loewen-s-graves - Hello Poetry

Sometimes I want a baby so bad that my entire abdomen feels empty, and I clutch my stomach thinking of the day when I'll be old enough, mature enough, to have children of my own. But other times I think about the things I'll have to teach them. I want to teach them that everywhere they look will be hands waiting to help them up if they fall. I want to teach them that there is fruit their mouths will not believe they are tasting. I want to teach them that they will have mentors who will inspire them and show them things they're sure are too beautiful to be real. But I have to teach them more than that. In my freshman year of college I sat in a classroom where we were talking about survivors of genocide. My professor asked us to respond to the question, "If you had experienced something terrible, something you were scared your child would one day experience, when and how would you tell them?" I watched my classmates ponder this question and wanted to tell them that I already know. This is already how I feel every time I wonder how I'll tell my children that I was ***** by someone I loved. I want them to know that I love them, that I would never hurt them, but how can they ever trust me once they know what was done to me? They'll start to believe that love is an empty promise which will never be fulfilled. They'll learn to flinch at every hand that comes near them, whether it's a stranger's or it's mine. They'll know that even if they love someone with their whole being, it could be thrown back in their faces at any time. This is what I was taught, and it didn't save me from being ***** so I wonder how it could be different for my children. They'll have depression, anxiety, insomnia and paranoia woven into their bloodlines, and even if it skips them, it could hit their children, or their children's children, and the cycle will never end. I'm terrified that no matter what I do, no matter what I tell them, no matter how I shelter them, my children will never be safe. The world's children will never be safe. I know that if my children are born white like me, I will never have to teach them about what to say when they are stopped by the cops. I will never have to fear that they won't come home because a policeman thought that instead of reaching for their wallets, they were reaching for a gun. If my children are people of color, I won't know how to teach them any of this because my privilege has kept me from experiencing it for myself. I know that if I have a child, I won't be the best mother. I will **** up, and I'll say things I don't mean. I'll blame myself every time they feel pain, and they'll feel guilty for bringing their pain upon me. I know my being will be entwined with theirs from the moment I know that they exist. I know it will hurt. It will hurt more than anything I've ever felt. But if I can teach my children not to hurt other children, to respect people's boundaries and to consider the impact of everything they say, maybe the cycle can end. If I can tell my children that they have privileges that other people don't have, and that they can fight the system in place that gives them that privilege, then other mothers can feel one less moment of fear that their children will never come home. If my children know that their voices are important, that they can change their environment every time they tell their stories or encourage someone else to tell theirs, then maybe that pain will be worth it. If I can tell my children how I feel, maybe I will be the best mother I can be, for their sake, and the sake of every child in this world.

0

Dec 4, 2014

Dec 4, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC

Things I will have to teach my children

Sometimes I want a baby so bad that my entire abdomen feels empty, and I clutch my stomach thinking of the day when I'll be old enough, mature enough, to have children of my own. But other times I think about the things I'll have to teach them. I want to teach them that everywhere they look will be hands waiting to help them up if they fall. I want to teach them that there is fruit their mouths will not believe they are tasting. I want to teach them that they will have mentors who will inspire them and show them things they're sure are too beautiful to be real. But I have to teach them more than that. In my freshman year of college I sat in a classroom where we were talking about survivors of genocide. My professor asked us to respond to the question, "If you had experienced something terrible, something you were scared your child would one day experience, when and how would you tell them?" I watched my classmates ponder this question and wanted to tell them that I already know. This is already how I feel every time I wonder how I'll tell my children that I was ***** by someone I loved. I want them to know that I love them, that I would never hurt them, but how can they ever trust me once they know what was done to me? They'll start to believe that love is an empty promise which will never be fulfilled. They'll learn to flinch at every hand that comes near them, whether it's a stranger's or it's mine. They'll know that even if they love someone with their whole being, it could be thrown back in their faces at any time. This is what I was taught, and it didn't save me from being ***** so I wonder how it could be different for my children. They'll have depression, anxiety, insomnia and paranoia woven into their bloodlines, and even if it skips them, it could hit their children, or their children's children, and the cycle will never end. I'm terrified that no matter what I do, no matter what I tell them, no matter how I shelter them, my children will never be safe. The world's children will never be safe. I know that if my children are born white like me, I will never have to teach them about what to say when they are stopped by the cops. I will never have to fear that they won't come home because a policeman thought that instead of reaching for their wallets, they were reaching for a gun. If my children are people of color, I won't know how to teach them any of this because my privilege has kept me from experiencing it for myself. I know that if I have a child, I won't be the best mother. I will **** up, and I'll say things I don't mean. I'll blame myself every time they feel pain, and they'll feel guilty for bringing their pain upon me. I know my being will be entwined with theirs from the moment I know that they exist. I know it will hurt. It will hurt more than anything I've ever felt. But if I can teach my children not to hurt other children, to respect people's boundaries and to consider the impact of everything they say, maybe the cycle can end. If I can tell my children that they have privileges that other people don't have, and that they can fight the system in place that gives them that privilege, then other mothers can feel one less moment of fear that their children will never come home. If my children know that their voices are important, that they can change their environment every time they tell their stories or encourage someone else to tell theirs, then maybe that pain will be worth it. If I can tell my children how I feel, maybe I will be the best mother I can be, for their sake, and the sake of every child in this world.

