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Because you were busy I got no birthday card
It's not the first time so I won't take it hard
Because you were busy I was alone Mother's Day
But I know you have so much to do anyway
Because you were busy I stayed home alone
You didn't have time to pick up the phone

I know life is crazy and you just have a minute
But does even one thought in your head have me in it?
I'm getting older and I'm scared that I'm sick
But I'd sure like a visit, no matter how quick

Because you were busy those hours have passed
You're beginning to realize how you've put me last
But time is a runaway train on a track
And it's something that we never, ever get back

Now you remember to bring me bouquets
And you always visit on bright, sunny days
You talk to me and I wish I could reply
But listening's all you can do when you die
I hope that you somehow know I understand
My leaving was something that you never planned
And I hear as you whisper while I lie in the ground...
"I am so sorry, Mom, that I wasn't around".
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.

I'll take them.

All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.


Give them to me.
I will take them.

Give them to me.


They are wanted here.


All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.

Give them to me.

And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.

Let me have them.

And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.

I will take them.

And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.

Let me have them.

And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.

Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.

Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:

“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”

“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”

“You were all my brightest colors.”

“I wish I were more like you.”

“I wish I were less like me.”

“I am sped.”


And we will read them at dawn like litany.

Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.

That we may take them.

And make a blanket.

A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.

I will take them.

All the parts you no longer want.

Give them to me.

Because they are what make us beautiful.

Give them to me.

That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.

That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.

Give them to me.
I will take them.

Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
This was a birthday gift to myself. I am giving it to you.
 May 2014 felicia
Hayleigh
I bit open a lie and it tasted like you.
 May 2014 felicia
Dallas Allen
"don't let your heart
guide your head in a fight
or you will lose to the dark
before you even embark"
 May 2014 felicia
SG Holter
Do you speak to yourself
With respect?
Thinking back on words
Fit for retraction, do you call
Yourself idiot? "Why didn't
You just shut up? Stupid,
Stupid, stupid!"


Spitting foot flavour
On your own shadow, leaving
Bile, regret and self-loathing on
The walls and floor
Of your headroom.

"You always mess up.
Why will you never learn?"


Forgive yourself. How would
Another feel if spoken to
With such hostility?
Day after day.
Minute after minute.
We talk down to ourselves
Like invisible
Evil twins.

Be nice to yourself, even within
Your innermost of monologues.
Be nice.
Watch your mouth.
Don't talk like that
To my friend.
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