I'm tangled inside and everything comes out like glass
I'm cutting inside.
The way you carelessly lose yourself, cuts me inside
And I forcefully tear my skin off
To show you I'm bleeding.
Can these pools of red speak louder than thunderous phrases?
You find yourself in dark places
Losing yourself to people who won't remember your name.
And you forget yourself
In the worst kind of way.
I can't force you
Can tears? Can pleas of red and blue? Can whispers of adoration?
Does it come down like lightning - or do I sit in a deserted room...
Watching an hour glass, receiving postage with your name written on it.
Hearing about you from everyone but
And I'm the woman stuck in a painting
Trapped in an artifact
Scribbled on a drawing.
I can't speak!
Every single piece of me is lost in time, to trying, to trying..... Fading.
But, I saw you yesterday.
It felt like the beginning of something,
After all this time, maybe we can began again
I'm not going to sit here and let my eyes water
Thinking about the reasons you can't give out child a father
The only way for me to stay sane is to think of all the ways
All the ways I love you more and more throughout the days
I loved that you could fix things be a sink, a car, or my heart
I loved that you were always there till the very end right from the very start
I loved that when they told you that the cancer was spreading
you came home with me one last time and i love we laid in our bedding
I love that we had one ore night to share before you were gone
I know one day I'll see you again but a lifetime is to long
I love that our little girl will remember her dad loved her most
and I especially love the way every breakfast you burnt the toast.
But most of all I love you because your strength and heart
and I know no matter where you go will never be apart.
In my perfect world
In my perfect world there would be no tears
Only hopes and dreams, no darkness or fears.
The man you love would love you back
he wouldn't leave and I wouldn't of cracked
He would never leave me and just not return
Leaving me alone with a heart left to burn.
In a perfect world you wouldn't haunt my dreams.
I could sleep in peace understanding nothing is as it seems.
You said this is love and I was the one, now your gone and I can't find you and this isn't fun.
I toss and I turn and a sweat in my sleep wishing I could really hold you and you were mine to keep.
Then in the morning, I awake, and your gone all again. The memory of you fades and now were not even friends.
In a perfect world you'd call to say hi, and ask how my day was and sometimes stop by. We would't necessarily be lovers per-say but you would be in my life, somehow, someway.
In a perfect world you never would have left you would have taken me, but instead what you did was a theft. You stole my heart and you never returned, guess this world isn't so perfect, thats what I've come to learn.
A grieving woman stands alone
by the grave of a friend departed.
In the relentless blistering cold
of a day that should never have started.
As tears roll down her ruddy cheeks
mourning the loss of a friend released,
the memories of her life are sad,
the pain has gone, the pain has ceased.
So all that's left for the grieving woman
are a grave and memories to recall.
As she turns to face the world once more
she sees a leaf from an Oak tree fall.
© Pagan Paul (2017)
And now, I will become the girl you never wanted,
to befit the fact that that is what I am.
As my skin cells are cast off,
in their brittle battle with time,
I will change into a girl you never even touched.
My skin will be mine;
it will not recognise your hands,
while life will cast yours in a new form, too.
Our skin, more than merely estranged,
will make us two new beings.
Our eyes will be the only things unchanged
and we will look at each other,
in a fleeting double take,
as others do on the tube, across a room, in the street,
when they know that they have met before,
but can't remember where.
And the moment will pass:
doors will close, trains will move,
fate will move us past each other.
Two strangers, who will never meet.
10 Things you should know about being a child growing up with a dying parent:
1. When you and your classmates are first learning how to read a dictionary, there will always be one word they don’t know: privacy. When they ask you where it is, you’ll be able to tell them that it’s the 29th word on the 925th page of a Merriam Webster dictionary published in the year 2001. But when you’ve given them all they asked, their favorite word will still be “public.”
2. The day you learn how to use the hospital equipment is the day you are no longer a child
3. You are born an adult. You come out of the womb with the intellect and physical ability to care for your family because that is what they need. You are a peasant child in the middle ages: work begins the day you are born and your job won’t stop till you are buried with her.