5

my compassion keeps me grounded, if I didn't have that I don't know who I'd be. I live my life through empathy, through story and heart and breath, I try my best to listen more than I speak. but it's hard sometimes, because there's so much that I need to say. if I could, I'd take with me everyone who loves me, and I'd bring there somewhere warm where we'd all be safe. I forget how strong I am, that my arms can hold in all the worry and desperation escaping from someone I love. my eyes can see past the superficial and right down into the deepest secret place. it helps me feel more human to help others. but sometimes I'm scared I'll lose myself in them, feel myself melt into someone else's world until I can't find my own anymore. I bring that quiet courage here to you, to teach you how to love so deeply that the other person becomes an extension of yourself, feeling what you feel and laughing as you laugh. finding beauty in others helps me find the beauty in myself. I had to travel a long way before I got this far. I didn't fall into a well of strength by accident, I had to pull it out from within me, from a place I didn't know existed. if I had only one thing to say, it would be to trust yourself beyond anything you ever thought possible. believe your own story and the things you've brought from your hometown to here, wherever you've settled. allow yourself to be as scared as you feel, but step forward anyway. through telling my story, I hope that every shy kid on this planet finds their voice, and that every courageous mouth finds the ears to listen.

0

Oct 17, 2014

Oct 17, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC

Quiet

my compassion keeps me grounded, if I didn't have that I don't know who I'd be. I live my life through empathy, through story and heart and breath, I try my best to listen more than I speak. but it's hard sometimes, because there's so much that I need to say. if I could, I'd take with me everyone who loves me, and I'd bring there somewhere warm where we'd all be safe. I forget how strong I am, that my arms can hold in all the worry and desperation escaping from someone I love. my eyes can see past the superficial and right down into the deepest secret place. it helps me feel more human to help others. but sometimes I'm scared I'll lose myself in them, feel myself melt into someone else's world until I can't find my own anymore. I bring that quiet courage here to you, to teach you how to love so deeply that the other person becomes an extension of yourself, feeling what you feel and laughing as you laugh. finding beauty in others helps me find the beauty in myself. I had to travel a long way before I got this far. I didn't fall into a well of strength by accident, I had to pull it out from within me, from a place I didn't know existed. if I had only one thing to say, it would be to trust yourself beyond anything you ever thought possible. believe your own story and the things you've brought from your hometown to here, wherever you've settled. allow yourself to be as scared as you feel, but step forward anyway. through telling my story, I hope that every shy kid on this planet finds their voice, and that every courageous mouth finds the ears to listen.

