you-may-call-me - Hello Poetry

Everyday is a battle and most days I am losing This pill, that pill, which mood am I choosing Ha, but if only I was truly in control like that My brain, like a peak under the Mad Hatter's hat Only remembering the hypomanic states Looking back, reading old entries to realize most of the time was gray A rollercoaster ride for which I cannot part The reason, the escape, for running and art But the saddest part is the deep markings of childhood trauma is what's to blame Causing me this whiplash of feelings for which I will never tame

0

Mar 3, 2025

Mar 3, 2025 at 2:06 PM UTC

Prognosis

Everyday is a battle and most days I am losing This pill, that pill, which mood am I choosing Ha, but if only I was truly in control like that My brain, like a peak under the Mad Hatter's hat Only remembering the hypomanic states Looking back, reading old entries to realize most of the time was gray A rollercoaster ride for which I cannot part The reason, the escape, for running and art But the saddest part is the deep markings of childhood trauma is what's to blame Causing me this whiplash of feelings for which I will never tame

10

I’ve gotten to this place of self deprecation In a hole ineptitudes A shaky ground of fortitude and admittance Since when did I start believing my mind was such a mental hinderance Success propped up on perception The smoke’s run out 7 years bad luck I’m walking on shattered glass and I’ve tainted the well It’s time to drop my stones and move on The space this use to hold is now gone

0

Feb 24, 2025

Feb 24, 2025 at 7:01 PM UTC

2 Weeks Notice

I’ve gotten to this place of self deprecation In a hole ineptitudes A shaky ground of fortitude and admittance Since when did I start believing my mind was such a mental hinderance Success propped up on perception The smoke’s run out 7 years bad luck I’m walking on shattered glass and I’ve tainted the well It’s time to drop my stones and move on The space this use to hold is now gone

10

No, it wasn’t the time and care that you took to write B a poem for your Father’s speech at her wedding, and the fact at how well you wrote it, or how well you spoke it, or how well you portrayed her or even all of those tiny little, beautiful details that even I had forgotten of her childhood- despite you not being present for a majority of them. It wasn’t how you remembered your glasses this time, or how you were good to not have one too many (that was the reason you left us when we were little after all. classic), it wasn’t how put together you were this time around - not drenched in sweat, with your tie already loosened and your jacket shoved open. No, it wasn’t that you used to write poetry, beautiful poetry. Or that this was the first moment, since I could ever know or remember, you writing something. Or, as you noted to B and her now newly husband, how you carefully wove these tiny morsels of moments into a beautifully structured set of stanzas just for her and her special day because, as you now address the entire room, “B writes (wrote* in HS) beautiful and prolific poetry”, as you go on to tell the story about the one poem submitted in high school, and that you wanted this to be personal to her. That this was your connection to her. The sides war raging in my mind. Tears start pouring. No, it’s not because you had over a year to prepare a speech for my wedding and maybe a few months’ notice for B’s. I’m seated at the bridal table, centered on display in front of everyone in the room - just behind my father, currently giving his speech, with B and the groom off to the side. The tears not stopping. Just two months prior to this moment, you drunkenly announced you had forgotten your glasses as you proceed to the stage. “But don’t worry”, you say “I have it memorized, for the most part…. Well, I mean, how can I talk about one daughter… when I have three beautiful daughters… ”. No, dad, it wasn’t even this line - though close, considering this was a decent sized theme of my childhood. See when you left us, sides were chosen (earlier reference). And well, I chose wrong. Ash and B are smarter, I guess, as you have so proclaimed; they sided with mom. My idiot *** sided with you. In fairness I was three, but for some reason I always yearned for my father. “No, I’m a daddy’s girl” I would proudly tout. Instant outcast. I grew up fighting with mom. It got pretty bad at moments. Wasn’t much better with Ash or B. Though B and I had a close bond in our younger years. We were always divided on the subject of mom versus dad, however. I was just different than them. Especially on my viewpoints, or rather love, of you - but that was ok. You were my knight. You were coming to rescue me one day. And then you did. I was twelve. Things got bad when you came back. I remember. My sisters were upset, but I was happy I finally had you there. I held faith that we would find our way through this dark time as a family, as 4 again. Then you and mom delivered the news in the living room of our new house. Mom was pregnant and it was goin to be a boy. The boy you always wanted. That was it. The start of official abandonment. Actually in person and present, compared to our childhood, but more distant than ever. Everything was about him, Mace. So I escaped. The only way a middle schooler could- through running. And through poetry. Yep, poetry. But for some reason I believed that I would be judged for being creative, not allowed. That only Ash and B could write, like how you wrote, and your dad and our distant relatives wrote. So I hid it. I started writing at the age of 12. Creative writing classes in HS. Publishing poems online in college. A folder in an app on my phone full of unpublished works, half and fully written pieces. No, I’m sitting here at my sister’s wedding, tears softly streaming down my cheeks - and like a river off course, salt crashing into the corners mouth, the salt sharp on my tongue, sharp like the pain now building somewhere in a corner of my heart- because I’ve spent over 30 years of my life waiting for you. Waiting for you to be there. Waiting for you to see me. To see the sacrifices I made for you. To see the time I gave up waiting, for you. The space and distance I held for you, and from others. All since the day you left that I have been holding until this very moment right now. The tears come harder now, threatening to very well drown me and stop my breath. I may welcome it. And you don’t even know one of the rooms in my house (and you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t even know the reference). And the irony in that the reason for writing was you. And here you’ve escaped your writer’s retirement. What a moment. And god what a beautiful god **** speech this is, it hurts. I’m so happy for my sister. But still it wasn’t for me - and yet that 5 year old girl, she keeps waiting. Thinking her knight is actually going to rescue her one of these times. Ohhhhh, that’s why you think I’m not as smart as my two sisters. Touché. **** you dad.

