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deepblueckPoems
Sensing in snapshots, like all memory— the place she lived, died someone’s grandmother someone’s mother sister lover someone’s relic, left lonely sits time-full and timeless watching grainy tv beside time-empty me Such a good girl she rasps, kind Drugged by praise, I’m made More riding in creaking elevators up and down and up Beside white, gray, and silver shaped by bent backs by disjoints by the rusted curved of dentured smiles cracked wide at socially-indentured me Such a bright girl they chuckle, fond Strung on praise, I’m made Learning age is, on the whole impartial; neutral Palettes of browns and bones and life-scarred bodies, antiqued by time-patinaed flesh, made fragile; sore skin, brittle and torn by uncareful care by unhands Such a sweet girl they whisper, proud Purposed by praise, I’m made Memory is a soul-bible writ fast cast to last; a guide to seal us inside the word-coffins shaped by good bright sweet ghosts well-meaning us to survive until we lay down our heads, haunted daunted by the wheelchair of time Such a lost girl I sob, grieved   Burdened by praise, I ache I break I’m unmade
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Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025 at 2:46 PM UTC
Good Girl Epitaph
Sensing in snapshots, like all memory— the place she lived, died someone’s grandmother someone’s mother sister lover someone’s relic, left lonely sits time-full and timeless watching grainy tv beside time-empty me Such a good girl she rasps, kind Drugged by praise, I’m made More riding in creaking elevators up and down and up Beside white, gray, and silver shaped by bent backs by disjoints by the rusted curved of dentured smiles cracked wide at socially-indentured me Such a bright girl they chuckle, fond Strung on praise, I’m made Learning age is, on the whole impartial; neutral Palettes of browns and bones and life-scarred bodies, antiqued by time-patinaed flesh, made fragile; sore skin, brittle and torn by uncareful care by unhands Such a sweet girl they whisper, proud Purposed by praise, I’m made Memory is a soul-bible writ fast cast to last; a guide to seal us inside the word-coffins shaped by good bright sweet ghosts well-meaning us to survive until we lay down our heads, haunted daunted by the wheelchair of time Such a lost girl I sob, grieved   Burdened by praise, I ache I break I’m unmade
#peoplepleaser#identity#healing#society
deepblueck
Written by
deepblueck
36/F/USA
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025 at 2:46 PM UTC
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