Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I’m getting used to it,
but I am still not okay with it.
I still dream about him
and mostly they aren’t good.
Nightmares of him with
other girls, right in front of me
I’ve kinda decided this
year will be the year of no men.
I’ve never done that but also
I still don’t want to be with anyone
else. I never will.
No other man will ever
care about me as much as he did,
even if he is the thing that hurts me most.
No other man will ever
have that connection that we did,
like our souls are tied together
even if we can’t be together.
I’m still his girl.
Always will be.
Oh little one,
Your heart died so young.
Life can be a pain,
And you were stung.
You sought happiness,
In the arms of your own.
As joy did not exist
In the heart of your home.
Your carers,
Were made of stone.
Flashes of anger
Turned you cold.
But through this,
You continued to grow.
Be proud,
Little angel,
You have won this alone.
This poem is for anyone who struggled with a harsh childhood. You were all so brave, be proud of the person you were and who you are today.
My father never spoke Irish to us as children,
We were told it had no practical use, and thus
our language was devalued, never appreciated
for the gift it was. We learned to oppose it, thus
we assumed a generational grudge, we felt it was
forced upon us, and understood we were powerless.
Thus the pain of his fore-bearers was re-inflicted on us.

My father never spoke Irish to us as children,
As an adult I felt The Inheritance of Loss.
Is fearr Gaeilge bhriste, ná Béarla cliste.

Line Nine from the title of a book by Kiran Desai.
The absolute
Best part of
Good friendships
Is having that safe place
To land
No matter where you
Are jumping from
Dear. Good, Precious friends are safe
He could not see the sinful sun
The moon had stole his heart
Dreaming of another day
Where time had fell apart
A land of love and a tender touch
It would not forever last
These dreams are nightmares
You must wake up
You must accept the past

— The End —