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themoonisrisingPoems
When you were born I didn't know that you would crawl into my bed at 11 years old asking me why it was that some people were just so mean I guess I thought you'd live a little longer in your womb-like dream When you were 5 Mom asked me to put u to sleep because you wouldn't listen to anyone else And so we would sit on our magic carpet which was maybe a yoga mat or perhaps an old newspaper And dream of  places we could go to in our heads Places we would go to together They said I spoiled you I just didn’t want you to grow up like anyone else I guess I didn’t want you to grow up at all At 6, I told you, you had superpowers Just like the fantastical creatures you read about in books you had your own magical powers too You believed me then, a part of you still does You used to whisper our codename in my ear once in a while Superpowers you'd say and smile; it was our secret A Secret no one else knew but you and I At 6 and a half Tally died You didn't sleep for a few days You cried more that week then when Grandpa died I didn’t know until then that someone could be so deeply connected to a turtle In the way that you were But I learnt that you'll always be able to speak to animals More than any of us ever could When you were 7, you wrote little notes to your teachers in the margins of your homework They were painfully sweet and childlike in their innocence Probably ended up in the trash Once someone made a comment about it They said you weren't supposed to do that and that was you wrote was babyish You shrank inward a little... I know it hurt I'm not sure you wrote that much after Then at 7 and a half, you understood how school kills every Childs soul   But still, Mom made you go You were petrified of becoming a boring adult So I sat you down and taught you to brush off what your teachers said To just doodle in the corners of your notebook and dream I bought you an ideas book, told you to create worlds Your teachers called worried They said you were spacing out a lot But I smiled inside when I heard At 8, I used to sneak into your room past bedtime Mom hated that I did that She said I wasn't your parent But you never liked to go to bed And so we cuddled late at night, in the quiet Although I never could put my arm around you, only by your side It was just one of your things Like the way my kisses were just too slobbery So we started doing butterfly ones When you turned 9, I left home But mom would still call me in the mornings when you were in bed screaming and refusing to go to school She would ask me to try and calm you down 7:45 AM...mom screaming and everyone flustered They never knew our secret We didn't talk for long but I reminded you of your superpowers And you usually got up In the next year I was away, we invented imagination hugs In fields of tulips and over the clouds Newly discovered planets and underwater worlds So many places we went to in our minds together You always closed your eyes and you might not have believed me but I also did every time When we got to the part when I hugged you, I felt your love envelope me My little one, my innocent I came home when you were 10, heard you made friends With girls you later told me you didn't really like You could never be friends with girls your age because they did mean things Like waste food and step on ants And the adults you didn’t like either Because they always made fun of your dreams So you started daydreaming all the time Like in the car and in your third grade history class You daydreamed when there was business talk at the dinner table You hated it I know you never said it out loud But once you whispered in my ear that you wished they didn't talk so much about that stuff You said adults were boring And that adults gave up on their dreams You were right You got real big and so I took you shopping for your first bra But I made sure to tell you that even though you were growing ******* you didn’t have to be an adult quite yet Suddenly, you had bigger thoughts and wondered a lot About why people threw out their old carboard boxes Instead of turning them into houses for the crickets or models for people's dreams About what we got out of light pollution that made it worth erasing the stars You wondered why people didn’t just sew their own clothes And asked if it was possible for you to go to one of those other schools you found online Instead of sitting in a stiff row of desks every day As the world let you down, you grow more and more quiet your eyes opened, your throat closed and your words dried up Then you were 11, almost a women, and the world had even more rules And so you locked your bedroom door I hoped you still wondered, still had dreams But we only spoke about real things once in a while You were a little girl soul with big girl ideas and big girl problems You watched adults cry and scream about things that didn’t matter And so you stopped crying about things that did You slept with your cousin when she was too scared to sleep alone And woke up to comfort your big sister You even gave me with hugs when I needed them That same year, you made a friend you actually liked, she was my friend You loved her because she saw you And would talk to you about your dreams And when I didn't have the time to cherish your innocence. She did On the night she was in the hospital and I thought she died You came and comforted me. You were the only one I let in my room No one knew really how connected you and her were You said nothing, but looked at me with these beautiful sad eyes I'm not sure you really knew much But we always spoke in shmush language anyways At 11 and a half, you cried to me about the girls in your class How they once called a black man awful names and how you ran out to the bathroom and cried I still saw a soft little girl But now you read biographies of black people in front of their faces, to teach them loving kindness You still get mad at adults for being boring and always thinking about money And still don’t get what money really is anyway You still ask me why countries go to war and why some people **** other people Why grown ups scream and argue and choose to live sad Now you watch videos of Greta Thumberg and learn about climate change And yet, you still get mad at people for not recycling Your eyes are still sparkling You hold the caterpillars in hand And build worlds with old tree stumps Your heart is on fire But you're growing more silent with time More soft and delicate about your words You never shout what's on your mind anymore I guess you've learnt that people don't hear your dreams Your eleven now, though My beautiful soul of a sister Your eleven now almost 12 And then 13… And 14… And 15… My little girl- I'll always believe in your dreams Please, though, grow a little stronger, and get a little louder Your innocence is your beauty, your pulsing heart But this broken world doesn’t need your quiet It needs your voice
0
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 12:37 AM UTC
Rivka
