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Alazella Sep 2016
I've got a problem that no words can fix.
It’s a crucifix, wear it every day around my neck.
The childhood trauma of a disease ridden drama;
A youth wasted in worry and torture and sadness;
No gladness but anger at things uncontrollable.
Resentment, attachment, love's crazed half madness;
The terror of time waiting at a doorstep.
And touch of death that I never wanted.
I didn’t ask for the future, the one that I got,
But I paid for it anyways, at the price it was bought.
Two prices in shambles, yeah me and my ma.
Our middle names signal to valuables lost.
It was slow, it was painful;
I was mad, now I'm shameful.
To not have given all of my love to mother so deserving;
Who served me and loved me and put me above her.
And it breaks me at night, my will and my heart.
We’re apart and I get that, so I guess that's a start.
But it’s a tragedy happened and they'll never understand;
How hard it is to get out of the bed, clear my head,
Shake of the sadness and instead focus, get through each tiny moment,
And let go of the pain, ‘cause you can't ever show it.
Even harder, on edge, with reminders during the day;
Even when I relax, it seems to get me anyways:
In movies and shows and television and songs.
She appears in places where she doesn’t belong,
In symbols and characters and phrases and themes.
But she used to belong, and she used to be here;
And after school, ask me, “How was your day, Al-pal, dear?”
“Good, the norm.” Then I go to my room.
I left a mother, why wonder, I didn’t love her.
One occasion, my grandma spoke:
"This might be the last Christmas you have with your mother."
Trying to chide a family and remind them to fix their blunders.
And I was so mad, nah you're wrong, she won't be gone.
She’ll keep around for the next one, no doubt in my mind.
And I kept those thoughts in my mind, stupid mistake,
Such denial at the finality of my reality and the harsh truth of my life and hers.
So I let my ma go, ‘cause we argued, and I was tired
Of being tried and not being admired,
Being faulted and criticized.
…Then her cancer metastasized.
At a point where no one noticed,
And she got diagnosed with
Leptomeningeal carcinomatosis.
My mind slightly paralyzed,
Quite surprised, hypnotized, waited for it to stabilize.
Then I became demoralized and desensitized.
So I stopped staying home much, because I felt pressurized.
And, no, I never apologized.
Because I never believed my mom would be left behind.
Strongest woman I ever met, didn’t believe death could touch her.
'Til he knocked on our door and said Debbie comere.
Yeah well ******* death, you can’t have my ma.
But her breath slowed, and she whispered “No, I'll go.
The ol' reaper, he seems kind of nice,
What could go wrong? I'll be back, don’t you think twice.”
And since then the moments have turned to seconds and ticks on the clock.
Days and months later, I'm still waiting for another knock.
Waiting to give her a hug, cry a thousand and one tears,
Ask her for forgiveness for all of the years.
Take her in my arms, and let all of her faults go,
Cause bless my mom,
She was important.
But I never really seemed to know.
And I spend more time thinking about her now,
After the fact;
Wasted tears towards a face that's never coming back.
Alazella Jan 2015
I am joyful, when I realize,

though I often do forget,

that nothing really matters,

you just have to make the most of it.
Whoever you are, you are lucky.
To be who you are and where you are.
Don't waste it.
Alazella Jan 2015
I'm a curious curious mix of emotions and feelings

(and matter and mass and space)

A unique pattern.
There could be no replication.
Alazella Jan 2015
I'm thinking about
everything
and everywhere
and none of that
all at the same time.
Alazella Jan 2015
be joyful that you were allowed to live,
be joyful that whatever
force, god, entity,
you believe in
made you,

*YOU.
Alazella Jan 2015
words swirling around in my head,
a whirlpool,
******* me in,
down,
deep,
breathe,
**breathe.
Alazella Jan 2015
Sitting in a dark room,
illuminated by the ghostly screen.

Sitting in a light room,
thinking how to describe me.

Sitting in a blank room.
knowing I want to please.

Sitting in a full room,
trying not to scream.

Sitting in a dark room:
I can't help but think,
that no one cares,
even though I know it's not true.

Sitting in a light room:
Knowing people care,
but still hearing
insults, hatred, unease.

Sitting in a blank room:
I can't ever be
good enough,
smart enough,
"nice" enough.

Sitting a full room:
Suffocated by the
wants and needs and duties
I have been forced to fill.



Dark, Light, Blank, Full:
I care, and
I'm still trying.
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