You think you know love when you feel your stomach filled with butterflies.
You think nothing is the same once you feel them fly.
But one day you'll know love.
Although those butterflies will die.
They'll be replaced with little kicks
That turn into a freshly mopped floor covered in tiny muddy footprints.
True love is slow to anger.
And it's crazy how your little one is part you and part someone once a stranger.
With whom you now share a heart.
That lives outside your body,
adorable and smart.
Now imagine, another little one your lover brought to you. Part him and part stranger but the Stanger isn't you.
Imagine, if you can,
You love them both the same.
Such perfect little boys
They will bring you many joys.
But also much pain.
Sometimes it feels like a push and a shove.
But I promise you one day,
you will know love.
It will not sound like the "I love you"
That your mother used to say.
Or any of the sweet lies from before she gave you away.
Or the love HE tried to show you when he snuck into your little bed.
It won't feel like any
untruth that he put into your head.
You won't make your parents mistakes
Because these boys were sent to you from your Father from above.
So even when the thought shakes you,
Don't be scared to love.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Sandoval
No one wants to see their Daddy with a needle in his arm.
He's supposed to be her hero.
She's supposed to be his good luck charm.
Because of her he's not supposed to want to cause himself harm.
But that's just not how addiction works.
Don't take it so hard.
pill bottle's became his baby.
because baby girl don't **** the pain like the pain killer's do.
yet he still tell's her
"Baby girl, your Daddy loves you."
so that's what love is.
in her pretty head.
so she fell in love with men that loved drugs instead.
they abused drugs
and they abused her.
tell me why hugs feel so much nicer from an abuser.
we don't want to be like our parents.
but thanks to genes and chromosomes,
were our parents to our bones.
once a tiny baby skeleton.
A bun in the oven of my mum.
a tiny being with no voice.
here only by my mothers choice.
she would walk down the baby aisle and smile.
falling in love with everything she'd find.
She really truly wanted me.
It only took eight years to change her mind.
I no longer recognize the face in the mirror.
My little heart's full of fear.
anticipating the day you no longer want me here.
If Repeating History
is all this life is.
I'd rather be dead than relive how I've lived.
The more poetic you become,
the less they listen like before,
they hear suicide threats as metaphors
the girl who wrote poems and the boy who cried wolf are one in the same.
when will they learn this isn't a game.
With you I'm a little careless
Without actually having to 'care less'
Because I've never cared more
About anyone, or anything.
Take me under your wing.
I want to be cared for
But by you, and only you.
I won't make you make up for
Past lack of care.
I can't ask that of you.
It wouldn't be fair.
All that matters is,
I know you'll always be there
And I've never had a security blanket like that.
My quilts have always been built with
The same thing by which the road to Hell is paved.
I never thought I'd have a hero.
Never thought id ever be saved.
So thank you.
And thank God for sending you my way
Now let me tie you to an anchor
Just to make sure you stay.
MISERY loves Company
Because Happiness already has it.
why should I when no one's there to see it.
why should I when no one's there to breath it.
No one to inhale the promises I exhale.
Misery loves company, loves heart ache, loves heart break.
Victim of earthquake
Victim of Tsunami.
Sad Fatherless Girl
The boy without a Mommy.
MISERY loves company.
Because happiness already has it.
If the homeless love the homeless they'll be hopeless to ever have a home.
If the orphaned love the orphaned they'll forever be alone.
Misery loves company and Misery loves love.
Is a miserable thing.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
I'm the song in the car
you have to turn up the volume to . Because like some songs are meant to be played loud,
Some people are meant to be loved hard
Like a broken bottle's Glass shard
broken pieces of my heart
puncture my soul
and rupture the parts of me
that are more soft grunge than rock n' roll.
and I no longer have control
of my feelings
so if you're leaving,
take a little piece of me.
A lock of hair.
Tie it around your finger.
This isn't fair
For just a little while longer I'd love to linger.
He smiles like sunshine. And I smile that he's mine. And I'm happy. Finally..I'm a ray of sunshine and he's a ray of sunshine but there's no rain clouds. And maybe I'm still deaf from when the thunder roared loud. And now...there's no warmth only heat. ******* HEAT And I don't know if you'll understand this statement but no matter how perfect your pavement there's still blood on the concrete..somewhere. but there's those of us who stare right through it and walk past like it's not there but we leave red footprints everywhere. And you were a rain cloud that followed me like depression. And I guess you finally taught me my lesson it takes more than sunshine to make the flowers grow. They need the rain and the skies of gray. And all these bright smiles can take a flower and force it to wither away. But somehow the weeds have grown. I need the rain to fall on me. So I don't have to cry Alone.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
They say each cigarette takes eleven minutes off your life.
But Heaven know's that that's alright.
What can you do in eleven minutes anyway?
I lived through a lifetime of your abuse and you still didn't stay.
There's a lot that could be done in eleven minutes, one may say.
and I have to agree. It took less than eleven minutes for you to destroy me.
less than eleven minutes to say a prayer, to take a picture, to sit and stare.
But it takes less than eleven minutes to get high to be humiliated to frustratedly try not to cry. for your truths to be spilled, to swallow too many pills, it takes less than eleven minutes to be killed.
and maybe I'm happy to rid or eleven minutes more.
you have a door **** for a heart and your love's a trap door.
You said I "felt like home"
so I know why you ran away.
at least for me "home" isn't a place you'd want to stay.
And if i'm left with only eleven minutes more perhaps I have regrets.
But If my lungs are filled with smoke
I can't feel your essence in my breath.
I'll just keep my fingers crossed you have no presence in my death.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn