Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aquila May 10
I waited on many mothers with their daughters today.
my last table had a prada shopping bag with them.
they stayed an hour after my shift ended.
did they think
I didn't have a mother
waiting at home?
of course, my mother wasnt at home.
she, too,
waited on many mothers with their daughters today.
i wonder if she realizes,
in another life,
we would be at the table
with a prada shopping bag
give me a few years, mom.
we'll get there.
they didnt tip either
When my daughter asks
If I ever loved a man before I met her dad
I will tell her yes
I loved with all my twenty one year old whole heart had
And I'll tell her that it's grown since then
My mother recently took me to another doctor
she said, ‘her condition is becoming outrageous ,
she hasn’t laughed in a year, avoids any talking,
never leaves the house until the night draws in. ’

And I think the sun should rather concern her.
Burning things don’t make good companions.
Bought a ticket for a train, northbound at night,
my eyes hurt from the condolences of daylight.

Went back south in September, I surrendered,
had to promise to be good again and presentable.
Indifferent on life, did I suffer from depression?
It’s not been an illness but a philosophic decision.

One Sunday, it was quiet during breakfast time,  
somebody from town recently took their life.
Rised brows behind the newspaper’s edges,
secretly, I admire the courage and recklessness.

But I act eager and am polite with relatives,
at holiday occasions I behave and give kisses
until one proposes a toast to life being a gift.
I say nothing in exchange, I feel guilty to exist.

It all changed one day, when I found me a lover.
He sins for amusement while I sin to self punish.
I love that he’s mortal, of a perishable texture,
hope to be buried, rot with him in the graveyard.

We agree on senselessness without any pity,
he watches me fail life and thinks it’s poetic.
We can’t hurt since there’s nothing to heal from.
A physical love wich in it’s essence is platonic.
riri Jan 9
eating ramen while sitting across each other
spending quality time together, for the first time in years
just you and i, how it always used to be when i was young
and for the first time in years, i enjoyed our time together

oh dad how i miss you
when you were my best friend
i miss when we'd laugh at nothing
and all the inside jokes we had

i don't want to hold on to this hatred against you anymore
i can't hate the man that used to be my other half
no matter what you do to me, as much as i hate to admit it
you'll always mean so much to me
i wish there were more days like this
LilyAle Dec 2021
I am the mentally ill daughter of a mentally ill daughter.
This is my birth right.
Along with skin that begs to be picked, bags that drag, and attitude given the name
Gifted eyes that stay red even after it's been hours.
We have been doomed from the start.
I think we've known this from the start.
Maybe thats why we are so angry.
John Van Dyke Dec 2021
He carved a headboard out of pine
And shaped it til’ a bird-shaped thing
Emerged. And then, he thought,
‘One could do worse
Than sleep beneath an angel’s wing’

‘Perhaps this wing will keep me safe
When darkness comes, when lights are dim
I’ll think of Psalms and sleep’, he said
But little did he know
What Heaven had in store for him

Until the day his daughter came
And with  her  daughter, rested there
And then he knew a miracle
Had waited patiently to come
In answer to his wooden prayer
Heaven sent my daughter, Elizabeth.
Nigdaw Nov 2021
my daughter
left a bath bomb
on the windowsill
of our bathroom
it looks like the moon
has crashed to earth
breaking into pieces
I watch it disintegrate
in the moisture in the air
every day more and more
and as I watch
I miss her
s y kalindara Nov 2021
I am not my father's daughter;
though I have his walnut eyes and raven hair,
I don't leave my fury's aftershocks behind
to ricochet off my bloodline,
and the cracks on my walls were born from cheap paint,
not the turbulence of my fists against skin,
slamming doors and the echoes of my sins.

Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
I wish my father wasn't so angry.

(p.s. follow me on instagram, if you'd like to @sykmusings ♡)
Next page