51

i couldn't carry my heart into the cold of the emergency room. it was crumbling between my fingers into pieces they picked up from the floor, placing them back into my too-small hands. there were too many pieces for me to comprehend the too-bright lights and the quiet that allowed me to hear moans and cries of the woman next to me telling the doctor that she took too many pills to forget the fact that all her kids are gone. she had her stomach pumped. i needed my heart pumped back into place so it could feel the answers to the questions the doctors asked me, so i could have told them when i said i didn't want to die, i meant i was too scared to propel myself into the unknown like that. but i was too scared of propelling myself into the horror of the next day week month not to try. i wish i could have told them why my pulse ached when it pounded through my bones. i wish i could explain that it burst like that because someone touched the seams that were holding my skin together, someone poked their fingers into the soul of me where they didn't belong and it pierced my heart straight through, maybe then they would have listened when i said i needed help beyond what medicines could fix, there was a place where i could heal and it wasn't in the suicide room of the hospital where i could count how many instruments hanging on the walls i could stab myself with despite the signs that said this room was harmless, their concern was so misplaced that they told me they had no beds for me, that there was nowhere inside this building i could learn to pick myself up off the tiled floor, they couldn't teach me how to walk if i couldn't remember where my bones were supposed to go. they told me i wasn't unsafe enough to take me to the psych ward because i wasn't standing with my toes on the edge. i wanted to tell them, i would if only i could find it, could locate the place where my pulse echoed through my wrist so i could stop it from beating, so i could keep it from punching straight through to the ache pounding in my bones. i wanted to tell them, if they would listen, that i couldn't breathe in the middle of the night and if i didn't feel safe then, how could i be safe enough to let me into the dark of that night alone without any bandages to repair the stitching that had come undone while i was breaking.

0

Apr 2, 2014

Apr 2, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC

harmless (trigger warning: suicide, trauma)

i couldn't carry my heart into the cold of the emergency room. it was crumbling between my fingers into pieces they picked up from the floor, placing them back into my too-small hands. there were too many pieces for me to comprehend the too-bright lights and the quiet that allowed me to hear moans and cries of the woman next to me telling the doctor that she took too many pills to forget the fact that all her kids are gone. she had her stomach pumped. i needed my heart pumped back into place so it could feel the answers to the questions the doctors asked me, so i could have told them when i said i didn't want to die, i meant i was too scared to propel myself into the unknown like that. but i was too scared of propelling myself into the horror of the next day week month not to try. i wish i could have told them why my pulse ached when it pounded through my bones. i wish i could explain that it burst like that because someone touched the seams that were holding my skin together, someone poked their fingers into the soul of me where they didn't belong and it pierced my heart straight through, maybe then they would have listened when i said i needed help beyond what medicines could fix, there was a place where i could heal and it wasn't in the suicide room of the hospital where i could count how many instruments hanging on the walls i could stab myself with despite the signs that said this room was harmless, their concern was so misplaced that they told me they had no beds for me, that there was nowhere inside this building i could learn to pick myself up off the tiled floor, they couldn't teach me how to walk if i couldn't remember where my bones were supposed to go. they told me i wasn't unsafe enough to take me to the psych ward because i wasn't standing with my toes on the edge. i wanted to tell them, i would if only i could find it, could locate the place where my pulse echoed through my wrist so i could stop it from beating, so i could keep it from punching straight through to the ache pounding in my bones. i wanted to tell them, if they would listen, that i couldn't breathe in the middle of the night and if i didn't feel safe then, how could i be safe enough to let me into the dark of that night alone without any bandages to repair the stitching that had come undone while i was breaking.

53

what i remember about summer isn't quite sunshine, isn't beach and isn't ice cream or flip flops or picnics it's the way the sunlight touches your face as it passes over the horizon, coloring you yellow pink orange red and beautiful it's the freedom of dry grass and a field we could fall into, sweaty palm to sweaty palm in the freedom of brighter days without responsibility to hold us down leaving space for us to move together i discovered you in summer, the outline of your body came to me in light where i could not ignore your shape and i didn't try, where we swam together through apartments and borrowed rooms trying to find out who we were only in the gap we call summer could i find you bold and careless waiting for me to touch you

0

Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC

sext for memories of summer, 3am

what i remember about summer isn't quite sunshine, isn't beach and isn't ice cream or flip flops or picnics it's the way the sunlight touches your face as it passes over the horizon, coloring you yellow pink orange red and beautiful it's the freedom of dry grass and a field we could fall into, sweaty palm to sweaty palm in the freedom of brighter days without responsibility to hold us down leaving space for us to move together i discovered you in summer, the outline of your body came to me in light where i could not ignore your shape and i didn't try, where we swam together through apartments and borrowed rooms trying to find out who we were only in the gap we call summer could i find you bold and careless waiting for me to touch you

