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With the day after Christmas
We return to the normality
Of me not looking at you
And you not talking to me

With hands deep in our pockets
Holding tight the spare change
Where we don't loose what little we've got
Or give too much away

Where all that is seen
Is the blind destiny
As I climb over you
On the rung of what's in it for me

With the day after Christmas
We're back to where we were
Not trying to be
Such good boys and girls

Where a grudge I unwrap
And think bad about you
Wait a minute that
Was the day before too

Where we take peace on Earth
And good will towards men
And pack it away
For another year

Where the Government
Sends us back to the war
With no earthly idea
Of what we're fighting for

Where we don't listen
To the cries of the children
As all of this happens
The day after Christmas
My mothers in a holding pen before she dies.
Walls decorated with fake flowers
and pictures she doesn't see.
People in corridors in wheelchairs
where smells stagnant from old age permeant nostrils.
Where food severed under heading of meals barely healthy
is thrown on plates by aids trying to end their shift.

And me I see her through bars of her own fading mind.

My mother is living in an institution before she passes.
Waiting out the hours where memories are as distant
as a few and far between hug.
A place called a memory ward that fills her with medication
causing a bed time of 6PM.

And me I see her through invisible bars of an empty stare
and mouth that strains for words.

My mothers living in a old age holding pen before she
cashes in her chips and turns up toes.
A place that helps fill her day with old TV shows
watching with an unfocused eye and restless body.
An expensive place thats situated on tree lined street
she goes out not often.

And me I see her through door with bolted lock
that rings out reminding us both she's imprisoned.

My mothers living in a cell for the forgotten,
waiting for her life sentence of journey to end.
Where one can see inside her distant stare, she misses dad and her hearts wishes to be with him.
A place she's waiting for warden-like angels to free her
and guide her to roam in peace and freedom.
The home in stars where she can feel my love
and see her life legacy was well lived.

And me I just smile grateful for time left to say Mom “I love you,” forgetting all difference. Words I never know will be said for the last time to her longing ears.
Just reflecting on my mother who is declining from memory loss, mini strokes and old age.
blossoms bloom
in the spring
roses fade in the fall

but your love
seems to stay alive
through all seasons

i water you
with my refreshing

like a succulent
you are precious
to me,
the most beautiful thing
i've ever seen
I had a seed
Of love
In it I could see
A towering tree
But also
A humble ****
But a seed unplanted
Is never truly known
So I planted my seed
And now wait for it to grow
In a meadow of wilted flowers,
I thought I was the only rose.
Standing out with my bright red petals, with a beautiful green stem.
A rose that would captivate you.
One that would make you only pay attention to me.

But you weren’t paying attention to me.
You danced through the meadow of wilted flowers, and I had thought you were here to pick me up.
To love me.

You trampled upon my beautiful petals.
Leaving my stem folded in two,
With my beautiful red petals crumpled and scattered.

To you, I was just as bad as a wilted flower.
With my thorns only pricking fingers.
My thorns that had only hurt you.
My thorns that were a bother.
My thorns that you despised.
My thorns that burdened you.

With the image of your crimson red blood running down your fingers popping through your mind when you thought of claiming me.

And eventually, you left me.
Running past the wilted flowers,
Trampling me.

You embraced something else.
Someone else.
A girl,
With much more beauty.
A girl who gave you more.
Who loved you more.
Who wouldn’t hurt you.

And perhaps this was for the best.
Because you wanted something as beautiful as a rose.

While you had two options.
It wasn’t hard for you to choose.
My petals were scattered around the green grass,
A brown color starting to come invade the beautiful red.

And slowly, with each day you never came to me.
My heart broke a little more.
And a petal fell with each crack in my heart.

She had the beautiful crimson red petals that continued to bloom ever so beautifully.

But all I had left to offer were thorns.
And slowly, my beauty faded.

Along with my heart.
 Oct 2017 John Yuri Yasmirakov
Tonight is one of those nights.
You know, the ones where you fall apart.
You close the door and numbly lock it.

You stare at your hands for the longest time before finally breaking.
You gasp for breath, silently sobbing about everything all at once.
About everything that is wrong with you and the world.

Then you deal with it the only way you know how.
You take deep, exhausted, shuddered breaths as you quietly cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning you wake up huddled in the corner of your bed, with a sore body and pounding headache.
So you get out of bed just like any other morning.
Don’t believe the words they say.
They will hurt you anyway.
They will promise and adore.
Then they’ll throw you on the floor.
Don’t believe the words they say.
They will break you anyway.
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