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Ankita Gupta Aug 2021
It's been years since we left
Not just us but also the place where us existed
If places moved on, I would have taken ours with me
Would have claimed it to be mine in the aftereffects of the separation
Would have fought for it in the court of places for full custody
All the nooks and corners would have been mine to embrace
They would still have you in memory, and that's what we would have had in common
We both would have been craving for your presence, but too stubborn to let you in though
But for better or worse, places don't move on and that's what we indeed have in common
Alex Nov 2020
I wish my mom would look at me as a person rather than a prize
In her eyes parenting is a competition

If I choose to spend more time with him she is losing
But she must win, to her, there is no other option

Then the minute she is ahead she loses the ability to even acknowledge me
Because of her, I am lacking in the stability I so often crave
دema flutter Feb 2019
the tears stroll down my cheeks,

the words come out all wrong,

as your perspective of me isn’t my reality,

under construction,
is the fight against my tears,

that there is strength in vulnerability,

your tears from their cells
and let go of the custody of pain.
Jarvis Dec 2018
first a checkerboard of red and white squares
trapped between thick black bars.
Days of the week,
and I was wrongly convicted.
My fingers reach for help through my metal cage,
yet only receive paper cuts
on the corners of divorce letters.
Letters drowned in blood bleed off the page
and stain my Saturdays and Sundays.
now neatly separated into red and white columns,
walls dividing weeks and weekends.
National borders barricade one house from the other.
Two countries clash in a
war waged with
two atomic blasts burning
my culture into ash
white as paper.
the absence of red and
the erasure of my father
from the calendar taped to
my mother’s refrigerator,
and I’m frozen in place.
a vast snow-white plane:
One step forward,
nothing in my future.
One step backward,
blizzards in my past.
ground made of paper so thin,
with every step,
life crumples under my feet.
trf Nov 2018
i'm a yellow chill
a daffodil in the rain
thought i found my place
kinda heard to explain

sip each glass of wine
your palette needs a rest
taste his *******'s brine
along your lips

signing documents
you can't help hide your grin
sweat beading down your brow
my nervous penmanship

is this what they call peace
four hundred dollars an hour
the clock says nine past three
rounding up minutes they devour

caught you dead to rights
my son's new step father
when he sees your blight
harvest grapes turn sour

i feel constant dread
our son can't cope the truth
so far above his head
your soulless attribute

i'm a daffodil, more like a coward in the rain.
These troubadours, between truth and lies, corrupt lovers, women and husbands and keep saying that Love proceeds obliquely
A tenso (Old Occitan [tenˈsu, teⁿˈsu]) is a style of troubadour song. It takes the form of a debate in which each voice defends a position; common topics relate to love or ethics.
Paris Apr 2018
I’ve never seen you look at me
with the loving look that you
should give your daughter

I’m always in the back
never to be seen
to be heard
never to be thought of

With headphones in my ears
I push out the sound of your voice
I drain out the sarcasm and hurt
With the beat of music

Never was a genuine smile from you
No words of encouragement
No heartfelt “I love you”
Never even a decent conversation

Couldn’t pay for small things
that I wanted
never even thought
about my birthdays
or holidays with me

In a Dark spot I wait to see you
Yet you’re never there at the end
Always Mom
Never is you, Dad

You’ve never done anything
for me that was heartfelt
never tried to strike up a
conversation with me
never even tried to genuinely
spend time with me

My feelings for you always be love
but is slowly being
consumed by emptiness

The man shaped hole in my heart
will never be repaired because
you’ll never make an effort
to stitch it back up

would you at least try
to make an effort
all I’m asking
What I really want
is for you to just
look at me
Jey Blu Dec 2017
Didn’t you wish they cared?
Didn’t you wish they wanted you?
Didn’t you wish they pretended?
Didn’t you wish they wouldn’t have started it?
Didn’t you wish they hadn’t hadn’t showed you the pain?
Didn’t you wish they would pay more attention?
Didn’t you wish they never said what you wished you’d never hear?
Didn’t you wish they saw how it affected you?
Don’t you wish they cared sooner?
Don’t you wish they didn’t want you back?
Don’t you wish they didn’t pretend?
Don’t you wish they would just end it?
Don’t you wish they would let you feel the pain again?
Don’t you wish they didn’t pay attention?
Don’t you wish they would say it again?
Don’t you wish it didn’t affect you?
This is about my parents
Carolina Dec 2016
The snow drifts from the roof tops,
Lights shine in the brisk evening.
Cheer is spread,
Joy follows behind the winter winds.

Letters are sent North to Saint Nick,
Children dream of what might come in the early morn,
Prayers are shared around the dinner table.
Memories are created to be never forgotten.
Stories being shared with those you love.

Tears fall upon my pillow,
While bellows of laughter echo,
From the other side of the bedroom door.
Life seems to be coming to a stop.

My only Christmas wish is to be by your side,
Surrounded by the most welcoming family,
The warmest love,
The family I always hoped to be apart of...
Yet it still isnt feeling like Christmas.

The joy, cheer and laughter being stolen away,
The pain hiding behind a fake smile..
The words echo "it could be worse."
If its true I dont want to know what it is.

My only prayer is that I wake up by your exciting yells.
All my letters to dear Saint Nick saying one thing.
"Please bring him home."
All go unanswered.

My only Christmas wish is to hear you say,
"Im home Mommy."
Hold you in my arms as we see what Santa has blessed you with.
nothing pushed my creativity
more than someone trying to
take my baby daughter from me
peaceful on the outside
to helping
I always wanted to save the world
now it is with unmatched
and inescapable vengeance
helping everyone
especially my students
with early childhood trauma
but deep down in my world of communication
a whirlwind that no one really knows
but I must add
I now have absolutely no doubt
that the passion that has been
culminated in society
that I get to experience
comes from the shared experience
of children being taken into slavery
this is the destruction of the human origin
which we need to have a nice happy ending
we all come from Africa
not from slavery
and when I am a black man
all my lifetimes that have been
tortured and killed
for being accused of being angry
by any means necessary
genocide of us
the only choice is creativity
and although this in itself
is also a threat
and will get me killed
atleast it does not satisfy
their lust for dismembering
my freedom
into their pickle jars
of liberty
for their children to save for their children;=elan%20gregory&qid;=1459178234&ref;_=sr_1_1&sr;=8-1
Cheyenne Baker Dec 2015
When I was younger, I would wait for him
to die. I loved him - at least I wished I did.
He used to be my D.A.D., and acronym.

Remaining in the mobile home, amid
his “hidden” *** toys and unlocked arsenal-
when he would return, my brother and I hid.

His I.Q.? Soaring, but he lacked a soul,
he killed kittens for fun and never got caught.
Covert sociopath; maintaining control.

Court ordered visits left my mother distraught,
she wrestled the system over us for years,
our knight in shining armor that always fought.

The battle was won after many shed tears -
to a ****** life we forged, pioneers.
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