’t reject it. 


A Book I Read

On the subject of genes and their types,
I don’t carry genes,
I am a gene.

On the subject of Queens and their prey,
I don’t sit on a throne,
I am a throne.

On the subject of Ants and their strength,
I was an ant,
Now I’m the queen.

I don’t study,
I’m studied.

I don’t wait,
I hurry.

When I thought of myself as an offspring,
I always waited until spring.

Now I blossom, bloom, and bud,
In the dead of winter.

A book I read freed me,
And I’ve been giving orders ever since.

This book I read healed me,
And I’ve been dicing red tape ever since.

A book I read sparked a thought,
And I’ve been thinking ever since.

And ever since I’ve been thinking…
I’m not drowning.

Since I been thinking,
This yellow ribbon don’t divide me.

I’m still a gene,
The gene I knew before him.



Charity

Charity is a pretty girl,
With lots of curls,
She runs,
While they bounce.

She’s all kinds of care free,
With scratches on her elbows,
And cuts on her chin.

She’s care free but,
Her eyes chase things that aren’t free,
And it keeps Charity in a box,
With a lock and key.

While she twirls,
The key dances in the air,
And each time she stops,
The chain collects a knot.

Charity is clean,
With rosy cheeks,
Her ears are not pierced,
And her brows are nearly as straight as a line.

She impressionable,
And can make a game out of anything.
She relishes in the daylight,
And hates to go to bed.

She’s Charity.

And why should Charity go to bed,
Tell me,
Why does Charity need a fee,
And why does Charity fall in the sea.

How does Charity go to waste,
And how does waste go to Charity.

I think perhaps,
It’s the knots in the chain,
That cuts her breath.

Or maybe it’s the bump in the curl,
That trips her.

Who knows,
But it’s Charity,
Who must learn,
To play in the dark.

And it’s Charity,
No one can seem to afford.  


All Poems Written by NaTisha Renee Williams 
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.  Written permission must be secured from the author Natisha R. Williams and/or Grace Call Communications, LLC to use or reproduce any part of this Literary Work, except for brief quotation in critical reviews or articles.
The VCR Diaries Copyright 2018 by Natisha Renee Williams, All Right Reserved.

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