Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kashish Lahrani Jul 2020
Every time I sacrifice my happiness
And devote myself entirely
Just to bring a grin on your little face
I realise,
The sacrifices my mother made
Were prodigious as compared to all I do for you.
The realization of my ‘self-sacrifice’,
Took me back to the days when your sacrifices meant nothing to me
And I hold deep remorse, mother.
It’s now that I know,
Sacrifices are what you made
Adjustments are what I’ve ever managed to do.
Amanda McNally May 2020
I wish I could be near you
The real you
Not your shell
I want to hear your laugh
And see your smile
Hear you call me jellybean
I’m your baby girl, your only
And always will be
Keep hearing “nothing’s changed”
But it’s all different
You’re here but you’re gone
You smile but it’s not real
You don’t even know
It’s me standing in front of you
And my brother
Who’s that?
We’re yours and you are ours
You’re still here but…
You’re gone
Who am I?
I’m your miracle
Remember me?
Please remember me
Your brown eyed baby girl
A happy accident
I’m your college graduate
Your hard-headed brat
You gave up everything for us
I would be nothing without you
Now I’m old enough to realize
All you did for me
Now I’m ready to say thank you
And even though you’re to hear me
And see me
And be with me
You’re not
Not even close
Not even at all
It kills me
My heart shatters
Because now when I need you most
You’re here but you’re gone
Julia Oct 2019
I long for an elephant mother
A love above a simple human’s
She’d rest her head upon my shoulder
The exact weight of the past on the present
So that I might find my solace
in each breath I choose to take.

At night she’d place me on her back
and I’d slip away into blissful sleep
helplessly lulled by the sway of her walk
forever set to the cadence of the calm
i see your eyes dancing
to the flickering lights
as the shadows shimmer
on our balcony tiles

rocking on your heels to
the rhythm of the night
simply radiant with
no sorrows or lies

you make sacrifices
seem like your prize
breathing love and gratitude
into our days and nights

but oh baby girl
you can’t always disguise
all those dreams you have
for the sake of our lives

cc
All those days we talked about our endless dreams
Where worlds lit up and rainbows never die
We'd talk for hours, cause that's what best friends do
We love, live and grow together as one

We fight each other, challenge each other
Never as much as we would fight for each other
We'd talk for hours, cause that's what best friends do
Come rain or sunshine, we'll stand together as one

Through high school dramas and mid-life crises
We found that balance to beat the odds
We'd talk for hours, cause that's what best friends do
Even on our darkest days, we got through it as one

I'm lucky I found my best friend in my mum
I'm truly the luckiest one!
Wk kortas Mar 2017
There are, dear daughter, oceans between us
(At your insistence, though I say this without rancor)
A buffer from the memories of our sad antics,
Pottery reduced to shards, doors slammed in such a manner
That the very jambs ached in regret,
The hinges wept in the weight of their sadness,
Though the human heart, mapped by its own wan geography,
Is immune to such trifles as mere distance.
We have tarried in foul gardens of sophistry,
Engaged in predictable shows of dramatics,
As if our outbursts can be measured in some calculus
Seeking to ascertain our devotion
In the rending of garments, the shrieking collapse upon the floor,
For it has been revealed to me
That the spectacle of our grand lamentations,
Worn by us like the finest silver-threaded garments,
Are no more than the strutting and preening
Of some noisome, foul peacock.
No, we must accept, indeed embrace, the notion
That our love is as imperfect as our selves,
And that we must approach its altar
Not with grandiloquence and haughty pomp,
But meekly, bearing the simple gift our person
Modestly cloaked in the simple black gown of humility.
The Marquesa was one of the unlucky individuals whom were cast into the abyss by Thornton Wilder in the novel The Bridge Of San Luis Rey, which is as **** fine a novel as has ever been unjustly more-or-less forgotten.

— The End —