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james 4d
She lies in the Bay window, tilted head
she lies in the upstairs bedroom, lingering dread
she lies about sleeping, sleepyhead
she lies about work, wants to be dead.
R B M 5d
I feel a great guilt
When I think to myself
She is the worst.
I know deep down, she does love me
At least more than she should
I’m the one who tells her she’s not being fair
I’m the one who says she’s the worst
For loving all of her kids, except me
For giving more attention to the others
For wrecking my whole life
So many times over
Sometimes it feels like she doesn’t see me anymore
Like she doesn’t think I’m as smart as everyone tells me I am
So I deny their complements, because if she can’t see it, then it’s not there
And then I complain
I focus on all the things she does that make me feel so sad inside
I can’t see that she’s trying to help me
Out of worry
I take note that she never says I love you just because
It’s only when she thinks I need it, or when she knows I’m upset with her
I see that all she wants is to be liked
But really she’s trying to be there for me when I need it
I feel a great guilt
When I think to myself
She is the worst.
But she’s trying
And she does love me
More than she should
Because in all honesty
I am the worst
Please forgive my guilt.
chitragupta Oct 7
Dear Mama,

I've felt a darkness in me
Something not of your inheritance
But a teaching of this world

I know you've felt it too
You've feared it enough to think
one day I'll have my shoulders turned

Blood binds us in ways,
your love in others
These bonds are not so easily shattered

I know I've never said enough
But words serve demagogues,
To us, they do little matter

I trusted you
to put me on my two feet
I ask of your trust in me to walk

Your strength inspires more
than you have ever known
I might surprise you if I choose to run

You're always so wary
of the storm I'm weathering
But it's nothing that I can't take

I may have strayed from
the path you set me on
But I promise not to lose my way.
Just Ty Oct 7
Is it just me or maybe it’s that I am just a different breed
For there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do when it comes to my seed
I would walk the distance just to be able to put food on the table
I go by many different names but bad father isn’t one of those labels
I don’t understand how parents are ok with just getting by
Because I would do anything for my kids to touch the sky
Maybe I’m wrong and maybe they are doing all that they can
But perception is reality so you have to understand,
Where I am coming from for Im not trying to be the bad guy
I am just asking the questions that we all want to know; why?
Why is it that you have enough money for your drugs
While your children’s stomach is the only thing they’ll hug
These children are walking around with holes in their shoes
All while every Friday night your cabinets are stocked with *****
Isn’t it annoying to see all these dead beat
But dead beat mothers isn’t a conversation to be had
Doing more than what we are doing for our children is my only wish
Because they are the victims here for they didn’t ask for any of this
Dandelions Oct 7
I feel like the stray cat
that lives under our porch
you always feed me
and I always come back for more

You keep me warm
keep me safe
I have a knife for a tongue
and so do you
but mine is poisoned where yours is blunt
Translated by Jarek Zawadzki

Tell me, Mother, do, at least in a dream
And I'll believe you that it's so up there,
So still and windlessly as it might seem
For when I put my ear unto the bare
And frozen ground, with a reunion theme
The ground comes up, that we should join forever
In a union that no contretemps will sever
And that, transformed, we'll take the likeness of
A philosophical and wordless love,
But you won't tell the things I can't infer
Or maybe you are not exactly sure
I think that, as if lyrics immature,
You tease me like a Christmas caroler.

Wieslaw Musialowski 3/8/2007
Jarek Zawadzki is a translator of literary works from English, Esperanto, Latin and Chinese (both modern Mandarin and Classical Chinese) to Polish.
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 5/27/2019

Mother, you know - darkness is coming,
so lend me a lantern
that I may distinguish in the dark what is black.
That I may feel the white of the jasmines,
though their smell still makes me think of death,
but this affliction I would like to cure.
Plant the soothing flowers
and say - on the field furrows, like on a lowland meadow,
moments of happiness bloom as well
from a passage - to a passage.
Send me a letter of hope that you will be able to come
and that you will blow the candle out
when the time to wake up comes.
You will lead me by the hand because I am still a child,
and I'm not ashamed to ask you - talk to God there
about difficult matters - after all, you also
shared the burdens of existence,
here where every day is different
and where there are no sinless.

Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 5/26/2019
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). Regards.
Alex Oct 4
I turn a page and my hoodie sleeve hitches up.

She sees the red that circles my wrist as tattooed bracelets
And suddenly her nails are cutting too
Deep into my shoulder
And suddenly her voice is a wounded gunshot in my ears
And suddenly there are tear tracks on her cheek that sizzle on my skin between the lines of my story and suddenly
I wonder whether she cries poison or is it acid? And
Suddenly I am trapped in this room because every square inch is Her and suddenly
I’m not here because someone else is pressed against the radiator with this Monster Of A Woman crying toxic waste and breathing sparks
Gripping their shoulders too tight too-tight-don’t t o u c h them you’re leaving Bruises and suddenly
I don’t know which of these people below me are the villain because
The one with flames instead of words is
Four gaping feet away
And the one with purple-black splashed
Where feathers would sprout has gone,
glass-eyed glacial
Unresponsive to the way salt droplets are supposed to erode ice
Not make it thicker somaybe they’re the monster
Of the same cracking clay

‘a lonely couple makes a child out of clay, with disastrous or comical consequences’

A terracotta boy is a joke of tragic origins and suddenly
My art teacher is preaching to me that if you over-heat Clay, it will explode and
Their back is still pressed to that
Roasting radiator
And the air is still heated with residual flame from the Dragon’s blaze of words and this atmosphere is
B u r n i n g
And pottery only survives so much
Crimson before it
And suddenly And suddenly

She’s yelling, why didn’t I think of her before doing this to myself?
My back is blistering as I bite my tongue
“Mother, I thought of you every time that blade touched my skin to create wounds you once kissed away”
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