from birth we're allotted
a given time
wherein our lives tick
to the clock's chime

some shall stop curtly
short of their days
whilst others carry on
till the elderly frays

time is our prevailing
regulator
of us it's the foremost
dictator

hands of a clock
circling around and by
oh how the hours
do unceasingly fly

waste not a second
of precious existence
ever keep stride with
all of your persistence

at anytime our clocks
can deem an end
and of us they'll so
effectively suspend

U 2d

In the time before,
I was empty, miserable inside,
A wretch whose every smile was war,
Whimpering for a curtained place to hide.

The day, desolate;
Night, in its black stillness much the same.
Pitched pain, itching for an exit,
Legs set to cease the heaving hate and blame.

Now, I feel my heart
Beating love-blest power through my chest.
Before unfelt, its bucking start
Divests the owner, all along mere guest.

Symphony, rise, crest,
Condescend to my low-sighted view.
I sleep to wake, straight-up obsessed,
Eight letters and a period for you.

Careful now, don’t jest,
Lest my past peers profitable heist,
Dethroned selves sing out through the mesh,
Anguished, set to vanquish their sole poltergeist.

So, patch; never cease
Paragon of love’s delightful dawn,
Persisting for the barest piece
Of you, the whole of why I am not gone.

A little something
I've been working on
For my one and only
Truly only one.

“No,” she said “just no.”
I wilted,
watching her detachment
as if I was an insect crossing her plate
to be brushed aside.
Embarrassed, shutting down
where hope to share myself had sprung
but met her disdain.

But I’m your mom,
and they don’t care,
these strangers without a single string to your heart
or mine.

And yet she yanks on mine
as if my thoughts will hurt them.

What can I do
to get through to you?

It’s not my life but yours,
and someone else who loves you
that may fight
then move away.
I pray it’s not ahead for you.

I don’t have the luxury.
You demand my heart
the way you did my womb.
The hope of all our years
placed in my arms and at my breast
after sweat and tears had left my body.

My baby,
my everlasting love,
my singular weakness.
The one I could never turn away.
Dismissing a part of me with “No”
as if I need permission to be tender
and reveal myself.

Where did I go wrong?
I don’t allow this from anyone.
I walk.
But no one else has my soul by a cord,
through my heart,
taking nourishment for life
and sending back a sense of purpose.

Nothing greater in joy or pain,
than mother.
And this, I know,
is ahead of me for life.

For anyone who has ever been bruised by their child.
Ormond Oct 5

.
We are born,
There is some joy
Lighting a tiled room
And the first cry echoes
In the spray, sterile hollows.
A woman simpers, flush
And torn, whimpers, softly,
Under the phosphorescences
Of terror and delight, where
A man sees his own doom
Fast approaching as he weeps
With measured happiness
And one foot by the door.

Little creature, welcome
To the world, make up
Your presence known,
Bulbous and brightly
As melons in the sun,
Waiting to be plucked
With another lover
Indifferent as you,
Arbitrary as any name
Grasped for, looked up,
Placing you into this
Home of strangers,
This globe of shadow,
Shining dimly, eyeing,
To name you quick,
Holey, somewhat
Real.

Phebe Oct 5

Your face came to me in dream.
I knew what it was to hold you
before I ever actually did.
Your voice was drowned
by the ringing of a church’s bells.
They tell me I should have listened better.

You’ll come into this world
screaming in my defense.
Though already stained red
with the sins of another.

Mallory Sep 26

I want to cultivate my being so bad,
Exponentially expand.
I want to maintain this cultivation,
And refrain from all the circumstances that make me sad.
I want to stand taller than anyone else thinks I can.
My resilience is infinite,
A uniqueness,
Like the swirls in your fingerprints and all the grains of sand.
My sadness is a part of me,
I don't owe an explanation,
When I need to be.
And when they don't understand,
I will know no one can, like I can.
No one will embrace my heart,
With tender hands, Like I can.
I am my own, standing loud,
barely breathing a word.
I am my own, and any defeat I face
is not my death; but my birth.

Jane Sep 24

My father said, I was meant to have a sister.

Perhaps, the darkness she was meant to have I absorbed.

Surrounded by affection,
infatuated with popularity,
never have been disliked by anyone.

That's me.

constantly jealous,
caved in with paranoia,
never fully understood myself.

That is ,also, me.

Is there any purity left in a heart that craves vengeance?

i have read once
that  " what is after death "
                       "your deeds "after birth
                            "hell , for sinners"
                               " heaven for innocents "

                                 "its reflection of you "
                                    "your deeds "

searching souls
Katie Sep 15

Recovery is a lot like natural childbirth for me.
You think you know what you were getting yourself into but you don't.
Then you feel like you have gone through as much discomfort & pain that you can handle being pregnant for so long.
It's like when you leave treatment and you're ready for the end of all of it.
Then comes the hardest part; the actual pushing. That's the real life stuff that nobody can do for you. Not your therapist, not your family or friends & not your midwife.
The contractions & everything hurt so badly that you think you're surely going to die.
You think to yourself "I changed my mind, I take it back, I'll actually stay pregnant forever, just don't make me push this baby out."
But you're already in the trenches, there's no turning back.
You can't avoid it even if you wanted to.
You scream on the top of your lungs.
How on earth does anyone agree to do this whole recovery thing? You feel punk'd.
They weren't honest about how painful & excruciating it was all going to be.
They made it sound so exciting...
snapping & congratulating you on the way.
Screaming.... my midwife looked at me in the eyes and said calmly but sternly...
breath... keep breathing. You'll get through this. We don't want you to tear, deep slow breaths.
Deep slow breaths....
Apparently you're suppose to grunt through the pain, not scream, screaming wastes your energy & prolongs the whole process.
Oh but scream & cry you will.
You breath, cry, grunt & keep pushing forward even though you think it's impossible.
All of a sudden through all the chaos pops out this little tiny human being that you love & can't even describe the newfound beauty.
There's slight relieve but your still in so much pain & need more healing.
You will have love, pain & sleepless nights.
It's not easy, not one bit.
But you have given birth to real life.
There's lots of unknowns & it's now apart of your life forever.
Get to know yourself in recovery..
Take care of your new found precious life.
Love it like you would your own child.
Sure we don't know what the hell we're doing but we'll stumble along the way and figure it out.
One day those sleepless nights will pass & that child or recovery will grow and it will get easier.
Don't give up...
even when you're screaming & see no way out.
Keep pushing forward.
You are giving birth to new life for yourself.

ambient Sep 12

if I hadn't been born
in February,
then perhaps the first color
I'd have seen would've been
green
(we have a hell of a lot of parks)
instead, all was white.
but I must correct myself
before the pro & upcoming artist hordes
all jump on my ass:
"white is NOT a real color!
you don't know anything!"
that's about all the colors
we have in this city:
green, white
and not to forget
gray.
you're right folks, I don't know much,
but if I say the latter are colors,
then they are.
ok?

9-3-17, 22:50
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