0

Feb 24, 2025

Feb 24, 2025 at 6:54 PM UTC

Dear Dad,

No, it wasn’t the time and care that you took to write B a poem for your Father’s speech at her wedding, and the fact at how well you wrote it, or how well you spoke it, or how well you portrayed her or even all of those tiny little, beautiful details that even I had forgotten of her childhood- despite you not being present for a majority of them. It wasn’t how you remembered your glasses this time, or how you were good to not have one too many (that was the reason you left us when we were little after all. classic), it wasn’t how put together you were this time around - not drenched in sweat, with your tie already loosened and your jacket shoved open. No, it wasn’t that you used to write poetry, beautiful poetry. Or that this was the first moment, since I could ever know or remember, you writing something. Or, as you noted to B and her now newly husband, how you carefully wove these tiny morsels of moments into a beautifully structured set of stanzas just for her and her special day because, as you now address the entire room, “B writes (wrote* in HS) beautiful and prolific poetry”, as you go on to tell the story about the one poem submitted in high school, and that you wanted this to be personal to her. That this was your connection to her. The sides war raging in my mind. Tears start pouring. No, it’s not because you had over a year to prepare a speech for my wedding and maybe a few months’ notice for B’s. I’m seated at the bridal table, centered on display in front of everyone in the room - just behind my father, currently giving his speech, with B and the groom off to the side. The tears not stopping. Just two months prior to this moment, you drunkenly announced you had forgotten your glasses as you proceed to the stage. “But don’t worry”, you say “I have it memorized, for the most part…. Well, I mean, how can I talk about one daughter… when I have three beautiful daughters… ”. No, dad, it wasn’t even this line - though close, considering this was a decent sized theme of my childhood. See when you left us, sides were chosen (earlier reference). And well, I chose wrong. Ash and B are smarter, I guess, as you have so proclaimed; they sided with mom. My idiot *** sided with you. In fairness I was three, but for some reason I always yearned for my father. “No, I’m a daddy’s girl” I would proudly tout. Instant outcast. I grew up fighting with mom. It got pretty bad at moments. Wasn’t much better with Ash or B. Though B and I had a close bond in our younger years. We were always divided on the subject of mom versus dad, however. I was just different than them. Especially on my viewpoints, or rather love, of you - but that was ok. You were my knight. You were coming to rescue me one day. And then you did. I was twelve. Things got bad when you came back. I remember. My sisters were upset, but I was happy I finally had you there. I held faith that we would find our way through this dark time as a family, as 4 again. Then you and mom delivered the news in the living room of our new house. Mom was pregnant and it was goin to be a boy. The boy you always wanted. That was it. The start of official abandonment. Actually in person and present, compared to our childhood, but more distant than ever. Everything was about him, Mace. So I escaped. The only way a middle schooler could- through running. And through poetry. Yep, poetry. But for some reason I believed that I would be judged for being creative, not allowed. That only Ash and B could write, like how you wrote, and your dad and our distant relatives wrote. So I hid it. I started writing at the age of 12. Creative writing classes in HS. Publishing poems online in college. A folder in an app on my phone full of unpublished works, half and fully written pieces. No, I’m sitting here at my sister’s wedding, tears softly streaming down my cheeks - and like a river off course, salt crashing into the corners mouth, the salt sharp on my tongue, sharp like the pain now building somewhere in a corner of my heart- because I’ve spent over 30 years of my life waiting for you. Waiting for you to be there. Waiting for you to see me. To see the sacrifices I made for you. To see the time I gave up waiting, for you. The space and distance I held for you, and from others. All since the day you left that I have been holding until this very moment right now. The tears come harder now, threatening to very well drown me and stop my breath. I may welcome it. And you don’t even know one of the rooms in my house (and you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t even know the reference). And the irony in that the reason for writing was you. And here you’ve escaped your writer’s retirement. What a moment. And god what a beautiful god **** speech this is, it hurts. I’m so happy for my sister. But still it wasn’t for me - and yet that 5 year old girl, she keeps waiting. Thinking her knight is actually going to rescue her one of these times. Ohhhhh, that’s why you think I’m not as smart as my two sisters. Touché. **** you dad.

