please don't make that face anymore.
it's not that i don't want to see you happy
but your teeth, i can tell,
you got from your mother.
tiny pearly whites
all perfectly squared
your eyes squint just so
while your top lip hides
and i love to make you happy
but that face, it still haunts me.
short-statured strong woman,
her pistol grip is firm
as she aims at me,
a finger casually on the trigger
i'm not allowed inside her house
or near the child she hates so much.
the stairs are busted up and
threaten to crumble
between my soft steps,
i think of the bruises
your collarbones wear
and how your knees give out
when i touch you there
hold your fire
i trudge down these stairs
withholding my tears
God Forbid i tread too hard
and in the collapse,
comes all of her secrets,
hatred, and beatings.
so, please, angel,
you can cry into my shoulder,
i'll hold your body and keep you safe
but in your smile i see the devil's face
it's not your fault
i just don't understand
how does this ravenous devil spawn
such an angel?
I barely remember the beach, we went there and
it was sunny at first,
but the clouds came and covered the sun.
I know I didn't wander off too far, but I remember feeling like
was between me
and the sand.
As I walked, poking my head just above the surface, (I couldn't swim then, either) my feet sank down into a hole.
I've been through things and I've felt things a child shouldn't, (wouldn't I be brave?), but then it seemed as though the water was swallowing me up. i was scared.
i fell under, choking, my throat quickly becoming sore from the salty water. i managed to get back to the sand, but it feels like my soul stayed in that hole. i guess i grew up too fast.
I used to have a diary that I named 'Tina' because somebody told me that it made writing easier. As a way to get me to journal.. ?
I feel so incapable and small. I feel like shit for all of my short comings. But more than that, I feel like shit for the shit I've had to go through. I hate how as I feel every feeling and especially when it gets bad, my mind instantly goes to the logical side of things. "You're feeling this way as a result of not taking your medication. You're feeling this way because of experiences you had as a child, and that's completely normal." And I list all of the reasons why I feel the way I feel. Why the fuck do I have to make logical sense out of how I feel and not just simply let myself feel?
And none of this matters at all. Because at the end of the day it's still going to hurt, and I'm never going to forget my childhood. And I don't know HOW to move on.
And then there are the good days and feelings of euphoria where I feel the pain and I am able to address it without letting it consume me. I know it's there, but there's so much more than pain. Thank god for the times where I'm actually really happy.
But tonight I feel like shit. And I miss my mom. And I even miss the house with ciggarettes in the flower pots. I just really wish I could hug my mom again one last time. And feel her heart beat against mine again. I wish I could have said goodbye. I'll never have that closure. And I'll never have a do-over.
I only hope to be a better person than I am today, and keep on growing. I hope to be kind and compassionate even when I've grown to be so cynical. I hope to never stop finding the sky beautiful and majestic, or the wind soothing.
And I hope to always be worthy of the love those closest to me give me. Because that really is what keeps me going when it comes down to it.
Those that love me make it all worth it.
THERE IS A PART OF YOUR HEART
THAT YEARNS TO BE FREE
WHEN YOU ARE BORN IT IS
THERE FOR ALL TO SEE
AS YOU GROW UP IT IS
COVERED OVER BY A LOT OF HURT
TRYING TO LET IT BE FREE
SOMETIMES WILL NEVER WORK
AS YOU GROW OLDER IT IS
THERE FOR ALL TO SEE
JUST LIKE WHEN YOU WERE BORN
AND YOUR HEART WAS FREE
MUSHY BUT NICE
Crippling silence hold your tongue
When you talk from your fingertips
Flaming game you walk with fame
Sad kisses you leave on my lips
They say she has your devious heart
All I touch is your disfigured soul
When I get lost in your wild eyes
I get nothing but my aching soul
You are flawlessly worn out of life
Like diamonds your pretty face shine
A promise to lit up my crazy world
I wish they will say you were mine
I walk alone through the city streets
You are never alone on Friday nights
Twisting and turning your fate around
You went in the gates under the lights
Don't make me sad while I fight
Loving you is never enough
Tough love you seek and I cry
You see my pain just blue bluff
Distorting desires keeps you high
I can see you slowly going insane
I am so scared like a little child
Now you kiss me in the pouring rain
A shadow falls on a life worth living,
And expels itself to a being new.
A face cold and pale that once was youthful,
Attributes harrow to those in view.
A newborn's cry may be distressing,
but why be fearful, as it's still.
It will not be yet still forever,
and peace will come when it is through.
A life to live while it is living,
a death to die when it is due.
When a silenced voice is gone forever,
why be silent while life is new.
You're not who you were.
You're not who you will be.
You're part way up your steep frail stair
And always will be.
You're a part completed work.
You're perfect as you are.
You're emerging as from aged oak block,
A part-seen piece of art.
You're a faint chime in the wind.
You're a symphony by Brahms.
You're an orchestra tuning up
At last night at the proms.
I love you as you are.
I love all you will grow to be.
As I hold you in my arms
Lost in your newborn beauty.
They stand, the two of them, enveloped. Their bodies the segments of an orange before
ripped apart by delicate, hungry fingertips.
It is rush hour in Brixton and as she leans against this
unsteady machine, he holds her as if her limbs might fracture and fall
and land at their feet,
as if they might become neighbours to the newspapers and trodden gum that have
made their home there, dirty, discarded, at ease.
Silhouette quietly nestled into his frame, sharing shadows
she, is elsewhere.
Gaze transfixed by a small being in front. A tiny entity that holds all of her undying
attention. Her lips bitten down to their core,
skin replaced by yearning and fear and a tenderness that you could touch.
The child’s tangerine lips waver hesitantly and then burst open, releasing a giggle
that sounds like fallen dust in sunlight, if it had a sound.
The space between them becomes a mirror, so much that the infant’s mother
looks like she has just learnt the definition of the word ‘envy’.
The tube falls into the station, and the passengers are squeezed out:
a frenzy of rushed beings in their most natural, narcissistic state.
From across the platform in rush hour, the train leaner is a mother.
And in her arms, oblivious, her lover.