4. When you come back to school, people will develop a favorite phrase. It will be a 1 2 punch along with the word public: “How are you?” Tell them you’re ok. Tell them you are happy and glad you are back. Don’t tell them what you want to. That you are diagnosed with a sunken chest a hole over your heart. Don’t tell them you wish cocaine was more available because hell: at least if your face is numb maybe you won’t cry as much.
5. Not everything needs a retaliation. See there was one time a kid walked up to me and asked if I was ok; I said go away; he said “You don’t get to be mad just because she’s dead.”
6. Anger. . .becomes tight fit clothing you never take off. You are a man created by the affectionate pages of Chinua Achebe: You “never showed any emotion openly, unless it be the emotion of anger” the problem is when you are only agry, Things always fall apart
7. When they ask you if you are handling her death well, and you want to scream no blasting out the last breath you’ve held since she breathed her last! Don’t do anything but ask them if. . .
8. They ever knew her full name
9. As you walk through the halls of a high school building, be the dog that smells ignorance. When you hear those children tell you every part of their lives they struggle with, all the homework they have, the B’s they might get, the hangovers they get from drinking away their immaturity, tell them what it means to clash with your own mental composure. Tell them that. . .
10. You have been doing homework over a dying body for the better half of your life. Homework was the rock you leaned on because it was the only deadline you knew, Chemotherapy was the foundation of chemical equations, blood pressure was the only fractions you saw, your English vocab was the list of pain medications---
Life was a class on defusing bombs. . .and a flatline didn’t mean defused but at least the end was written in stone
12:24PM, January 21, 2017. Saturday.
This feeling is like the sweat beads
Dripping down my back
On a sweltering afternoon.
I lay here in remorse,
Feeling and experiencing
Like life awakening from a coma
You were never aware you fell into.
Speaking of falling, have I mentioned that I am?
Questioning the permanency of a foolproof plan
And no one knows who or what
I'm talking about
Not a single thought in their minds
As to what the gears
Behind my eyes are creating.
A concept of solipsism,
The revolution of somnambulism;
It's why we all want to take
A psychology class but confuse
It with philosophy and end up taking both anyway.
I feel like the cotton candy at a carnival,
So many pick and choose the pink or blue
The black and blue on my ankles and chest
Hands gripped around my neck;
Sorting through what particular part of me
Makes it worth sticking through.
They want to taste what it's like
To break me down
But the second I hit the tongue,
I dissolve. I melt away,
And they are satiated,
Left forgetting me and the craving urge forevermore.
When the pen seeps through the paper
I expect to be reminded of how
Every little tear fucking burns my eyes.
They say it's because of dehydration,
The less water you drink the more salty
Your tears become.
But you'd figure after so long,
Your body would become used to the pain.
Then again, that could apply to
Most of the pain this fragmented coffin of a figure
Am I pitiful?
Because even after years
Fighting, struggling, suffering,
Working to better myself any chance I get,
I still feel selfish for crying out.
I've lost too many people
And sometimes I wonder how
Someone so strong could become
So fragile, withered,
Wracked with debilitating illness
That they can barely stifle a single breath.
Sometimes I wonder how in a matter
Of a month, someone could go from
Talking, though strained, walking, though barely,
To completely immobile, paper-thin, codependent
Then ripped away at the seams
From those who are still now learning
Just what exactly death is.
And here you are, standing over their corpse,
Crying in silence so no one detects
The vulnerability seeping out of your pores.
Your hand is stroking their hair again,
But they're cold, stiff, devoid of any sense of future.
No light, no twitch, no remnants of the soul
You'd connected with, the one you'd spoken to
Just the day before.
They don't open their eyes then,
And the more you stare at their chest,
Thinking every couple of seconds that
You swore you saw it rise just that little bit.
