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in the time that you see this i will be asleep in the bed all ******* in my thoughts like you said that i would and you always have been right that eventually i wouldnt stand in this fight and thats always been true thats always been you and you know what to do to make this all go through so just say those "nice" words to the back of my head sleeping soundly on top of my pillows of dread dreaming that the sounds like my heart would be

i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore
i never wanted to hear it anymore
and thats why i blast the music until my ears bleed
to drown out the noises you keep sending raging after me
and i want to be free
see the world
see the free
and be me
but you keep chasing after the ends of my sentences begging to be apart of some world together
like this will last forever and that you have to fit yourself inside before the page runs out of lines to include us both in the same half a centimetre space
connected with no room to move
no room to breathe
no room to be free me or just simply be

so by the time that you see this hopefully i will be asleep and you will be asleep and you wont come to tell me your "nice" words again and wake me up to your screaming and we could all just go to sleep once without a fight of whos right and how youre right and new and true and how my blue is too much to live and breathe and
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

We need our children to keep us humble
between toast and marmalade;

there is no time for a ticker-tape parade
before bed, no award, no bright statuette

to be delivered for mending skinned knees,
no wild bursts of approval for shoveling snow.

A kiss is the only approval they show;
to leave us—the first great success they achieve.

I wrote this poem after fixing my son Jeremy some toast and getting a kiss in return. Keywords/Tags: children, success, parents, toast, jam, marmalade, skinned, knees, kiss, approval
Joy Nov 2019
A glass of milk
in the dorm
with you
tastes like being nine
at the seaside
in my aunt's house
after a long 7 pm sea swim
in the yard
making waffles,
one with chocolate
second one with uncle's peach jam
third one with cherry jam
topped off with a glass of milk
I had to hold with both of my small palms.
A glass of milk
with you
tastes like nostalgia.
Lady Ravenhill Jul 2019
Deliciously sweet
You know they're lies, but they taste
Like raspberry jam
@LadyRavenhill 2019
Haiku 110
Orchid May 2019
How can your soul
roam across this world

while it holds no care?

Drinks jam out of its jars
And sleeps in a bus shelter

Behind the toothless grin

and the dreams of the Boulevard
Aaditya Mar 2019
Your cherry coloured lips used to
bring the coral blush on my cheeks.
But now it boils my crimson within,
leaving my face all scarlet with rage.

You were the apple of my eye,
as precious as ruby to me.
But now, wine and water seem the same,
and jam never tastes as sweet.
What changed, dear Rose?
Why have you faded?
8M Dec 2018
A sweet sponge cake
With snow-white icing
And a single candle
As big as a basketball

The table's covered in silk
Confetti all over the walls
And the floor, too
It's time to celebrate

The candle lights up
They're hesitant
Too good to eat, they think
Noisemakers distract them

But there's no noisemakers to be found

One of them grabs the knife and sighs
It has to happen
The other make a wish
And the room goes dark

The knife makes a deep cut
Unexpectedly, jam comes out
They're scared
Invisible noisemakers continue to play
The cake remains still, unaffected by time

The one with the knife did not know what to do but throw it
And it hits another, but not the cake
Jam falls, drop by drop

The silky tablecloth gets ripped
It was never strong enough
Noise grows deafening

The birthday child cries
This went in an unexpected direction.
8M Dec 2018
You looked outside the window and smiled
"Can you make some jam for us?"
Obliging, you did so
You didn't know what flavor they wanted

So you did every single one
Blueberry, raspberry, banana
A plethora of colors comes into view
You always wanted to be an artist
To embrace the colors you see
A chance to be happy
But you're stuck making jam for them
Forever and always

At least it tastes good
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
Knife cuts the scone smooth
Happy thoughts with bitter taste
Fragrant memories
Scones with strawberry jam, one of my favourite snacks!
Which does bring back unpleasant memories, but still
Lyn ***
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