21

i want you to cup the budding bloom of my petals between your hands, to pluck my stem from the earth and bring me out into the sunshine i want you to clear the snow away from my branches, to show me the light i've missed for far too long i want you to stand barefoot in my river's flow, showing me i'm not so cold as i once was i want you to climb up the surface of my mountaintop, to feel the pebbles between your toes and stand atop my highest peak so i can kiss your feet with my rubble i want you to blow away the seeds of my dandelion, wishing hard for springtime to last forever

0

Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC

sext for springtime, 3am

i want you to cup the budding bloom of my petals between your hands, to pluck my stem from the earth and bring me out into the sunshine i want you to clear the snow away from my branches, to show me the light i've missed for far too long i want you to stand barefoot in my river's flow, showing me i'm not so cold as i once was i want you to climb up the surface of my mountaintop, to feel the pebbles between your toes and stand atop my highest peak so i can kiss your feet with my rubble i want you to blow away the seeds of my dandelion, wishing hard for springtime to last forever

26

some days i am as cold as the clouds at the heart of the snowstorm but i know, if there were a fireplace big enough to house your love for me you'd build up the flames as high as they could go just to keep me warm you'd spin yourself into thread, knit yourself into a sweater and wrap your arms around my shoulders you'd pour yourself into a mug and steam yourself hot so i could drink you down to the core you'd hold onto my hands, no matter how cold they got, just to see the crack of my smile as i thaw in your arms

0

Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC

sext for winter, 3am

some days i am as cold as the clouds at the heart of the snowstorm but i know, if there were a fireplace big enough to house your love for me you'd build up the flames as high as they could go just to keep me warm you'd spin yourself into thread, knit yourself into a sweater and wrap your arms around my shoulders you'd pour yourself into a mug and steam yourself hot so i could drink you down to the core you'd hold onto my hands, no matter how cold they got, just to see the crack of my smile as i thaw in your arms

18

i want to become the rain so that i can fall from the greatest height only for you to catch me with every inch of you, so that i fall into every corner, so that i caress every pocket of doubt you carry within your bones i want you to open your mouth so that you can taste my desperation, my vivid dreams and the blood that flows within my visions i want you to leave your hood down, so that i can soak into every follicle of your hair, so you can keep me close to your teeming mind full of its passions and its wild dreaming i want to be absorbed, to disappear and become a part of something deeper all at once to become a part of you would be the greatest purpose i could imagine

0

Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC

sext for rainy days, 3am

i want to become the rain so that i can fall from the greatest height only for you to catch me with every inch of you, so that i fall into every corner, so that i caress every pocket of doubt you carry within your bones i want you to open your mouth so that you can taste my desperation, my vivid dreams and the blood that flows within my visions i want you to leave your hood down, so that i can soak into every follicle of your hair, so you can keep me close to your teeming mind full of its passions and its wild dreaming i want to be absorbed, to disappear and become a part of something deeper all at once to become a part of you would be the greatest purpose i could imagine

28

i am the hanging branches on your willow tree, you don't wait for spring to come to tell me i am beautiful i am the rake pushing through your sand garden, smoothing out the edges, easing through the pain i am the fog hanging over your mountain range, covering you with droplets of water so sweet you can taste them long after i've gone i am the v-shaped flock of birds flying over your turning tides, calming you with every brush of my wings against the clouds but what i really am is a snowflake balanced carefully on one blade of grass, waiting for your careful steps to pass by me, for you to lift me off the surface on one fingertip, for you to bring me to your lips so i may melt in your warmth

0

Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC

sext for every season, 3am

i am the hanging branches on your willow tree, you don't wait for spring to come to tell me i am beautiful i am the rake pushing through your sand garden, smoothing out the edges, easing through the pain i am the fog hanging over your mountain range, covering you with droplets of water so sweet you can taste them long after i've gone i am the v-shaped flock of birds flying over your turning tides, calming you with every brush of my wings against the clouds but what i really am is a snowflake balanced carefully on one blade of grass, waiting for your careful steps to pass by me, for you to lift me off the surface on one fingertip, for you to bring me to your lips so i may melt in your warmth

