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Meme Beauty Heart

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

8 poems·Since March 2024

I’m a bright, young girl who loves the Lord more than my friends and families and neighbors do. When I was little, I use to have my kindly smile when I learned how to be safe from traffic and strangers. My parents, Mr. Lara Bee and Mena Love Mars Heart, were pharmacists, that means they’re special doctors who make and give away vaccines for sick people. I was named after my mother, who gently touches me, and my father bakes cakes and cleans the yard, and I helped him with that. Whenever I got hurt, God will always help get me well for flying and my healthy heart.

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Somewhere

April 6, 2024

Somewhere very close, or somewhere very far, my mother is buying me lots of clothes, and my father is cleaning the table bars.

Somewhere at their house, which is their palace nearby where its front gates on the right side are kept safe by one brave, true guard, my mother is straightening up her husband’s tie and my father outside is cleaning his garden and my backyard.
 
On March 20th, 1999, which is the day of their marriage, 9 years ago before I was born on March 4th, 2008, they used to be pretty, young, and smart, and always collected lots of neat things like ashtrays and art. 
They used to be good, as I transparently see, and their one dream was that they’ll never give up on me.
 
So somewhere all hidden by the grey sky, and somewhere eternally written shining before I knew why.
My mother and father will be here calling me, “Honey.” by a powerful stare somewhere.
 
My father pays off all of his debts and reads and my mother and I are apparently crooks; however, she just bought me sets of friendship books! 
Sometimes, she and her husband are so strict as straight as a single file line, but at the end of my conflict, I’ll feel well and fine.
 
So somewhere underneath the greatest darkness when I breathe to cool my greatest enemy, Fear, down to regain my happiness.
 
My mother and father will forevermore call me, “Honey.” when one of them pick me up home from school besides my mother’s mother, my grandmother, carrying me up high in the air somewhere.
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