You always seemed so sure
In your ways
Your gestures so fluid
Your word: indispensable
Even in your twilight days
When you were sick and your entire body felt like it was on fire
I still saw you as the paradigm of perfection
Kind even when it would've been easier to hate all that found you in this place
My grandfather died on Christmas eve last year
I remember trying so hard just to cry and not being able to
I remember shaking in the church pew at his funeral
I remember not being able to see his body in the open casket
And I haven't even been able to finish this poem up until now
Almost a year removed from that day
"I can't even make coffee", my grandmother kept saying
"What am I going to do?"
She kept repeating; this a woman with a PhD
But we all felt like that on the day he passed
It was as though nothing would ever be the same again
And of that much - we were sure
they give you more pills to numb the pain
but they don't really care about you anyway
just doing their job so they get paid
thats what life's all about they say
i'm standing at the edge but no one will let me jump
being dragged down as they pick me up
i'm out of love
and out of luck
my life is at a stand still
not going up but not going downhill
theres nothing left but all this fear
i'm all alone, why aren't you here?
i don't know how much longer i can take this my dear
what happened to heart over mind?
you were never there by my side
i no longer know who cares if i live or i die
but that doesn't matter to you since i said goodbye
because you didn't even have the guts to merely try
i gave you everything i had
well isn't it sad
that even with all the shit going on in my mind
i still managed to find
courage and the time
to try and make this work out
but you were a coward full of doubt
over and over you kept breaking my heart
but i just kept making excuses for you,
yeah thats the worst part
you broke me down
and now theres n oone around
silence turns into most horrible sound
as i shatter into a million pieces
you only have a couple cracks and some creases
you're perfectly fine without me
dammit why couldn't i see
that in the end
if my love was an ocean
then you would leave me
drowning in my own misery
I have an idea that I am excited about but I need about six or so more poets to write it with. I will write a couple lines to give you an idea and if you like it, message me and I will tell you the title and the plan for it. It should be glorious compadres!
I hear the stakes sizzle on high, I'm tied to the lies that wrap around my mind
A desolate place, my heart is. Who dares to reside will find that hope is soon left behind
You ever wake up in the middle of the night real thirsty, and so you go downstairs, or across the house, or whatever, to get somethin' to drink. When you get there you know you don't want water, cause water's got no flavor, but you don't have any juice, and its too late f'r tea or coffee. And you damn sure ain't got any of that bitchmade caffeine free herbal shit either, so you're just left with water, so you drink it even if you don't wantu. Then you start feelin' real upset and dissatisfied what with the fact that you just had to drink water, but then you start to feel bad about feeling bad about "only" havin' water, what on account of all them little starvin' children and whatnot, so you decide to drink a whole nother glass just out of spite towards the little bastards who made you feel that way, determined as hell be grateful as shit this time, but it still don't work. Don't work at all. So you just go upstairs, or across the hall, or the house or whatever, all bloated from like forty ounces of lukewarm tap water and you just lay down all bloated and dissatisfied and sad and questioning the meaning of your terribly mediocre existence. Then you start to feel really down, and questioning like the meaning of things that don't need to be questioned and all. 'En by the time it's gettin' round to like 5 in the morning you realize none of this would have happened if you at least had juice. Hell even koolaid, but it's to late now and you're still all bloated and sad and you just fall asleep cursin' juice and all the fuckin' different kinds of fruit that make it, and made you feel this way, what on account of the transitive property. Ya well, what I'm trying to say here is, fuck fruit, its the reason I'm so Go'damn unhappy.
I thought I'd write you a poem,
but my words are escaping my lips before I understand them.
Just like in this waking dream I know, that I remember;
they eluded me, then, too.
But I still find myself alive from the music of the words I do not know
and the music you showed me.
It plays in my head, round and round
like the musical box I hear from a ghost in the night.
And I hope you know that it was my favorite song
because it didn't have a sound, it came from the heart;
and I hope you heard the silent song I played for you,
the one that came from mine-
even if it didn't match my dance.
This poem has been a long time in the making and I still feel that it's too soon to write. I feel like you don't deserve so much of my time and my thoughts. But something deep inside of me knows that this is for me and not you. And I like me more than I hate you, so I'll be uncomfortable and discuss you in the effort of bringing peace to me.
How can someone as shit as you ruin my life? So weak and so young. Owner of nothing but ruler of all.
It hurts my pride so bad to even acknowledge that a person as minuscule as you could rearrange my everything. How I could have been so inferior to the likes of...
It makes me so mad to admit that I am afraid of you. Words that my lips will never utter, a thought that my mind 'force closes' every time, the letters that my pen refuses to form.
I am afraid of you.
So hard to accept that you are stronger than me
I've never known anything so evil
I've never known anything more terrifying than the feeling I feel when confronted by you. Just your presence. Stand alone. Is enough to make me want to run away. To a world safe from you. So that's what I do.
I run and I run and now I'm somewhere foreign. Depriving myself of the things I love to protect myself from you.
When you punched our sister in the mouth and I watched her rip her lip off of her teeth. I died inside.
Literally slipping in her own blood trying to wrestle you off.
Why did you do that?
Where did you learn that?
How did I not know you were capable of that?
How are you capable of that?
Someone so close to me. Became a monster. Slowly, yeah. But still I wasn't ready for that. Wasnt expecting that. Never saw that coming.
It felt like it was all a dream. Still hoping today that maybe it was.
And your lack of remorse keeps my hate for you fiery.
