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being a mother
is not about
making bread
and dinner every night

being a mother is about trying to understand
and not gossiping to your friends about my bad choices when i broke up with the boy who
i decided
was not right for me

and believing me
when i told you
that i had an eating disorder
that my brothers constant jokes about my weight had not helped
(i could hear you say to my father, 'but bulimics lose their teeth')

being a mother
is about
being there
when im in the kitchen crying and i know that you can hear me
but you do not come out
being a mother is about hearing the tinge in my voice
when i say that i honestly don't know when i will be ready for school
and the day
and not accusing me of attitude
but hearing that i am struggling
being a mother is about
supporting me
and not telling me that you're waiting for my next mental breakdown
and that im foolish for taking on so much
and trying to do well
because you think i can't do it
well
then maybe i can't do it

but you have failed
a mother's essential job is to help their children conquer the world
and you are not helping
it's mother's day tomorrow
but i do not want to celebrate
i'd say that i'm sorry
but i'm not

happy mother's day
 May 2014 Erin Atkinson
SG Holter
And has a belly so full of my
Vegetable stew with Swedish
Sausage she can barely keep
Her beautiful eyes open.
Heavy with a strange weekend
Behind her, and the road.
I feel bad for mostly eating and
Sleeping. More beer than water
(Showers included).
Mine was a lighter load
This time, princess.
I'd take yours in a heartbeat,
I'm tempted to say. But I stop
Myself at your
Recent loss.

Now finish your cider. Pat
Wolfie good night.
I'll carry you to bed
Where all I expect
Is that you
Sleep.

We'll both be here
In the morning.
Tina's father's funeral was Friday, this weekend they went through his belongings.
 May 2014 Erin Atkinson
SG Holter
I had a few of my poems
Published in an Australian
Student project underground
Art-paper in '97.

One of my Melbourne High School
Teachers said he felt I had
One foot in Rumi's world,
The other in Bukowski's.

-
i could either be
a drunken genious
at the track
not winning
yet certainly
drinking
my health
borderline
euthanized
and writing to sustain it.
the magic and
honor in not
being an honored
magician.
-
But the sun-warmth within her palm
Makes everything she lays it upon
Feel as if kitten's belly-
Soft and as inviting to love as the
Newest-born infant on Earth
With her touch.
All is Day.
I need her too much to find sleep.
-
****. I do love them both.
She crawls into bed tonight
wearing nothing but;
little bits of dignity.

So I tore them
quickly away from her;
as I've been drinking again.
I could love you
as dry roots love rain.
I could hold you
as branches in the wind
brandish petals.
Forgive me for speaking so soon.

    Let your heart look
    on white sea spray
    and be lonely.

    Love is a fool star.

    You and a ring of stars
    may mention my name
    and then forget me.

    Love is a fool star.
 May 2014 Erin Atkinson
Hayleigh
If morning had never graced its presence that day,
Would you still have upped and gone away?
And if the sun had never shone that dawn,
Would I still be alone, this early morn?
If the stars had never ceased,
And the darkness had kept its presence,
If the night had never drew in
And the moon stayed ever crescent
Would you still be laying by my side
Would there still have been that change in tide?
Because since the seas direction changed
I've been left in the remains, off shore
Fighting for something,
Though for what I'm unsure.
I've been treading water at a steady pace,
But there's only so long, can race
Before time comes and takes our place.
And the seaweeds are starting to pull me under
And the clouds in my mind are starting to thunder,
I search desperately for shelter, solid ground,
I long to be found,
But the shift in tide has bound
Me
A daughter of the sea,
Alone, trapped in we.
And my heart lays heavy,
In a bottle of sherry
Too heavy to keep afloat
So send out your rescue mission
Your men and boats
But they will not find me,
I am entangled in chains,
And the remnants and remains
You cannot see.
So as I drown, in this bottle of whiskey
Consumed by the taste
From the last time you kissed me,
Fuelled by the solace at our loss of history
Do not try to save me,
You are the one who deserves to be free.

