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His skin was always so baby soft
I would sleep next to him when I felt like I was fallen apart
We where not attached at birth
In fact you couldn't wait to be away from me
You severed your life cord  
I did not nest in your  soul
I had to leave
I didn't try hard enough
Perhaps  when you where a  baby I held you like a gun
I'm your  trigger
Allowing the bullets in my head to erupt
I feel so much hatred towards the boy in a mans body
I love my son its hard even when his fists meet my face.
Rose Amberlyn Sep 19
The girl I once was,
Is gone.
The body I once had,
No more.
The understanding I once had,
Has grown.
The heart I once had,
Beats louder.
The skin I once had,
Is softer.

I am brand new,
In this old body.
When a baby is born,
So is a mother.
I like to imagine myself soft as down. All cream and pastel.
Much like a mama bird I would pluck the softest parts of me to build a safe place for you to rest.
Too stubborn to unburden myself of youthful idealism, but running short on feathers I find myself a fragile bundle of sharp edges.
I feel if I am not careful I could poke you, right in the eye.
But in this nest I've built for you,  crafted from the most tender, and pure parts of myself,  I find I can lay at ease.
Shielded from any storm or draft I take comfort in the soft wisps of your hair on by cheek.
Love is nothing new to me, but I have found there's no place like home. 
There was a time when I thought I knew how to carry that feeling with me. A time when nothing weighed heavy on my back. 
I have claws just as any other bird, but I am but a common wren.
For you I would give the world.  Even knowing one day,  you must leave our nest, to spread new plumage of your own.
The smallest little fingers,
Reaching out for me.
The darkest circles,
Lining my eyes.
The sweetest love,
You'll never see.

In the darkness of the night,
In the warm glow of the dawn,
You and I sit by the window.
Another sleepless night,
Gone.
Taylory Sep 4
Ode to the thirteen year old boy who found his mom passed out on the bathroom floor. Ode to the doctors that stitched her arms up. Ode to the father that had to clean the crimson liquid off of the floor. Ode to the doctors that saw her later again because her organs were failing due to excessive drinking. Ode to the liquor selling man for keeping the secrets from the family. The countless secrets. But over all ode to the thirteen year old boy. I can’t stress enough the fact that the boy was thirteen, no thirteen year old should ever experience what he did. The boy found his own mother beside the bath tub. The floors, once white, are now crimson and stained. No amount of bleach could clean up what was once there. She spelled out her mistakes on her arms with a blade. Letter by letter, each swipe brought pain and more of the thick crimson liquid. Each swipe was said to let out grief and stress, she did it so much until he had nothing to stress anymore... or at least until she couldn’t
Rose Amberlyn Aug 30
Her room is painted white.
A blank canvas.
Whispers fill my ears, of all her
Possibilities.
She is not me.
I have to remind myself.
Empty of memories,
Full of furniture.
I can see her growing here.
My little girl.
One day these coos and cries,
Will change to words.
She’ll sing songs instead,
Of lullabies.
I’ll savor every moment.
Every sweet little song.
In this room,
With the white walls.
My baby
Desire Aug 23
16 and pregnant, 17 with triplets,
19 with 4 kids, I don't know how you did it.

School, work, motherhood.
Way back then, we had it good.
Mind of a child, I misunderstood
what it took to raise us - but be
reassured:

You did the best you could and we know it.
Times got hard and we couldn't really show it.
You stood strong as you tried to keep focus;
Hid your pain and tears just so we wouldn't notice

all the mental battles you were going through.
I wish I manned up better to look after you.
Blind to the darkness that tried to dazzle you.
Didnt realize you was only tryna make it through

to the next day, you tried to pave a way,
for us to make it out them trenches and see brighter days,
Major struggles in the slums taught us major lessons,
To keep strong and move on, for that, you’re a major blessing

15 and stubborn was when I walked away
17, I signed them papers, 18, I left to train
19, & on my own, yet the thought
hadn’t hit my brain
It was at this stage of your life where things began to change. It was at this age...

School, work, motherhood.
Way back then, we had it good.
Mind of a child, I misunderstood
what it took to raise us - but be
reassured:

You did the best you could and we know it.

@desire.is.dope
20190822
2045HRS
ChrisYellow Aug 19
A muffled sound,
alarmed my ears
sharpening the senses.

My feet found the ground
before I could ask,
hands risen avoid shadows.

I tiptoed my way
through the dark corridor
anxious to find the door.

It was closed,
but I could hear feet
bouncing on the bars.

First placed my hand
on the cold ****
trying my best to relax.

Though the pounding
of a heart echoed
through my brain.

I opened it wide
as silently as
I could tremble.

A dim light escaped
filling the small room
with a eerie gloom.

Her head shot up
her eyes widened
with unspoken relief.

Her hands held
towards me in
completely vulnerable.

She could see me,
knew help had come
to set her free.

Soon released a giggle,
no words yet
just infantile drivel.

The beautiful sound
of a magical morning
in all daily glory.
- as published in 2019 Havik - Las Positas College
jigyasa Aug 7
i like to close my eyes
and dream of carrying my
toffee eyed baby girl
through museums and exhibits
uncovering to her
eons of renaissance magnificence.

i imagine us holding hands
walking through botanical gardens
humming at birds
blooming with flowers
talking about the ecologic manifestations
of modern day society.

i want to take her to NASA
and make her mind expand
like the universe has for as long
as mankind lived
and realize some concepts are
so vast, so unfathomable
that the greatest beauty within us all
is the curiosity leading us
to try and understand.

i want her to know
that this life
has stretched on for centuries behind of her
and will continue for centuries ahead
but her arrival
in this era, at this time, in this moment
is the pivotal point around which
my universe turns.
I think it is science, or art, or nature?
maybe there is no difference,
but when it works, it is beautiful.
Not like kittens in a basket,
but like a Mandelbrot set;
intricate, nuanced and perfectly balanced.

it is the balance that is my undoing.

In the beginning I was meant to hold her close.
gentle, warm and welcoming.
until that welcome and warmth reached
all the way inside her.
Like charging a battery for the first time.
but nothing comes from nothing,
and I ran dry.
too soon.

So now she wears my damage
like a wound, an accusation,
a plea.
and I want to make her whole,
but giving feels like punishment.
Like I have to choose; who will get
this oxygen? her or me?
and will everything I have ever be enough?
to fill either of us?
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