You soon enough come to the abrupt realization
That there is such a thing as a permanent marker
Because I'm forever stained with the memory they've
Abandoned me with.
And I don't blame them for leaving,
I don't blame the one who took them.
The time comes and it's inevitable,
And with that notion comes the irrationality
Of being afraid of the one thing we know for certain
Will always happen to each and every one of us.
Not a doubt. No cheating death.
And so begins the process
Of desperately clinging onto the memory
Of someone you never got the chance
To properly meet in the first place.
They tell me they're better off
But not a single damn one of them looks at peace.
Not a single one looks asleep,
And not a single person can fit the lie
Into my head that they went peacefully.
That they never suffered.
That they weren't terrified
Of the door being closed on them.
That they weren't afraid to die.
I know the story, I knew the hope.
I knew the fight.
And they say it's "always darkest just before the dawn",
But I've been walking through this tunnel
So long now that I have familiarized myself
With every single damn crack in the stone,
Every patch of moss,
Fathomed obsessions over every fiber;
Unable to see the stars
While everyone else is at the planetarium.
I've been traveling for so long,
Believing this fact of hope and drive,
That I'm now starting to recognize
That this, this right here, is all a glitch.
This tunnel has no end.
And as a matter of fact, I have yet
To see any flicker of light at the farthest point
To which my eyes can see.
The only small, hopeful, good days experienced
Feel like thousand-year-old stories carved into the cave walls,
Or a smidgen of a hole in the ceiling.
And it hurts.
My feet burn from walking.
Even in my sleep, my soles meet
The cold stone floors, strolling, wandering,
Unable to stop.
I hear the trickling of water now,
Like a small babbling stream
Abandoned in this cave.
Just like me.
But now, sometimes I fear the rush.
Because I know, soon enough,
The water will overflow again,
And I will drown
Because nobody had the time or devotion,
To teach me how to swim.
I feel like I've lived a thousand years onwards.
Occasionally, I lay back and close my eyes,
Feel the chill of the stone wrap itself over my body
As my body temperature drops gradually
Just to listen to the stream lull me.
I'm still trying to figure out if it's because
The stream often symbolizes the foreshadowing
of the Undertaker, and I am accepting defeat;
Or if this is simply the only way that I can
not only drown not just my thoughts,
So, I keep falling, in more ways than one
In search of that permanency,
Or at least substitution.
I crave people, because
This cave is so lonely,
And autophobia eats me alive
As people drop like flies.
So, I guess selfishness isn't a lie, after all.
Couple years past, still in a ditch.
Like this is some section to uplift,
More like a fork in the road
Or an alternate ending
When the main character isn't defeated.
But somehow, over time,
I've obtained the process of how
Moss is a life form, perhaps parasitic,
But thriving in the smallest
And most desolate crevices.
So, I've formulated a plan on how
To make rope out of this fiber.
And if this ladder fails me now,
I will come crashing back down
And break my spine.
Hopefully, if it ever were to heal,
Maybe I'll be able to conjure up
The strength of a better backbone
Because these demons glow in the dark,
And I've gotta gather up the guts
To turn on the lights once and for all.
Cecil Beau Calcifer
I would trade all the stars above
Just to have another hug
The sun and moon too
For your "I love you"
I miss your smile, it cut through my sorrow
Your love made me want to see tomorrow
I miss your dark ocean blue eyes
They always seen through my disguise
I miss the way you'd hug me tight
When everything wasn't right
I miss your friendship most of all
When both of us were in a fall
That day my world went from gray to black
There's nothing I wouldn't do to have you back
But way to soon you was called back home
So now I travel this dark road alone
• dearest, dad.
alice, "daddy, i love you. i love you, dad."
tuli, "he's just sleeping." laughs "dad,
junior, "dad, i'm sorry, sorry, dad." hysterically crying.
lynn, "dad, i'm here dad. i'm here now."
mom, "you promised you'd never leave me, hun."
This is what I recall from this day.
Haven't really been able to write poetry in a while.