If morning had never graced its presence that day,
Would you still have upped and gone away?
Or would we have stayed, forever embraced, fingers interlaced,
In a morsel of romance.
And if the sun had never shone that dawn,
Would I still be alone, this early morn?
And would we still have had to mourn over our loss?
If the stars had never ceased,
And the darkness had kept its presence,
If the night had never drew in
And the moon stayed ever crescent
Would the tides of change still have to flow,
And form a drift between us two,
Would we have to mourn our history,
Would we still be through?

Though maybe if the morning had never come,
and if the sun had never shone,
and the stars had never ceased,
Your chance of happiness would be gone,
And I treasure that of yours,
More than I do of mine,
So let the sands of time sift between us two
Let the stars shine and the moon not confine, you.
Let dawn break, as we awake to a new day
Let the tide change
And let the remains
Embrace you in all the joy you deserve.
you group these letters on a silver platter
that have slyly slipped from your  siren lips
i,
a simple sailor lost in the mist of your voice,
trapped in the waves
of your heart's ribcage.

i never had the chance to reach the harbor
nor did i want to,
after swallowing your store window words.
your voice is complex lights and welcome signs. 
 las vegas casinos envy the way you sell to the gambling addict,
to the slave of the unknown.

you are that.
a gamble,
advertised as a sure thing.

you are an array of bells and whistles purchased at 5 in the morning on the shopping channel
but when delivered and when your big colour full box is ripped open,
a scared and average appliance is all i find.

Average i know this word scares you.
its the worst thing that can ever become of the extravagant,
of the bold.

but average is comfortable,
average is no more need for shows,
the circus elephant can finally go home.

its real.

its everyday life,
its mix matched socks  and its stolen road signs.

you and i are average in the most unique way
because we mold together layer upon layer and become one of a kind.

the one of a kind I'm proud to call mine,

the you and me combined is something i cannot quite define, in words that is

but in just one kiss

everything begins to exist

words aren't needed,

in this permanent bliss
edited, also i adore you
paper carefully ***** my words
sentences are formed
liquid and dark as velvet
like flowers of silence

tones of a gentle song  
are showing the monologue
born out of my being

it has been
a long time
when I tuned the strings
and wrote the arrangements

and still I’m busy
bringing them to perfection
 May 2014 Erin Atkinson
abby
you hurt like ache
and adderall
and arnica

you hurt like bruises
and battle scars
and broken bones

you hurt like cuts
and *******
and countryside

you hurt like death
and destruction
and die-hard

you hurt like electricity
and emergency rooms
and edit-undo

you hurt like *******'s
and fire
and fallen trees

you hurt like garbage cans
and gonorrhea
and gang ****

you hurt like hell
and holes in the road
and heartache

you hurt like israel
and illness
and ignition fumes

you hurt like jaundice
and jugular veins
and jack in the box

you hurt like karma
and kissing
and kerosine lamps

you hurt like lightning
and love
and literary terms

you hurt like mother
and mary
and moses

you hurt like nakedness
and nosebleeds
and nervous breakdowns

you hurt like oil spills
and old yeller
and oral quizzes

you hurt like parkinson's
and parties
and panic

you hurt like queens
and questions
and quantum physics

you hurt like rogaine
and roses
and rope burn

you hurt like solar power
and stomach aches
and ***

you hurt like teeth cleanings
and tar
and tobacco

you hurt like ulcers
and underwear
and unrequited love

you hurt like viruses
and venus fly traps
and vapor rub

you hurt like warning signs
and weight gain
and war

you hurt like x-rays
and x marks the spot
and xoxo

you hurt like your mom
and your dad
and you

you hurt like zig zags
and zero
and zip ties

*(a.m.c.)
I don't really know if I even like this. But it was fun to make. ******* q, x, and z.
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