Molly's Mondays

Photo by Leah Kelley from Pexels
Preface
Hi everyone, and I wish you the very best in these tough times we're in. What you're about to read is part of my creative writing assignment, much like the ones I have been posting thus far. We were only required to post a poem, a short story and a non-fiction essay each, but I got carried away and wrote a two-part poem 😅. The first part would've been the only one I submitted for the task (it's considerably brighter and read-along-able) but since poetry is all about self-expression, I decided to post the second part too. These poems are inspired by the lovely students I met on my short School-based Experience practicum at a primary school near KK and partly from my own experiences, particularly in part II. I hope you enjoy these. P/s: there's a few lines that I reused in part II, is that plagiarism? 😜

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I
Molly Love Mondays

Molly love Mondays
She gushed, she fawned, she yearned for Mondays
Saturday, Sunday, Fundays,
First day of the week,
First one in a streak,
Of really really happy days

Mondays means school,
Mondays meant friends,
Mondays meant teachers,
Who’s fun to no end
And not to forget the canteen aunty,
Who she swears likes the repairman
She finishes her homework,
Ace every test,
She plays her sports, yes, she is the best,
And she never goes past her bedtime-
A girl needs her beauty rest

Mondays don’t last forever,
Well, it’s only the start of the week,
But by the time it’s Sunday eve,
Molly’s smile will return to her cheek

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II
Molly liked Mondays

Molly liked Mondays.
She gushed, she fawned, she yearned for Mondays,
As stoked as a chimney on a cold Christmas Eve,
As patient as a sunflower waiting the sunrise
She used to
She used to.

Molly liked school,
her teachers and her friends,
Not to forget the canteen aunty,
Who she swears likes the repairman.
She finishes her homework, aced every test,
she plays her sports, yes, she is the best,
And she sleeps 8 hours- a girl needs her rest
She used to, anyways.

Molly liked Mondays, 15 years ago,
Time, as cruel a mistress as she is,
Were less of a demon,
Oh, so far lesser
Than words behind closed doors.
Of hate burrowing in rotten flesh
Of envy corroding golden masks of deceit
Worn by those she once had called friend.
She used to, anyways.

Molly hates Monday now.
She cursed, she reviled, she spat on its name.
Monday now,
Meant the start of a five-day masquerade
Attended by a thousand people,
Waiting,
Scheming,
For her to drop her façade,
And laugh at her face.

Was she wrong for answering right?
Was she guilty of being bright?
Why had all school taught Molly,
Was to be afraid of heights?
To be good,
but not the best,,
lest she got in the evil eyes’ sight.

Molly has a thought,
That she never wants to finish.
But every tear she shed in the shower,
Will tell you how bad she wanted to end this.