Thecowardbobford - Hello Poetry

I remember Sitting in your yard Thinking that was all there ever was You were sixty-four then I was 8 or so, You started balding. I didn't know why You joked about your wig, That you got the wrong color. Your mother, she left just before you did I didn't know you died. I found out two years later, Your son was cruel, I don't know how you raised him You weren't family by blood. but you're still the closest thing That I ever had.

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Mar 14, 2025

Mar 14, 2025 at 11:05 PM UTC

What More Could You Ask?

I remember Sitting in your yard Thinking that was all there ever was You were sixty-four then I was 8 or so, You started balding. I didn't know why You joked about your wig, That you got the wrong color. Your mother, she left just before you did I didn't know you died. I found out two years later, Your son was cruel, I don't know how you raised him You weren't family by blood. but you're still the closest thing That I ever had.

15

He rubbed at his head, a stinging kind of numbness, bloodied pieces of his own skin were stuck there now, he wiped it on his sweater (that used to be blue, now it was mostly this muddy brown-purple color from the blood and dirt) he thought for sure that he was dying, he was abandoned there, out in some alleyway. someone had taken him out to the garbage, he had no idea who, he couldn’t bring himself to care. he leaned against the building, bleeding and thinking. he wondered if he’d get a gravestone. his mom was dead now, why would he? he didn’t die that day he got to live another year, but he never did get a gravestone. he was buried in his childhood home’s backyard, a few steps away from where his sister was buried alive, he wondered where she was now that he knew she hadn’t died. he hoped she somehow found him. he hoped the tragedy of her little brother lying ****** in an unmarked grave was enough for her to forgive all he’d done. he didn’t regret it, it was always going to end this way. he’d carry no guilt to his hole in the ground.

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Mar 14, 2025

Mar 14, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC

Bleeding, Dying

He rubbed at his head, a stinging kind of numbness, bloodied pieces of his own skin were stuck there now, he wiped it on his sweater (that used to be blue, now it was mostly this muddy brown-purple color from the blood and dirt) he thought for sure that he was dying, he was abandoned there, out in some alleyway. someone had taken him out to the garbage, he had no idea who, he couldn’t bring himself to care. he leaned against the building, bleeding and thinking. he wondered if he’d get a gravestone. his mom was dead now, why would he? he didn’t die that day he got to live another year, but he never did get a gravestone. he was buried in his childhood home’s backyard, a few steps away from where his sister was buried alive, he wondered where she was now that he knew she hadn’t died. he hoped she somehow found him. he hoped the tragedy of her little brother lying ****** in an unmarked grave was enough for her to forgive all he’d done. he didn’t regret it, it was always going to end this way. he’d carry no guilt to his hole in the ground.

17

Two cars, separate, the people inside would never meet outside of this, A young woman, her name will not be spoken here. She was reckless, but she didn’t intend cruelty. She was trying to get home Now in the second car, the girl and her mother were headed to a funeral, out of province They never made it, and their family are now planning another. You will not know the two who fell, but An entire little town in Canada will remember where they once walked. A sister, a daughter, at 21, now an orphan. She will not recover. The uninjured woman, her kids will not soon forget What she was willing to do. I am not saying to lock the woman away forever, Maybe she wasn’t capable of ****** Maybe she’d never hurt a fly, Maybe she loves her kids, but today, she did not. Do we forgive, and forget something like this? I know her name, And the orphan will forever know her name But I will swear, to whatever god, to whatever I can find, She may be forgiven, she may run But this is more than her. With any say, I will never be stained, With another human’s life.

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Mar 14, 2025

Mar 14, 2025 at 10:31 PM UTC

Manslaughter in The Highest of Degrees

Two cars, separate, the people inside would never meet outside of this, A young woman, her name will not be spoken here. She was reckless, but she didn’t intend cruelty. She was trying to get home Now in the second car, the girl and her mother were headed to a funeral, out of province They never made it, and their family are now planning another. You will not know the two who fell, but An entire little town in Canada will remember where they once walked. A sister, a daughter, at 21, now an orphan. She will not recover. The uninjured woman, her kids will not soon forget What she was willing to do. I am not saying to lock the woman away forever, Maybe she wasn’t capable of ****** Maybe she’d never hurt a fly, Maybe she loves her kids, but today, she did not. Do we forgive, and forget something like this? I know her name, And the orphan will forever know her name But I will swear, to whatever god, to whatever I can find, She may be forgiven, she may run But this is more than her. With any say, I will never be stained, With another human’s life.

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