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MC 7d
It’s okay that you never put me first
Because I will
It’s okay that you never let go
Because I will

Someday you’ll be someone that I once knew
Someone who someday might become someone that’s worth it to know
But I will never
Know that it could have been great
You and me; imagine that
For now; it’s been too late
I was worth it, you know
You held onto your pride and me; you let go

It’s okay, though
I forgive you
And maybe someday
Even today
I’ll miss you
Mom
Amanda Sep 24
Welcomed by Mother's well-meaning embrace
Touch tender as a trap could be
How could my poor mother know?
The path laid for her precious baby?

Naivety must have rendered her blind
To awful truths of this life
Pain is inevitable for everyone
No one escapes sorrow and strife

A happy bubble flourished years I was small
Raised a sweet girl who made her proud
Four members of a perfect family
Tucked in each night warm, safe, and sound.

Had riches beyond measure when I was young
I treated it like dirt
Ungrateful for blessings owned
I'd never experienced hurt

Time unwillungly thrusted me forwards
Stole innocent hours one by one
After that problems rushed swiftly in
Unappreciated happiness forever done

Heartbroken heaviness settled in my bones
Weight growing larger still as days go by
If mom had paused to really think her decision through
Would she have chosen to birth a daughter who would rather die?
Day three of the 30 day poetry challenge im trying to keep up with

Pick up the newrest book and flip to page 8. Use the first full ten words in a poem in any order and anywhere you like.

My words were: small sweet innocent tender young still unwillingly taken mother's baby
Why do you hate me?

I hate you because I see what I used to be,
I hate you because I am weak and insecure,
Because if I didn’t.. love I might see,
Because my childhoods impure,

I hate you because I lashed out on others,
It burns and I try to help me, myself and I,
Shifting my pain to another,
Anxiety twisting my guts to cry,

The child who spit and bit,
Who tore emotions to shreds,
Always alone, in a fit,
Knotting my brains threads,

Suffered like my brother,
Abandon fills my soul,
Even when my hearts a flutter,
Relationships a fanatics parole,

Childhood lessons, are a lack of love,
Behind progress of mental bars,
Abandoned faith, in I and above,
Til all I taste is hell and fallen stars,

I hate that it’s unfair,
Irreparable damage, I’d rather forget,
A twisted, burning nerve to care,
Feeling, letting you in, I’ll regret,

Can’t help but feel,
That it’s all some ****** manic coup,
Always believe I’m letting myself heal,
I hate, otherwise I might love you.
Nigdaw Sep 1
At first you will love me
With an honesty and truth,
Before you learn to use me
And abuse my love for you.


After a while you will hate me
Everything I do will be wrong,
And no kind words will touch you
Or cure the ills I’ve caused.


Then one day you’ll meet me
As an equal in life,
And find you never beat me
Or turned my love from you.


When you become a parent
You’ll understand such love,
Given without condition
And more than you can tell.
Jules AA Sep 1
Instead of telling me that he was okay,
she told me she was his lover.
She wanted me to hate her
she wanted him to die.

Traumatic aortic ruptures are not so common, luckily so. What a way to go. Drowning in your own blood and fluid. No prayers have saved anyone. Luck. What is god? What is a God. Where was he?
Why do his Sister think He wants him dead.
That is no god of love.
But is there a god of love at all.
Or only of misfortunes?
Prayers at the foot of the bed last
h
  o
    u
      r
         s ...
Because I don't know what else I should do.
What else could I do.
A machine breathes in slowly in the corner.

i know there's no god because when he was dying all he saw was demons. how can a good man go to hell? how can a god send good people to hell,
                          but never
heaven.

Was it heaven.
Inspired by Jorie Grahams writings on her father's death.
Stephen Moore Aug 23
Dummy turns a plastic cheek,
Ready for a drunk thugs slug of fist on PVC.

Father made dummy boy like some hurried Pinocchio,
But wood was too good,
Too alive,
Too sensing.

Plastic bends and buckles as the brutes words distorts a flexing mind,
Days pass and the dummy child goes to school.

A dummy listens but has no life of its own,
No words, works or wants,
No defence.

School boys laughs at the dummy child,
But the dummy has nothing to return.

Dummy boy leaves school,
Scared, scarred, plastic head stretched like elastic,
Tragic.

A dummy site in a window,
The object of passing eyes and self customised to court attention.
Plastic fool throws himself to the crowd and the whims of those who see his flaws.
I was bullied by my father and only now am I writing to respond
Nigdaw Jul 21
She sits
Watching tv
Omnipresent being
Glasses on the end of her nose
Eyes closed

Sometimes
Lost in a book
A bit of a thriller
She could always detect a lie
Bad vibes

Dab hand
In the kitchen
Always something cooking
We’re the recipe for children
She made

Mother
Always at home
Waiting for our return
To hear news of great adventures, the
Nest flown

Our lives
Are souvenirs
She collects our memories
Travelling with us through our days
From home
Carl D'Souza Jul 21
A parent in a supermarket aisle
slaps her toddler hard and
the child screams in pain and shock.

A teenager walking along a busy street
drops the wrapper of his chocolate-bar
on the footpath.

A woman in a cinema-theatre
in the middle of the movie
calls on her mobile-phone
her son to tell him about the movie,
disturbing the other movie-watchers.

A man walking his dog along a street
takes his dog off the leash and
the dog barks aggressively and lunges
at frightened pedestrians.
If seeds don’t tend to spill far from the tree,
I just can’t help but wonder where I’ll land.
In shame, my poisoned roots conspire to plant
unstable footing: reckless destiny.
You, cold in slow-birthed pain, beg to be free,
away from grasp of rope-red harnessed hands
while I struggle to find my feet and stand.
A narrative intended to repeat.

Don’t touch me. It’s a trap. I’ll never grow
into a pretty vessel with a use.
Dead roots infect their damaged seeds: echo
through gardens, plant by plant until they choose
to drown it out, to let the system go
and cut unfolding lessons at the root.
Renee Jul 10
My dear

Your body is yours to give
But is never anyone else’s to take

Beware the sweet words they will use
To try to win you over
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