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he cuts roses to
feel the rain.

Mother’s Day.

a downpour in the garden
he tilts the stems
to sever them
from the root.
he tilts the stems
to drink in
a little more.
Elleanor Cole Mar 10
My mother is dying and all I feel is guilt.
I'm the youngest of 3—the only girl.
I am my mother's pride and joy. She's often said if I were first I'd be the only.
My mother is dying and all I feel is guilt.
I've had the most time with her but I am the youngest. I am 20. My siblings are twice my age.
My mother is dying and all I feel is guilt.
I feel I'll never have enough time with her, so why have my brothers had enough thrice over?
My mother is dying and all I feel is guilt.
My mother is my best friend but I don't show her how much she means to me.
My mother is dying and all I feel is guilt.
Of course, it's not my fault, but I'll never tell her enough how much I love her.

My mother is dying and all I feel is guilt. Not because she's dying, but because I've never told her how much I need her.
i love you mum
Heidi Franke Mar 5
I felt it
When I spoke
To the judge,
For my son,
Years of shell work
Encasing fear and sanity, cracked with each glance, falling away. Everyone listening.
I was left lost
Like a snail losing it's shell
Mushy and vulnerable
A Pulpy mess.

Was it enough
That I said
Or too much.
So much was left out
The Russian Roulette admission
The thoughts of jumping 15 floors from his hotel
So many letters making up words and paragraphs upon paragraphs
of 15 years.
Throwing out a gun
Into the city trash.

How could I be anything more than a mother
Who let the saving flatten her out of existence. Incoherence and pulp.
Will it be discarded
All that effort
To keep him alive
At my expense.
Is that what mothers do?
I'll never get to return. Life doesn't
Let you.
Speaking to judge on behalf of mentally ill son's crimes.
AE Mar 5
I twist this discomfort between my fingers thinking of how to find the places I would be holding onto maps of all my searches
If I was in this world, by myself
where would I be but under the weight of it all?
Sinking into loss, folding all these thoughts and packing them away
trying to pinpoint the moments
in which I could define love
The falsehood of this bravery
grasps onto my steps, forwards and backwards
I keep walking in the same spot
sitting among moments and memories
and everything I've yet to define
knowing, however, that I recognise love
and everything it is
since the moment I could breathe
it's been in the spaces between my mother's fingers
waiting for me
selina Feb 28
i fall asleep in the back of ubers, to the sounds
of middle-aged drivers talking to their loved ones
giving advice, the smell of spice, my temple on the window
just playing a mental jeopardy with the meanings behind
those accented words of languages i don't understand
perhaps, once upon a time, i did, but now, no longer

i sleep like a stranger in my own home, climbing
into my bed without caution, with atrophying bones
it's a debilitating exhaustion, it's characteristic of aging
of falling and forgetting about the friendships and benefits
that broke through my bed slats, plus the flash-lit attempts
to fix the unfixable with feminist texts and crumpled cash

i dream about my mother as another, and her neck
remains untouched, perhaps only adorned with pearls
so wide, and so bright, and the garage door is always unlocked
it's comfort, it's nostalgia, it's the furthest i've been from home
and when the radio turns on, i wake to unfamiliar laughter, and
"i miss my dog, and i miss falling in love," and everything's amiss
and all i can do is sit here, tipping a stranger as i reminisce
nothing like a long uber ride
LoveIsReal Feb 25
A small little outstretched hand, cradles the big finger, clutching on. The mother looks at her child and smiles brightly, how this bundle of joy came from her she would never understand but the love she had for her child was so abundant and clear.
Softly humming a lullaby and rocking back and forward, a man walks in with a brightly smiled face and adoring eyes.

He whispers to the mother “Now this, this is us starting our own little family.”

The mother looks up and plants a quick kiss on the man's lips, she looks back at her child and says “It's gonna be one adventure after another, with our bundle of joy.”

The man embraces both mother and child and they all fall asleep one after another.
Consilius Feb 25
Eva
It's been three years since you left.
What were you like as a child?
Whom did you fall in love at first,
and what memories this old chest hides?

Your mom saying she gets by,
no matter how much you hate her... why?
Why is she so upset with you,
and why would she write she hoped to die?

Did everything she could, why wasn't that enough?
Wished better life for you... the times were rough.
Hoped your father's death would change you for the better?
Would have no idea if not for this latter.

It was almost half a century ago... in 1977

What were you back then? Twenty one?
On these black & white photos it seems you had fun.

Haha what is this, a love note from a guy on a bus?
He basically rejected himself, didn't even have to ask.

I see a young ******* these pages,
I side of you I never knew,
If not for this diary, I would never had a clue.
What poetry you loved, what dreams you had,
what you were like...

"I would die for love,
but I was born for life"
Mark Wanless Feb 21
cognit discontent
cognition desire
the mother of movement
so says amoeba
Zywa Feb 15
Princes, princesses,

like everyone, each of us --


is an honoured guest.
Gedicht "Hij is een prins, hij wil geen onderdanen" "He is a prince, he wants no subjects", 1982, Ed Leeflang)

Community for young people with an intellectual disability

Collection  "On the fly"
Anggita Feb 12
To the child I can't mother;
don't be too smart. At this age, you don't need 1,000 to count the stars.
You don't need pronouns to define what you are. Happiness defines who you are.
A happy person, I wish you become.
I don't mind you causing a headache,
remember when I read you about nations,
and you asked why countries exist to rule?
Little pumpkin, I can't believe I'm raising an anarchist, how funny is that?
I want to take you to walk the beach at sunrise.
You are probably sleeping, so I'll carry you in my arms.
We can study the peebles and find a perfect spot to lie down,
I can smell Johnson's on your hair and the dream you had last night.
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