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 Nov 2018 Domenick
lX0st
Sustain
 Nov 2018 Domenick
lX0st
You coaxed me to sleep
With your stories of peace
Of happier times
That were just out of reach.
I dreamt long, that night
 Nov 2018 Domenick
Samantha Cunha
I met a man
as strange as could be
trudging along
the
illuminated street

He reminisced
for the days
he would
part the gold sea
when his eyes glistened
for a girl
whom looked like me

His words
quite eclectic
&  electric
Eloquent indeed

His eyes
Pure & Sweet

Others may proclaim
Danger ensues
But darling I knew
The esoteric man
Was no different
From me
 Nov 2018 Domenick
Samantha Cunha
conjure
the pain
conceptualize
the art
let it
light the way
into
the dark

Bruise
the ego
Do it
gently
thoughts
of depth
spoken intently

rough hands
stroke me
gently
Soft-spoken
words
feel so heavy

Caress my mind
a heavenly touch
the dark man
Is no
longer my crutch

Electric mind
State of still
Moving forward
Stumbling downhill
poem poetry light dark juxtapositions
 Oct 2018 Domenick
Marya123
Crush
 Oct 2018 Domenick
Marya123
You don't want me
That I understand.
I doubt you ever will
But if you did, it'd be grand.

We'd dance as one
Foolish, my small dreams
You still haven't asked me..
I bet we'd make a great team.

Go, ask her out
I will wish you well
I'll mend my bending heart
I'll get away from this hell.

There's someone out there
Someone who makes sense
Will I find him, or not?
The answer's in Providence.
 Oct 2018 Domenick
lX0st
With bare feet
I tiptoe
Across mattresses
Made of eggshells
Slowly, silently,
Each step careful
Not to wake
The part of me
That is desperate for you
But shouldn’t be
 Oct 2018 Domenick
Jay
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
 Oct 2018 Domenick
lX0st
I wonder what it’s like
To never worry about
What I’m like
To feel free
To just be
I wonder what it’s like
I wonder
I wonder
Overthinking is a disease.

— The End —