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Karen M Feb 21
My brother, only by a half, was the best half.
Gift giving was his specialty. I was four
when he gave me a faulty
Powerpuff Girl nightlight to push away
the darkness. I was seven
when he bought me a PlayStation with his favorite games
without a memory card. I was ten
when he made me an aunt to three boys
I’d only ever see twice. I was fourteen
when he sent me origami flowers
in the mail without a return address. I was eighteen
when he handed me
down his car that he tricked
our dad into paying for. I was twenty-one
when he sent his blue scrawl
begging and pleading across the lined
prison paper folded over a smashed and deformed
origami flower.
Ilion gray Nov 2018
When we fall,
We are not raindrops,
We are the dust of stars,
The puddles we make destroy
The concrete,
And, god does not hear the sound
Of our bones crashing-

Though I knew
you would never be home again,
I knocked on your door for hours/

God,

Was there,
sitting
In the stair well  

But


you were gone.
          
          Three days ago,
I watched
men in black Suits,
lower the expired shell you wore,

down into The parts of earth that never age,

   Still/

I've been calling for days,

      The phone rings-
and rings...

no angel,
has answered.

I imagine
that you are dancing,
Along some coastline eons away,
In a galaxy where
words like,

age-
Weakness-
pain-
And Cancer
Were never spoken-
Where the killers aren't pills,
Because prescriptions are  scarcely  written/
And the Hours  Of delirium,
Can not Wash away clusters of days.

The tragedy of forgetting,
patiently stalks
Memory in the quiet caves;
Where the secret pieces
of us
Are hidden.

  But,

I know what I remember,

Watching your eyes,
empty Their light across the cold ceiling,
                            
reaching,
into The bone white light
Above your hospital bed,
As if your sight,
had legs and feet,
and
you could escape into it,

But,
         that's not what dying is like/

                          I knew you would leave me here/

With all the demons,
their devil fathers,
Their heavy,
*****, Sweating
calloused hands...

Dragging me
out of sight,
Through the raggedy barn doors
Of  aged alder wood
warped
From rain and wind,
And Stained
As perspiring palms
Drip
innocence that is
Black,
And Creeping,
Thick as molasses,
Leaving your body
Escaping, through tiny
clenched openings.

Rolling over the ridges
Then dripping,
from trembling cliffs of fingertips;
Shaken loose at the hinges,
                    *****,

                                Outside of the light;
                     
Down Into their whiskey dreams/
      
           And,

                      I knew you wouldn't say goodbye.

How,  when the worst wind came Roaring,
Angry
and cold-
How, You would just grow old...
                                                          ­                         And die.
DG Nov 2018
I hope that even when you’re old and gray
You’ll remember how much your aunt loves you
And I hope that at the end of the day
You’ll remember each and every little kiss I placed on your forehead
So pure, so gentle
I give you more love than the world contains
MNDFL Oct 2018
Mom sends a picture of both of us
Once a year, it's very clear she knew about my trust.
I embedded my soul with you,
And was willing to ride until the machine blew.
I didn't know you'd disappear
Only to come back and torment me in later years.
I didn't know every memory
Was 1 cent of me.
I remember waking up,
Not seeing the car and taking up the school books.
Back then I was worried about cool looks,
Cuz I never thought people vanished.
Now you're gone and I'm famished;
Hungry for the Cup o dirt you failed to return with.
Fed up with the lock of hurt I've been burned with.
I don't believe in God like you made me enforce
Because any God that takes you that young,
Is not one I endorse.
I patiently wait and think carefully about my choices,
While I sit wary and try to remember your cartoon voices.

I dont remember what your voice sounded like,
Or how your eyes pounded on us like the sun.
I still miss and remember you
Because in a world of *******, **** people,
Lies from people who never seemed deceitful,
You were the sole rock that held true.
A tribute to my late aunt from the editor, a.k.a Profound Prophet.
B Elizabeth G Sep 2018
CRJ
I will never let you be cruel to yourself;
For you are the sunshine on my darkest of days,
And the sun can not shine without the confidence of knowing
It can light up the world.
To my niece, for you are the best thing that ever happened to me and I hope you always know how incredibly miraculous you are. Love, Auntie Peep
Harsha ravi Jul 2018
At the age of 12 my aunt said
" No one is going to marry you if you stay this skinny."
She laughed as I felt ****.
At the age of 13 my grandmother said
" Your teeth, they are not right you must fix it"
They nodded in agreement shooting me down with another bullet.
At the age of 14 my mother said
" Your skin is too dark, make it lighter"
She passed a ****** pack as I scrubbed my skin as hard as sandpaper.
At the age of 16, my great uncle said
" Your eyes are huge, go for a reduction surgery maybe?"
My heart sank as I rushed to save every dollar, every penny.
At the age of 17, I said to myself
" You are filthy, not worthy of a second look, not worthy of finding happiness, not worthy of getting married"
I realised my worth was decided, my abilities were limited and my future was cursed at the age of 12, very young indeed.
Parents don't realise every word they say impacts their children in more than 1 way, this is just how my family has affected me. Words do hurt people, we need to be careful of things we say.
Amelia Reeves Jul 2018
Between lazy drags and humble brags,
Daft and dafter, uproarious laughter.
Perpetually sought, an extra thought,
A missing chair.

Loving kindness may be innate,
But a great somebody raises somebody great.
So she was the Sun incarnate,
Because they have warmth to spare.

An ajar mouth, a dusty frame,
An eager eye, a familiar name,
“You would’ve loved her; she was just like you!”
Between freckles and smiles, I already do.
Terry Collett Apr 2018
Aunt Kathleen died.

He'd known her since
he could remember.

He could picture her
carrying lino
on her shoulder
down the stairs
in the shop.

Or the time she let him
stay the weekend
after uncle Sidney died
and he went to some
religious meeting
up the West End.

Or when she met his mother
when she was going with him
for a brain scan
after the breakdown.

Or the day he went
with his mother
to uncle Sidney's funeral
and saw how broken up
aunt Kathleen was.

Now he was at her funeral
with family and friends
and he and his brother
sat at the back
amidst crying and weeping.

The coffin was on trestles.
Flowers on top.

Music played
and songs she liked
her daughter chose.

He gazed
at her surving sisters
except his mother
too ill to come.

Time had aged
them all now
sitting in the front row
each waiting
(unknowingly)
for their time to go.
Nihit Bhatia Apr 2018
To some love is like four seasons,
Each representing a different emotion,
To some love is playground,
Running wildly all over the surface,
To some love is maturity,
Understanding eyes before they speak,
To me love was innocent, naïve, seeker,
Full of questions and riddles,
He was a young boy at heart,
and an adult in bed,
Ahh what a exquisite blend of all three he was,
Our encounters were secretive,
Only when he used to come during summer for vacations I would turn into wrapper,
Waiting anxiously to get unwrapped by his satin like fingers,
I might have crossed all boundaries,
Just to delay the opening of my eyes,
And lay like a mortal in his arms,
Our nights were congested by fanaticism,
Exploring diverse set of ****** nebulas,
Days and days I would transfer my soul to him as that's what kept me burning to live,
But finally the day arrived when young boy,
Alas my nephew announced his departure,
I shrugged away my relationship by blood,
Ran like a jaguar for his lips and pounced on them like a baby catching hold of mother's breast for milk,
We kissed shamelessly but the awkwardness shy away from us and I asked him,
"When will summer arrive in spring season?"
He said, "when the time is ripe to pluck the flowers inside you again",
He left, left, left and said adieu aunt.
©nihitbhatia
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