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Lost Jun 2
At my brother’s
Graduation party
And they all know
What I did
Three months ago

They try to talk to me
But give up eventually
Because all I have to share
Is how is continually fail

“How’s school?”
“Not great, but that’s okay.”
Inside I know I flunked the semester
And didn’t bother to check my grades

“Where are you living?”
“At my mom’s still.”
“Oh, that’s great!”
Little do they know
I’m moving away
To live with a man
I know they all hate

Sneaking away from the crowd
To smoke cigarettes behind my car
This is the only time I’ve felt
Safe and comfortable so far

No more lies
No more “I’m doing well”
Just alone with my poetry
Alone with myself

Three months ago
I thought of them
Before I swallowed those pills
And tried to leave them

I knew they’d be sad
But I knew they’d move on
Nobody cares
About a no one
Nobody at family gatherings has ever really cared to talk to me beyond the polite surface questions besides a handful of family members who handle socializing better than me and are busy talking to other people. Since I tried to commit suicide, I feel like the judgement I felt before has deeply intensified. I didn’t like family gatherings before, and I definitely don’t now. It’s draining, fake, and isolating. I’d much rather spend time with people who aren’t secretly scrutinizing me. Don’t get me wrong, I love most of my family, but I guess family gatherings just aren’t my thing. If you really care, you’d bother to spend time with me or talk to me outside of these gatherings. That’s how I can separate those who actually give a **** versus those who don’t. I am grateful for the ones who do care and who have checked in on me or touched base with me since my attempt. It made it much clearer to me who really cares. My cousins, grandparents, and great uncle are the only ones I feel like I’d really be able to depend on, but I still feel so estranged from them. I don’t know what my problem is. I wish I could just open up to them.
Anne J May 14
Time prickles its victims
Death spikes out families and
Life gives no retries
Another poem for my final project for art journaling class
shamamama Apr 11
I met Mother Taro once,

        She is an angel you know

I saw her in the greenery of
John Pia's Taro Patch.

She dawned the past, the present
and the future
More plant than woman,
and yet more root than angel wing--
Though her heart shaped wings
Repelled water as well
as any albatross or nene.
A rare bird in spirit.

She shared her plight to me
Of this modern time,
Watching the changes
In the faces of human kind

She remembers being a Goddess
And providing for all the people
In a time where she
traveled with the people
Over waters near and far
In double hulled canoe
To share her spirit
With new families.

And now, she feels like a myth
Told and retold by the elders
Alive more in the memories
And less on the land.

As she spoke, the message
Became more and more clear.
When might and power and greed and money
Seem of more value than
Root, wing, earth and pluck
We must take the time,

take the time

To tend each keiki and tend with care
So they may multiply
In healthy soil, water and air

So We the Living
Can live into eternity
For the winds of time
Will spite the might,
She said.
Seize this time
Seize this  day,
Seize this moment
to tend
We the Living.
May John Pias Taro Patch live on into eternity.
Anne Mar 7
when I was younger
home was the best place ever.
whether it was birthdays
which now feels like
a long-lost dream. since we lived in a tiny
house. a family of six huddled up together
in a tiny room to celebrate. maybe times
were simpler or maybe we didn’t have much then.

or on days, mum cooks
which always was a rarity.
she never played an active role
but our younger selves made sure
at the end, we’d be grateful.

things began to shift
when we grew older.

the happy house felt like a dark
gloomy one. smiles began to
be replaced by shoutings.
birthdays began to be less common
and sooner like we all imagined
it would become something
attached with the past.


when i became older
i tried becoming friends with
my younger self. somedays were
a disappointment. somedays we faked it.

I’m still trying to.
Mononymously I called for a name
Navigating words through memories
Sorting failed hopes by the thickness of its pain
But by what time have I to stop
To settle for what faith serves thee.

Inequalities of a family
Reaps burgeons of fantasies
More than realities.

As precautions mold happiness
Youth graze from beneath unfinished dreams
For family has lost its made
emily mikkelsen Apr 2017
between the concrete river
& the park where the bums share a bottle
wrapped in a brown paper sack,

there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses
holding hands & sharing manicured lawns
wooden cars that don't even make any smoke
drive down gray asphalt streets.

fathers that tell mothers they have jobs
wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums,
like they already are one.

all these paper families rubbing shoulders
until everyone has paper cuts.
going home to dinner around a table full of paper love.

suburbia is flimsy
paper towns shining white
smiling neighbors & shared lawns
paper people slowly falling apart.

couples with their tongues down each other's throats,
midnight in supermarket parking lots
dribbling beer in the backseat
they bought off the bums.  

they say,
I love you, I love you, I love you.
until she leaves for a paper husband
& he leaves for a paper wife.

now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs
with the same cutout love,
as the parents they despised.

& when they have kids one day
they will tell them
never kiss before driving,
never befriend bums,
or guzzle cheap beer in backseats,
or on park swings.
& never settle for a paper husband
or a paper wife.


remembering the love
that was flimsy,
but never paper.

100,000 miles away from where they grew up
& 3,000 miles away from each other
3 kids each & plastic houses
rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns

living in a paper thin suberbia
chafing under their paper love.
inspired by "Paper Towns" by John Green
niqniq Nov 2018
Quiet household
They do not hear
Loud whispers
Harsh reminders
They very much feel

I have 14 tiny moles did you know
I can count
I count when they fight
I count when my mother couldn't
count on my father

We don't talk when we fix
We huff when we move
We hiss when one makes a sound

I tie the broken nylon guitar string
Just for fun
Around my neck
It hurts a bit but
This kind of pain is not as bad as
The one I'm trying to rid myself of

My sister tries to listen to them
My brothers distract themselves
I write these things
I hear my father yell

THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN

We'll be alright.
The precise date and time was when this event happened.
My family isn't perfect. I could tell you that we're dysfunctional and at times, especially during my earlier childhood years, abusive.
But we're trying.
mils Oct 2018
.
I've met men
who would rather climb mountains
then raise families
they spill lies like fountains
time and time again
This is insanity

I've met mothers
Who would trade their children
For another high
Painted as they are, villains
But they still ask “why?”
As they dump it on their brothers

I’ve met parents
who don't let their kids cry
And they grow up mad
at themselves
At society
But deep down, they're sad
packing problems away on shelves
And it grows, anxiety
They try to down in Barents
For those who don't know, Barents is a sea! Feedback is very much appreciated.
Marilyn Heavens Oct 2018
Tsunami came from nowhere,
Mother nature called aloud
Bringing with it only sin,
Bearing devastating sacrifice
and death to all and kin.
Reality hit home within the first few hours,
As news came through the world soon new
It seemed the earth had cracked in two
Now our world is flawed with devastation
Death, pain, and desolation
We pray for those who died
And feel for those in pain
Our people’s lives were taken when that brutal mother came
This mother came from nowhere upon the highest wave
Bringing in destruction, death and devastation,
Loss, horror, and hopeless apprehension.
These words cannot portray our feeling of dismay
Our minds in fear as we shed a tear
For those whose lost and those who suffer
Awaiting news or searching through the thousands.
Undignified, coming to terms with loss of those who once loved but now no longer.
Mother Nature played her part so viciously,
Leaving just a simple question…why.
Today I pray alone, but I know I am not alone for the entire world will pray with me.
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