"CALL THE POLICE, BITCH. AND WHEN I GET OUT OF JAIL IMMA BEAT YO ASS AGAIN!" chills tears (This is a part of the process, Domonique. Let it happen. Swallow the lump in your throat. Keep writing)
If I close my eyes I can hear you so clear. I'm there again. Scared. Shaking. Knife in my hand. Knowing deep down I wasn't bold enough to kill you.
And you knew it too.
When she was bleeding everywhere and I stood there too shocked to move. And you pushed me. And mom screamed. And Ravyn cried.
Why would you do that?
I never thought.
I watched my sister try and recover while I just got worse.
To watch her cry every day from excruciating pain as I fed her through a cracked jaw.
It stung so bad that she would refuse to eat.
It stung so bad. And as for Me and My soul. Stung the fuck up.
I cried all the time. To see someone you love plagued with a hurt body and hurt pride is too much for the strongest of us. Wishing I could halve the pain: when we were little girls we halved everything.
But I couldn't.
Never felt so helpless, so useless.
Sleeping in a tiny 2bedroom apartment, living out of boxes. Just wanting my sister to be okay.
Missing my mama. From living with her all my life to not even seeing her everyday.
It was so hard.
And meanwhile I had to go to school, harboring all of this pain.
Never discussing the imminent details.
Rare for a person as vocal as me.
Trying hard to never think of it.
My grades suffered bad, but not as bad as me.
You can imagine how little an equation or a metaphor meant. Absolutely nothing. Because life had just taught me something that academia wouldn't even believe.
This. This is so hard for me to relive.
So I'll stop here. I have to stop here. And when I'm ready. I'll come back and finish.
But this is big. Really really big. Because I promised to never 'go there'. But here I am. And maybe I'll regret it later. And I'll probably never be mentally prepared to read it again.
It's really no fun dealing with repressed memories.
A Song for One Poem Advisor .
Restless Horses .
What Could Be The Problem ?
Poetry of The Waters ,
Whatever Whatever .
What Could Be The Problem ?
Poetry of The Crayon Flowers ,
Mellow Mellow .
Boastful Lion ,
What About The No-Nonsense Leopards ?
Eat Them All ,Eat Them All.
Poetry of The Wild Animals.
Poem a day, day 13
Fuck John Key
Why not, he has pretty much said 'Fuck New Zealand'
We say we don't want something,
He says we are 'uneducated and ignorant'
Well guess what John Key?
You're responsible for the state of our education system.
We arrange referendums on important issues
He states he has no intention of abiding by the outcome.
Fuck you John Key.
You fuck us
You fuck our environment
You fuck our economy.
Screw the masses to promote the elite.
The poor get poorer
So your rich mates get richer
There's one talent you do have.
You don't have a talent for handshakes
Or earning respect
But you know how to keep the poor down.
Take away everything.
Cut their benefits so they can't survive
(Just ask the food banks)
Make getting quality education harder without money.
Take away support systems.
Well you know what?
The poor might get knocked back,
Start to believe there's no point in voting,
Feel powerless... for a while.
As you make the number of poor grow
They will realise they are the majority.
They will rise up, so...
You're going to be FUCKED
Poem thief can have my poems if it means you continue to share pieces of you.
Joined this site to get to know you and will not stay here if you go away.
Not into twitter or myspace but will join to be near you and hope you don't mind.
I pray you allow me to be part of your crowd on your private Facebook.
You inspired me to write poetry and to get better at what's difficult for me.
I don't smoke cigarettes to calm my nerves or drink booze to numb a man's pain.
Admitting I'm a grown ass man reading your leaving comments and about to cry.
You affect more lives than you realize Betty Ponder and I glad you shared about you.
The one who steals poems can steal this one too it will mean more will know my feelings.
Glad that I got to read the pieces of you that you cared to share.
I posed a how do you know question to my parents about knowing if it's love.
Answer was when a person leaves your life and it makes you feel like
you can't breath and you get extremely sad when they leave and you want to
swallow your pride and get down on your hands and knees and beg them not to go.
I'm sad thinking you are leaving and I wont get to read pieces of you but still
got butterflies in my stomach thinking of you and want to beg you not to go.
A Song for Gentleman Hola
Howell était un ouvrier à un tisserand
' sourire Carusos ' jamais tranquille à tous les humains Behaviorals.
Ce sourire Carusos, capitaine de la bonne boulangerie .
A chaque fois qu'un Mellow Man-
pourtant lui-même et eux-mêmes ont fait leur meilleur de pain avec les abeilles ,
emprunté avec du miel .
Après tout ,ce qu'un homme parle serait pas donné un perroquet ou de ce qu'
un ensemble de curieux hommes serait pas donné un spectacle de marionnettes .
Comparaison utopique pois pour cette question ?
Pour c'est surprenant ,pour rien n'est gratuit dans l'utopie"
pour c'est réalisable car utopique peuples ne sont pas que voyante.
Et cet homme Carusos-Teacher sur le naïf tisserands.
Par ses bonnes actions et ses nombreux auditeurs.
Lui-même et eux-mêmes ont fait chanter leur Cirbys remarque dans la comédie musicale.
Il appelle les boulangers Musicien ou les boulangers Laritz Danzas "
qui était une façon de demander leur Ballet de langues maternelles auditoire .
Qu'est-ce que le rhum a eu à faire avec tisane ?
Notre thé a eu à faire avec du thé thé thé ? Notre tisane ,
citronniers ne peut pas être les mangues au Almond aimé
par les hommes du vent et de la Lune .
Seul un Weaver peut dire agréable de décence ...
Written by Graphic Illustrator Hola .