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Not once did my mother teach me how to cook.
I failed at each meal I prepared for you.
Even if you said it was good or delicious
the thought I had to google recipes
instead of taking the ingredients
from my lineage
was depressing.
So
I cry each morning.
I cry each morning for you
and your hands.
I cry because
I can't stop writing.
It is like I shot my brains out
on paper
without pulling a trigger.
I cry because
our dog died
when we were arguing.
I cry because you took me
drunk
and don't remember
the dogs in the house
or the ukueles in on the wall.
I broke.
I broke my silence
and my snot
is all over your
sweat jacket
for days.
My mind is like
a marathon
of memories
lurking down the curve of my spine
into the nightmares
I have of
you being
hit by a car and loosing
your legs.
Who is going to take care of you now?
She is.
Because she is fancy
with her pearls and
white teeth vampire smile.
I am not shiny.
As I float down
this river of unfaltering tears
and burn your pancakes
Meruem Feb 5
I was never a fan of pancakes,
Honey and butter just doesn't cut it.
But I am longing for the comfort that it brought;
Things are different when I am with you.
February 5, 2019 - 18:33

Hello, Poetry! It feels good to be back.
I miss waking up to the smell of your delicious pancakes.
Sweetly covered in maple syrup.
And the sweetest smile you served with it.

Now all I can wake up to
is to the smell of burnt breakfast.
Sugarcoated with cooked up lies.
That I keep feeding myself to stay alive.
“What did I ever do to deserve this?”
Johnedel Rubinas Oct 2018
Pancakes

Soft, circular, fluffy delight.
Euphoric taste, ******* to the mouth.
Heart pounding, as Aunt Jemima lathers her essence all over this treat.
Fresh bright fruit falling onto this plate as if it were sent from the heavens.
An earthly treat from Mother Earth, guaranteed to fill your satisfaction.
Savouring every bite, tingling all your senses.
A meal that could tickle ones soul and enlighten their day.
Pancakes, a synonym for yum, the definition of bliss.
Cjf Jul 2018
You were the epitome of cliche jokes and the feeling of a warm fire after being in the cold.
You were the glue to keep the 1000 piece puzzle together.
You were forgiveness in hardships
You were hammer and nails on the tool belt that a worker wore with pride each early morning and every sweltering day and all the long nights
You were dancing to commercial jingles
You were waking up excited Christmas morning to pancakes
You were trust
You were more than 2 family gatherings on holidays and having time stretched thin between the different 5 ones we had to go and choosing which one we wanted to attend
You were a secret holder
You were making weekends an hour long trip every weekend
You were holding hands with my mom while you drove and talked and laughed so
You were taking the role of "dad" when the one who fathered three kids didn't want to be
You were love in its best form
Until you weren't
Naked Writing Nov 2017
Sweat
runs rivers down
the planes of my face
drip dropping
to the asphalt
and sizzling there;

I wonder if it's true
that I could fry an egg
on the tarry New York sidewalk
melting under my feet

I think I'd like to try
I think I'd also prefer to be that egg
in the cool air of aisle 9
where someone will pick it up
and take it home
and make pancakes
laughing
with the person they love
Insta: @nakedwriting
Rae Slager Oct 2017
You don't go to IHOP
at 3AM
for scrambled eggs
and bacon.
At least,
that's not the life I want to live.
No,
you go to IHOP at 3AM
for cupcake pancakes
with a Reddi-Wip smile
and a warm cup of hot chocolate.
You go for explosive laughter
for tired eyes
for falling in love.
You go to IHOP
at 3AM
for memories
that will last a lifetime
and friendships
you hope
will never end.
IHOP at 3AM
is for drowning your worries
in blueberry syrup.
For being alive.
For being human.
Andrew T Jan 2017
For a week straight, I avoided going to the supermarket, even when my stomach grumbled and the fridge stayed empty and lonely. And instead, I looked through my binoculars from the tree house my dad had built with a few planks of wood, nails, and a rusty hammer. A place he’d built before I was put into my mother’s arms and put into a bright blue cradle. Blue as the shirt Abigail was wearing, the same day the cops busted her for giving head to my best friend Isaac in my Toyota Camry. Right in the middle of the parking lot of the supermarket, as I bought pancake batter and cage-free eggs for breakfast.

And Abigail never ate that meal after she spent a week wasting away in a cell block, reading JD Salinger stories over and over, as though his words could heal her marks and bruises.

Today, I made pancakes and eggs for breakfast.  I waited for the TV to load a Netflix show, hoping Abigail had learned from her mistakes. She passed me the salt and pepper shakers, as I lit a cigarette, sat in a chair, and smoldered.

Abigail put her face in her hands, cried for a bit, even reached for the ***** bottle.

We went to the supermarket later, walked down one aisle, and picked up meat and potatoes. As we headed for the self-checkout line, I passed the breakfast section and saw the pancake batter and the eggs. Abigail crumbled to the floor, said, “I’m so sorry.”

After that, we never touched breakfast.
Samantha Dietz Oct 2016
two o'clock in the morning
your eyes glow against the moon
who would have know that i
would fall so hard, so soon?

three o'clock in the morning
whiskey and a cigarette
there stood a sweet young couple
who looked a bit upset

four o'clock in the morning
the music is winding down
everyone is sleeping
not a soul makes a sound

five o'clock in the morning
she refuses to tell him goodbye
as soon as that car leaves the lot
she feels like she is going to die

six o'clock in the morning
the smell of coffee is bold
she's making banana pancakes
for two, though alone and cold

seven o'clock in the morning
she saw him in her dreams that night
it crippled her upon waking
she almost forgot his beautiful eyes

eight o'clock in the morning
he needed to hear her voice
the only thing that could calm him
so he was left with little choice

nine o'clock in the morning
she watched the sunrise and cried
he had absolutely no idea
her denial of love was a lie
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