15

Fleshy beating Red Plundering Searching Finding Soft Fleshy beating The knife goes in Heart thumping Fleeting Soft Fleshy bleeding Knife goes in Heart thumping Repeating Hard Rubbery Bleeding Soul no longer capable of meeting

0

Jun 16, 2021

Jun 16, 2021 at 12:12 AM UTC

Soft

Fleshy beating Red Plundering Searching Finding Soft Fleshy beating The knife goes in Heart thumping Fleeting Soft Fleshy bleeding Knife goes in Heart thumping Repeating Hard Rubbery Bleeding Soul no longer capable of meeting

22

It can never burn out, If it was never on fire

0

Nov 18, 2020

Nov 18, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC

Flame

It can never burn out, If it was never on fire

2

a light a higher truth for which to shine highlighting that your path is no longer mine because there is a light a higher truth made for me with someone new our story no longer wielding to the world around our love no longer creating it's sweet sound because there is a light a higher truth for me to carry out with someone, anyone, just not you.

0

Feb 7, 2019

Feb 7, 2019 at 6:24 PM UTC

no longer true

a light a higher truth for which to shine highlighting that your path is no longer mine because there is a light a higher truth made for me with someone new our story no longer wielding to the world around our love no longer creating it's sweet sound because there is a light a higher truth for me to carry out with someone, anyone, just not you.

14

Everyone is living their fairytale While I’m living in hell Come back to me already Let's make this right Mend this hole and close it tight No one has to ever know The deep cuts created The harmful words spoke Let’s go back to the way things were Before you shattered my heart Before everything between you and me fell apart

0

Dec 13, 2018

Dec 13, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC

apart

Everyone is living their fairytale While I’m living in hell Come back to me already Let's make this right Mend this hole and close it tight No one has to ever know The deep cuts created The harmful words spoke Let’s go back to the way things were Before you shattered my heart Before everything between you and me fell apart

11

A space so unfitting A space tired, not so uplifting “Rehab” ”Rehab” ”Rehabilitate my space”, you pled And I did I did just that once you, out of town, fled Back in town, it was going to be a monumental surprise One that you and I could share and sleep in that night That night and all the nights to follow When you witnessed your new space you could barely swallow Chocking back tears, I had succeeded in my mission Now this space, you share with your new person Does she like the color blue? What about the gold accents I detailed just for you? It’s your space, and hers now I hope the dark shadows of your new space haunt you, watch over you like an owl In witness of you two interlaced With someone who has now taken my place To lavender I retreat That shade of navy and I never to re-meet

0

Dec 4, 2018

Dec 4, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC

It was a space

A space so unfitting A space tired, not so uplifting “Rehab” ”Rehab” ”Rehabilitate my space”, you pled And I did I did just that once you, out of town, fled Back in town, it was going to be a monumental surprise One that you and I could share and sleep in that night That night and all the nights to follow When you witnessed your new space you could barely swallow Chocking back tears, I had succeeded in my mission Now this space, you share with your new person Does she like the color blue? What about the gold accents I detailed just for you? It’s your space, and hers now I hope the dark shadows of your new space haunt you, watch over you like an owl In witness of you two interlaced With someone who has now taken my place To lavender I retreat That shade of navy and I never to re-meet

21

I had a different name It was "Undiscovered" Now this name, no longer my cover There's a darker truth as to why it's updated to "October" Tears of joy, tears of sadness They all share this amber month of blackness A deep history of sight The pain and origin of why I write Her name was Erin She was beautiful She was young Erin, was special and Rhett's, without doubt, the devil The disease rendered her without brain function Resulted in physical mutation Erin, had an expiration The day came In the same month born She would, from this life, be torn

0

Dec 3, 2018

Dec 3, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC

Name Change

I had a different name It was "Undiscovered" Now this name, no longer my cover There's a darker truth as to why it's updated to "October" Tears of joy, tears of sadness They all share this amber month of blackness A deep history of sight The pain and origin of why I write Her name was Erin She was beautiful She was young Erin, was special and Rhett's, without doubt, the devil The disease rendered her without brain function Resulted in physical mutation Erin, had an expiration The day came In the same month born She would, from this life, be torn

19

It's not a fairy-tale It's just love, you and me Learning to give Learning to be Don't get me wrong, your love It's true And deep And Strong But it's not a fairy-tale It never will be Not like it was with him and me But a smolder still creates heat It's not a fairy-tale But it's not defeat

0

Dec 3, 2018

Dec 3, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC

It's not a fairy-tale

It's not a fairy-tale It's just love, you and me Learning to give Learning to be Don't get me wrong, your love It's true And deep And Strong But it's not a fairy-tale It never will be Not like it was with him and me But a smolder still creates heat It's not a fairy-tale But it's not defeat

14