When you were born I didn't know that you would crawl into my bed at 11 years old asking me why it was that some people were just so mean I guess I thought you'd live a little longer in your womb-like dream When you were 5 Mom asked me to put u to sleep because you wouldn't listen to anyone else And so we would sit on our magic carpet which was maybe a yoga mat or perhaps an old newspaper And dream of  places we could go to in our heads Places we would go to together They said I spoiled you I just didn’t want you to grow up like anyone else I guess I didn’t want you to grow up at all At 6, I told you, you had superpowers Just like the fantastical creatures you read about in books you had your own magical powers too You believed me then, a part of you still does You used to whisper our codename in my ear once in a while Superpowers you'd say and smile; it was our secret A Secret no one else knew but you and I At 6 and a half Tally died You didn't sleep for a few days You cried more that week then when Grandpa died I didn’t know until then that someone could be so deeply connected to a turtle In the way that you were But I learnt that you'll always be able to speak to animals More than any of us ever could When you were 7, you wrote little notes to your teachers in the margins of your homework They were painfully sweet and childlike in their innocence Probably ended up in the trash Once someone made a comment about it They said you weren't supposed to do that and that was you wrote was babyish You shrank inward a little... I know it hurt I'm not sure you wrote that much after Then at 7 and a half, you understood how school kills every Childs soul   But still, Mom made you go You were petrified of becoming a boring adult So I sat you down and taught you to brush off what your teachers said To just doodle in the corners of your notebook and dream I bought you an ideas book, told you to create worlds Your teachers called worried They said you were spacing out a lot But I smiled inside when I heard At 8, I used to sneak into your room past bedtime Mom hated that I did that She said I wasn't your parent But you never liked to go to bed And so we cuddled late at night, in the quiet Although I never could put my arm around you, only by your side It was just one of your things Like the way my kisses were just too slobbery So we started doing butterfly ones When you turned 9, I left home But mom would still call me in the mornings when you were in bed screaming and refusing to go to school She would ask me to try and calm you down 7:45 AM...mom screaming and everyone flustered They never knew our secret We didn't talk for long but I reminded you of your superpowers And you usually got up In the next year I was away, we invented imagination hugs In fields of tulips and over the clouds Newly discovered planets and underwater worlds So many places we went to in our minds together You always closed your eyes and you might not have believed me but I also did every time When we got to the part when I hugged you, I felt your love envelope me My little one, my innocent I came home when you were 10, heard you made friends With girls you later told me you didn't really like You could never be friends with girls your age because they did mean things Like waste food and step on ants And the adults you didn’t like either Because they always made fun of your dreams So you started daydreaming all the time Like in the car and in your third grade history class You daydreamed when there was business talk at the dinner table You hated it I know you never said it out loud But once you whispered in my ear that you wished they didn't talk so much about that stuff You said adults were boring And that adults gave up on their dreams You were right You got real big and so I took you shopping for your first bra But I made sure to tell you that even though you were growing ******* you didn’t have to be an adult quite yet Suddenly, you had bigger thoughts and wondered a lot About why people threw out their old carboard boxes Instead of turning them into houses for the crickets or models for people's dreams About what we got out of light pollution that made it worth erasing the stars You wondered why people didn’t just sew their own clothes And asked if it was possible for you to go to one of those other schools you found online Instead of sitting in a stiff row of desks every day As the world let you down, you grow more and more quiet your eyes opened, your throat closed and your words dried up Then you were 11, almost a women, and the world had even more rules And so you locked your bedroom door I hoped you still wondered, still had dreams But we only spoke about real things once in a while You were a little girl soul with big girl ideas and big girl problems You watched adults cry and scream about things that didn’t matter And so you stopped crying about things that did You slept with your cousin when she was too scared to sleep alone And woke up to comfort your big sister You even gave me with hugs when I needed them That same year, you made a friend you actually liked, she was my friend You loved her because she saw you And would talk to you about your dreams And when I didn't have the time to cherish your innocence. She did On the night she was in the hospital and I thought she died You came and comforted me. You were the only one I let in my room No one knew really how connected you and her were You said nothing, but looked at me with these beautiful sad eyes I'm not sure you really knew much But we always spoke in shmush language anyways At 11 and a half, you cried to me about the girls in your class How they once called a black man awful names and how you ran out to the bathroom and cried I still saw a soft little girl But now you read biographies of black people in front of their faces, to teach them loving kindness You still get mad at adults for being boring and always thinking about money And still don’t get what money really is anyway You still ask me why countries go to war and why some people **** other people Why grown ups scream and argue and choose to live sad Now you watch videos of Greta Thumberg and learn about climate change And yet, you still get mad at people for not recycling Your eyes are still sparkling You hold the caterpillars in hand And build worlds with old tree stumps Your heart is on fire But you're growing more silent with time More soft and delicate about your words You never shout what's on your mind anymore I guess you've learnt that people don't hear your dreams Your eleven now, though My beautiful soul of a sister Your eleven now almost 12 And then 13… And 14… And 15… My little girl- I'll always believe in your dreams Please, though, grow a little stronger, and get a little louder Your innocence is your beauty, your pulsing heart But this broken world doesn’t need your quiet It needs your voice
Written by
themoonisrising
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 12:37 AM UTC
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