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Sarah Spencer Mar 2013
Trust me you said.
I’m here for good now you said.
For a while it stays true.
You call.
We talk.
I remember every thing you told me about yourself.
My siblings.
I yet have never met to this day.
13 year their big sister who remains a mystery.
Like a good sherlock holmes story, checked out but never returned.
Lost.
You had blonde hair.
Green eyes like the grass
Yellow specks here and there as if the grass was drying out.
Dry and cold like your heart and your soul.
You were short and loved the color blue.
Yet I, your very first child, you know nothing about.
A child nothing like you.
Yet your looks remain upon my face.

You vanish again.
Mommy where’d you go, I ask.
But a mother your not.
You never have been a mother.
Just a sad cold shell to hold me in
Until I was born and then you took daddy’s money and you were gone.
Like you did to the nine other children.
To you they were all just a paycheck in waiting.
Waiting in line.
Nine months at a time.
One after another.
I look around and around.
I call and I call.
Ring after ring.
Click after click.
Answering machine speaks.
Like a broken record that can’t stop.
For fear that if it does...
It will never play again.



I wait and I wait
You left me so why do I care?
Why am I waiting by the phone and praying that you call.
Waiting like a fisherman casting out a line.
Trust me you said.
I’m here now you said.
Trust you?
The only thing you ever taught me was trust no one.
Don’t tell me you promise.
A promise is a mere word you use to get your way.
To make me think that you have changed.
Yet i fall for it.
Over and over.
Just STOP!

Its been two years since we’ve talked.
But I remember your voice like it was just yesterday.
I haven’t seen you since I was five.
But I remember your face.
See it every time I look into that mirror.
An image.
A sound.
That’s all you ever are.
That’s all you’ve ever been.
That’s all you’ll ever be.
A slam poem to my birth mother.
Sarah Spencer Mar 2013
The pane of glass in the window
You always look through
but never at.

Heart of sorrow
Beating only from the flow
Of hope through her veins
Under her skin of snow

Voiceless
Silent ears
Of ones around
Never making out a sound
From her lips
A word was never found

She’s invisible.
Sarah Spencer Mar 2013
The leaf it falls
off the branch
to the ground
It falls.
Not making a sound.
Its falls.
Off the river bank
into the water
it falls.

Red, yellow, orange
the leaves they fall
for winter is coming
the leaves they fall
from the tall tree tops
to the roots below
the leaves they fall
Through the wind they soar.
Red yellow orange
the leaves they fall.

The leaves are gone.
The branches are bare.
The leaves are gone.
The snow has fallen.
The leaves are gone.
Sarah Spencer Mar 2013
Soft scuffling of grandpas boots on the wet dirt
As he kicks a rock down the path
A soft sigh escapes his lips
And the rock falls into a small mud bath

The sun slowly rising
The new warmth spread across my face
As i close my eyes
I hear grandpa soothing voice
we’ll be there soon he says

I open my eyes to
The dew covering the fresh cut green grass
In the wide open field
The daffodils and tulips ready to bloom
Forming a shield around the new stone
That has been placed in the middle

The place grandma always loved
Her favorite spot for lunch
We’d share the pies she’d baked
And grandpas ham sandwiches

My nose filled with the smell of fresh soil
Grandpa pulls me in my little red wagon
Down the small hill
Its squeaky wheels and long black handle
A handful of daisies
And me in my white sandals

Grandpa pulls up to the stone
And a soft tears escapes his eyes
down his wrinkled cheeks
As he pulls a single **** that had grown

I squeeze his firm hand
The tears fade
And a smile appears
As he kisses my head
And looks up to the sky

Sometimes,
You can smell grandmas perfume
And pies in the field
She sits and waits
As grandpa returns
Day after day
For lunch.
A poem about a grandfather taking his granddaughter to visit grandmas grave for lunch.
Sarah Spencer Mar 2013
Tell me who you are.
Tell me who gave you the right.
Tell me who told you it was okay.


Who told you it was okay.
To tell a girl she isn’t beautiful because she is secure without makeup.
Who told you it was okay.
To pick on a girl because of the clothes on her back.
Who told you it was okay.
To laugh at a single teen mom who struggles on her own to give her baby life.

You.
Alone.
Being selfish and insecure.
Not knowing where you belong.
Does not make it okay.

Who gave you the right.
To take away her confidence, and smear makeup upon her beautiful skin.
Who gave you the right.
The make her hide in her home because her clothes aren’t enough.
Who gave you the right.
To take away her strength and give her baby up.

You.
Trying to fit in.
Looking for a place to belong.
Coming from a broken or ****** up home.
Does not give you the right.

Who are you.
To tell her, her confidence is ugly.
Who are you.
To tell her, her thrifty mind makes her poor.
Who are you to tell her, her strength will never be enough.

Tell me who the hell are you.
Who the gave you the right to play god.
Who the hell made it okay for you.

Ignorance isn’t bliss.
Its pain in the making.
And you are nothing but a *****.
Sarah Spencer Mar 2013
The razor it lay
As it calls out my name.
Ready to play
His evil little game.

The pain scratches my chest
From the inside out.
Never giving me a rest
No matter how loud my cries
Its laughter never dies.

Temptation at my door.
Her repetitive knock.
Over and over.
She never seems to stop.

I want to win
But never will.
She’s just to loud
Must make it stop.
Must make daddy proud.

I fight and fight
But the pain is to much
An addiction as such
Is to hard to quit.

I know I’ve lost.
When the blood dances down my arm.
When the noises have stopped.
Things are steady.
Things are calm.
Till the blade is ready.
And temptation come back.

The cuts and blood
Stare back at me
With disappointment
As I pull down my sleeve
The game is over.
Now its just me.

— The End —