30

i am a maple leaf, i float on your puddle and soak up your dreams and your heartache until you fill me up so much that i can't take any more i feel your cool touch through my veins, they are green and they are beautiful, that's what you tell me your kindness is my sustenance when i stop growing, when i stop needing you so much, when i can't let you hold me any longer i'll remember the breath of fresh air you pulled through my lungs while i soared through the sky reflected on your face i'll know you needed me, needed someone to pour your life force into, someone you could hold and someone who would fly like you could not at the end of the season, i'll stay wrapped in your embrace

0

Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC

sext for autumn, 2am

i am a maple leaf, i float on your puddle and soak up your dreams and your heartache until you fill me up so much that i can't take any more i feel your cool touch through my veins, they are green and they are beautiful, that's what you tell me your kindness is my sustenance when i stop growing, when i stop needing you so much, when i can't let you hold me any longer i'll remember the breath of fresh air you pulled through my lungs while i soared through the sky reflected on your face i'll know you needed me, needed someone to pour your life force into, someone you could hold and someone who would fly like you could not at the end of the season, i'll stay wrapped in your embrace

25

Sometimes it's just a conch shell I am tired of holding to my ear. The birdsong outside my window fills me more than your affection ever could. When I say I am in love with the entire ********* planet, I mean it is impossible for me to settle down. I am not the type to sink in the river, I want to float on my back through the bloodstream of the Earth and let the moon tell me when it is too dangerous to go swimming. I never learned how to swim. I am far too cautious when I talk. My body is self-conscious about letting the chlorine of a summer pool touch me, fill me like you used to. I guess that's why I'm leaving, love. The open air is a much better lover than the sea. I would rather burn inside the marrow of a far-off star than feel alone at the bottom of the ocean, only fish to guarantee I'm still alive. Love is Pluto, drifting in space searching for something to hold onto never knowing it is in orbit circling something it will never get to touch. I wish I'd never touched you. Never felt the sandpapered scars that fold inside the creases in your wrists. Never let you think I had fallen from heaven, I wish I'd told you I'm searching for a way to float on top of clouds without needing a God to tell me I'm happy. Maybe I only loved you when you were unhappy. Maybe your shoulder blades never contained the wings I thought I could see when the lights were out. Baby, you were the ink pouring from Shakespeare's ****** quill. You were the barnacle in the sand waiting to take in the blood and screaming disbelief of a child, you were the whales beaching themselves in one sorry attempt to taste the grass. You were the one to always keep sinking. It was your sandpaper I held under my tongue hoping it would rasp long enough for someone to tell me I was bleeding. You were always bleeding, especially when I was gone. Now, you breathe smoke and still tell me it's me who needs you.

0

Apr 3, 2013

Apr 3, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC

Love isn't always magic.

Sometimes it's just a conch shell I am tired of holding to my ear. The birdsong outside my window fills me more than your affection ever could. When I say I am in love with the entire ********* planet, I mean it is impossible for me to settle down. I am not the type to sink in the river, I want to float on my back through the bloodstream of the Earth and let the moon tell me when it is too dangerous to go swimming. I never learned how to swim. I am far too cautious when I talk. My body is self-conscious about letting the chlorine of a summer pool touch me, fill me like you used to. I guess that's why I'm leaving, love. The open air is a much better lover than the sea. I would rather burn inside the marrow of a far-off star than feel alone at the bottom of the ocean, only fish to guarantee I'm still alive. Love is Pluto, drifting in space searching for something to hold onto never knowing it is in orbit circling something it will never get to touch. I wish I'd never touched you. Never felt the sandpapered scars that fold inside the creases in your wrists. Never let you think I had fallen from heaven, I wish I'd told you I'm searching for a way to float on top of clouds without needing a God to tell me I'm happy. Maybe I only loved you when you were unhappy. Maybe your shoulder blades never contained the wings I thought I could see when the lights were out. Baby, you were the ink pouring from Shakespeare's ****** quill. You were the barnacle in the sand waiting to take in the blood and screaming disbelief of a child, you were the whales beaching themselves in one sorry attempt to taste the grass. You were the one to always keep sinking. It was your sandpaper I held under my tongue hoping it would rasp long enough for someone to tell me I was bleeding. You were always bleeding, especially when I was gone. Now, you breathe smoke and still tell me it's me who needs you.

68