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rhenee rose Oct 5
His childhood room sits atop of a minefield;
With words berating against the walls;
Breakfast comes in a belittling bowl;
As the lieutenants loiter within the halls.

Stand by, move cautiously;
You might set something off.
Keep close track of your every move,
Perfect the execution or they'll disapprove.

Dare not to cry, keep those fears hidden;
Showing weakness around here is deadly forbidden.
Lost in the field of verbal grenades;
Thrown by those meant to provide him shelter.

It’s been 34 years since the war has happened;
Yet these minefields still exist somewhere in his mind;
I think his parents may have forgotten;
He wasn’t a commander, he was just a child.
A poem about the lasting impact of childhood trauma and emotional abuse.
They are ours.

The still small, smiling, crying
laughing, angered, forever hungry
Except for when its time to eat
Children.

Your children from your hips
My children from my *****

The answered prayers.
That flit to and fro
Fast and slow.
The sleepless nights
And late mornings
And causes of worry
And constant delight

We made those.
kel Sep 30
i looked over at my parents
all their gaze on that laptop
listening to that stupid course
while i eavesdrop

the course is about
how to handle teenagers
and all i could do was
do what teenagers
do- ignore.

i tried my best to not laugh-
i mean after all-
they made the effort to try
but i don't recall
them treating me the way
the talk taught them to-

and all i can do is just
cope with all the
disappointment
without saying huh

because i'm confused-
i'm trying my best
but i'll never be enough for you :)
neth jones Sep 26
'pup' is sad and so says
i point out a 'v' of exit geese against the sky
says he's not sad anymore and he's not
a child's power  just like that
observation of my five yr old child
09/24

early haiku style versions -

1.
viewing the exit migration
of a v of geese
my child's sad mood goes

2.
exit migration
  of an echelon of geese
my child's sad mood lifts
rushii Sep 19
Eight years since I lost my dear brother,
To a rare condition, like no other.
Only so few of the population can get,
It took him swiftly, leaving me with regret.
 
I never got to say goodbye.
I was at home, tears filling my eyes.
My heart shattered, my soul in pain.
Ever since that day, I've never been the same.
 
I wonder if my family feels the same.
Or is it just me, drowning in endless pain?
I raised him like my own child, you see.
So, his absence has left a void in me.
 
A couple years later, I met a guy.
I felt real happiness, like I could fly.
It was surreal, like a dream come true.
Something I never felt when I was so blue.
 
We built a life together, so sweet.
Everything seemed perfect—a true feat.
But soon the fighting began to grow.
And once again, I felt the deep sorrow.
 
Another loss came: a child was taken away.
My heart shattered; nothing left to say.
Blood on my wrists, tears on my face
Feeling broken, lost in a dark place
 
I asked God, Why did this happen to me?
What did I do to deserve such misery?
I've been kind; I've done my part.
Yet life continues to break my heart.
 
One night, in a dream's embrace,
I saw my children’s grown-up face.
No longer hurt, no longer sad,
Just happy, smiling, free from bad.
 
Since then, every time I weep
My children comforts me in my sleep.
I let my tears fall like heavy rain.
Just to see them again and again.
I don’t know anymore.
I was never asked to choose a side,
it is to fate I must abide.
I am the child that war has aged, I am the soul that time has caged.

I am the breeze lost in a storm,
I am that flower whose stem was torn.
I am a dream never achieved,
I am the innocence that war conceived.

Among the rubble I stand alone, my precious home a pile of stone. Out in the cold without a cover,
I starve to death or may recover.

I am the cries and all the screams,
I am the victim of corrupt regimes.
In every battle or every war,
it is my blood they always draw.

I am a bird without his wings,
I am the child who lost his limbs. Amidst the fear and all the dread, I am a body amongst the dead.

To every general who wears a star,
I am the one who bears the scar. I am the only voice of hope,
with all the horror I have to cope.

I am bewildered and feel ashamed,
to see serenity within the sane.
I am, the child of war.
MetaVerse Sep 17
Father God
Doesn't spare the rod
Or spoil
Any boi or goil.
Francie Lynch Sep 17
Mammy died years ago,
So I'm older than her now,
Though I never feel this way.
But I'm younger than my father was
Years after his delay.

I'm an aging Granda now,
But I seldom feel this way;
When in my memories,
Where they truly lie,
I'm still their son today.
Mammy is  an Irish term of endearment for Mother or Mom.
God
No feat, without a shared liberty
Dote or dole, saviors are our nod
Bared eyes of justice, took anarchy...

Sense beyond a horizon
Speed is a gift, if given lit
Poor days of callous seem, a more won
From the exaction of you, your wisdom and wit

Wishes for little futures
Are mine, mind the pace of hate
Pale was its name, a done so curious
Furious in flight, and a soul so late...

Look with your many, a might's heart
Is a single love, sat before me
In the darkened eyes of worlds, is a start
To live better than love has a right to be...

The nature of children
With further power, I know a spirit's fun
Let like a grace was, the truth of the wind
Spare to will, we will know it's life for one...
the discussion of times shares and simplicity endowed, has a view on the darkest of corners of the truth
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