A young girl's life ended
without the opportunity to grow
made all reason incomprehensible
shrouded the family in agonising woe
Her nascent bubbling personality
not given the light to flower
taken from this life
too soon for a final hour
Her mother may have questioned her God
her father may have denounced his belief
broken hearts may never have truly mended
prolonged time may never have healed grief
Her mother may have believed in heaven
her father may have returned to Mass
but their faith would be fully realised
if rejoining her came to pass
My sister says she hates living in this house
Because we don’t wash our hands and forget to flush the toilet
She is a germaphobe who falls sick more than anyone I know
She is the reason our house is more ice pack than freezer.
I hate living in the house because
They never lock the doors and they put air conditioners
In the windows that led onto the roof and limited my escape routes.
I guess both our reasons stem from our fears of dying
Except she is scared of what’s inside of her
And I am scared of everything around me.
A drop of water races down the windshield of a 98’ Honda Civic.
Art feels queasy from drinking too much milk with his coffee.
There’s a battle in his inner eye and recovery cannot be seen
in the distant future.
Garden snakes wriggle between the blades of
grass while the lawnmower hums
like the orange glowing streetlamp
outside my apartment building.
The cold wind spreads a blanket of wrinkles
onto the pavement smeared with blood and
my pa’s tears.
He spent his entire life hiding in a turtle shell, his head
buried in his guts.
The highs and lows fluctuate within the soul
of a poet who stabs his pen through
notebook paper staining his
leather ledger with black ink.
Songbooks bungee jump off the scaffolding of
red brick tenements as the moonbeams trace concentric circles
round the puddles of
dead rainstorms on the pale concrete.
My pa picks up a bow and arrow,
plucks the string back,
and shoots the target painted
on the granny apple falling
from the heavy branch of the dogwood tree.
Impossible not to love her
And this she already knows
Using this in her advantage
Bugging us as she goes
Impossible not to tell her
How she’s obsessively nosy
But she doesn’t have to be sad
Her laughter’s so damn cozy
Impossible not to show her
That she is one of a kind
Wish to play and replay her
Until I’m tired to hit rewind
Impossible not to fill her
On the alien that she is
Can’t have been born in this world
Outmost clever humorist
Impossible not to spoil her
Keenly fond of our sweet doll
She’s so cheerful, she’s so joyous
The name Merry says it all
Although hatred might be the only way
You can mask your pain,
You are not fooling me.
How many times will you push me away,
Before you finally accept my love?
It may not be much.
It may not be as much as I want to give.
It may not mean anything to you.
It may not mean you love me back.
Full of anger and suffering,
Teach me more than any book.
Psychology is just a concept,
Until I hear you tell me to "drop dead,"
When all you really want is a hug.
I make mistakes too.
I feel anxiety too.
I have panic attacks too.
I am suffering too.
Expect me not to be perfect,
And I will expect the same from you -
And anyone else.
I ask you to trust me,
Only as much as I trust myself -
I love you,
I love my Godson.
I will always have your back,
Not because you are family by marriage,
Because you are family by CHOICE.
Bethany G. Blicq
Dedicated to my cousin and her son, my Godson, who are both part of my ever growing and evolving clan.
Thank you for reading!
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Post URL: https://wherethereisloveblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/04/my-clan/
My Blog: WhereThereIsLoveBlog.wordpress.com
I have been long gone
I kept my memories
in a suitcase
preserved like fossils
in the museum of my room
but I will carry them with me
as I stumble on the
that falls in front of me
I have had mistakes
that tried to knock
on the walls of my mind
but it's about time
my brain learns
over and over
not to fall for their emotions
but to know how to cope with them
I have had moments
that tattooed smiles
on every neuron
that I seek sanctuary in
whenever I find the need to
I have had the idea of change
marinating in me
almost forcing me to believe it
to live it, to breathe
I have had you to look
into my eyes
telling me to
"stop faking it
He is screaming with frustration, throwing objects like fits, trying to contain his shrills but they break through in shrieks and I hold him. He grumbles and growls wanting me to leav. I just rub his back. Slow circles; with my other arm wrapped around him like he is still a child. I remind him to breath and tell him to try again tomorrow and he huffs but I can feel him releasing his anger and relaxing. The tension in his body dissipating until he is ready for me to let go. He picks up broken pieces from the floor and tries to put them back together the best he can and I leave him to do this. He never questioned my fear of the dark when I would sneak away from my bed at night, he always eagerly awaited to hear my stories and would hug me no matter how hard I pushed him away. This is a love that can withstand fights for the mirror and battles over school. He is ever changing, becoming someone new everyday but when I hold him he is still five and braver than I. He is stronger and kinder. When I was his age he could not understand why I would cry in the other room and bite at the ankles of anyone who dared to step too close. But I understand him. The anger that lingers beneath the skin always ready to consume and dominate. This household is like a pack of matches and once he ignites he is forgotten because we all burn up and out without listening to his pain. I remember that feeling, it never fully goes away. It is not something we speak of but something we feel and when he needs me to hold him I will never be too far. He has my ears, my arms, and always my heart.