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■♡■♡■♡■
It Hurts believing your words  
then finding out it is all a Lie

It Hurts knowing a person I love
can become a person
I would Despise

It Hurts being told you are Clean
then findin' out your *****
It Hurts that you feel Entitled
yet at the same time
feel Unworthy

It Hurts knowing you could Die
be brought Back and Die
Be brought Back and Die
It Hurts wondering
every Moment
of every Day and Night
If you are still Alive


■♡■♡■♡■♡■♡■
~MoonFlower~Fluer de Luna~April 2015
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
♡■♡■ It Hurts ■♡■♡
envelop my heart
enfold my being
cocoon me in kindness
cover my doubts
encompass my thoughts
cloak my vulnerabilities
shroud my fears
enclose me in Love
shield my tenderness     
encase my charms
veil my uncertainties
engulf me in your arms
swathe me with tenderness
encircle my energy
sheathe me from harm
envelop my heart
enfold my being
envelop my heart
envelop me

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
envelop my heart
I used to gather
where the bridge crossed the bay
Pausing in the ebb of
the changing tide .
I tried to capture
the moment of the ebb's decay

She came to me
with soft words of call
Left messages saying
she's not sure about it at all

The sea follows the
ways we know not
our separation was complete
we left our ancient past behind
to tread upon this land
on our own two feet

Shake the dust from your call
dress the shadows
make the sun fall
words of deliverence
wet the tongue's
parchment and thirst

The tide remains constant
demanding , relevant
with unrelenting presence
It is married to the bay
In a never ending struggle
of give and take
See beyond the pain
Look past the scars
Reach into darkness
With a guiding light

Help me forget torment
Heal me from my suffering
Come touch my heart
Repair the shattered pieces

Comfort me through nightmares
Show me if love still exists
Lead me away from Hell
So this phantom may live again
Die stroom van verlange                             The stream of longing
Vloei na die see                                             Flows to the sea
In die verste diepte                                       To the furthest depth
Van sy blou heimwee.                                  Of its blue nostalgia

Die sande wag                                               The sands lie awaiting
Vir die verre wind                                          The distant wind -
Die rotse aanskou                                           The rocks gaze on
Die spelende see.                                            The playing sea

In een oomblik                                              In one moment
Spring die vis omhoog                                 The fish leaps on high
Deur die son beskilder                                  Painted by the sun
Dan ewig dood.                                             Then dead eternally.
(following Jeannine Davidoff's example!)(in Die Oes)
Another Mother’s day upon us,
another deluge to
fill that ocean of tears
from years gone by.

A deep sadness takes hold,
reminding me of what a
dysfunctional circus this
Life has come to be,
trying not to repeat
my own mother’s mistakes.

Hindsight is 20/20,
so they say, but
it doesn’t matter
since you can never, ever
change yesterday.

I dreamed of giving
my sons all the things
I never had, but I look
around and clearly witness
that my efforts have
often been in vain.

A mother’s heart dies
a little more each day
as it travels the path
now chosen,
and for past sins
I and my children
do most definitely pay.

Lightning and thunder
always rumbling’.
The anger and melancholy
makes one want to run
screaming and slam into a
brick wall, so as not to
feel so intensely alone.

One “special day” a year;
an insult and a joke,
meant to placate the
exhaustion and madness
Motherhood can provoke.

I hate the hypocrisy of
it all,
like a band aid on
a deep ****.

Women/Mothers,
Always doing the brunt
Of the ***** work;
We will always cry more,
worry more,
suffer and feel more.

Mocked for our sentiments
and opinions,
for our need to be heard
and taken to heart,
and tending to our
                    quiet rage, warranted anxiety
and fears.

The world doesn’t really care
whether or not we are
truly “happy mothers”,
the evidence tells no lies.

So, forgive my bluntness
(or not, doesn’t really matter),
but for me
Mother’s day doesn’t really
hit the spot.

Too often most forget
That the very days that
mean joy and cheer for some,
for others can bring
nothing but isolation
and pain, not understood
by the festive crowds.

I often wonder,
who creates these
“special days” anyway?



-by Mercurychyld
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