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Vi 4d
I'm afraid that if I die

People wont know things only I know

Like how N likes their carrots

Or how L loves her dad

Only I know this, like this

Of course others know some of this too, some of the time

But no one

Not one single person knows that you

You two

Are perfect

I mean this literally

I was gifted this knowledge when you were born

I know this viscerally, like this.

Or that you're beautiful in ways that make me hate words

In ways that render language hollow, meaningless, obscene

I am not being dramatic.

And also that you are good

By which I mean loveable

Like very and always

Fundamentally, inherently

This is not something you can ever change even though you'll probably try

And you might convince other people

Maybe even your dad, or your therapist, or your lover, or yourself

But you'll never convince me

I don't know why

This isn't something I did, or discovered or worked towards

I just know this

And I need you to know this

In case I die

Which I will eventually.

I hope by then my living knowing will become yours

Because I believe you can know this too

In a way, I know you already do

Its the truth, and the truth is always knowable and always here. Although sometimes we misplace it

So I'm here to remind you, for as long as I'm here

And I'm leaving you this in case you, or I, or death, misplace it.
This is not exactly a will. More like "I cant bear going without you knowing".
Survived May 1
I have to make them proud
but I don't know where i doubt
They make sacrifices for me
but all I do is to let them down
I always endeavour not to hurt them
but it's me because of whom they cry.

Maybe I am cursed to make their life miserable
Maybe I am a loser who is destined to fail forever
Maybe I should stop giving them hope
Maybe I should move out from their lives

I'm hopeless, I'm empty, I'm broke, I am faithless, I'm vain, I'm a failure.

Just for once i wanted to hear them saying that they feel proud because of me but maybe I'm their doomed son and just like me my dreams will also be in vain...
coqueta Apr 30
I’m angry with you. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of feeling so small and disregarded. You’re so big. You use your size to stomp me into submission. You’re a bully. The little get picked on and the rebellious are punished. The hate bubbles up in my throat and I become exhausted.

I wish I was seven feet tall and if anyone dared talk back to me I’d beat them till they shut up. I’d scream at them and smack them over the head and if they cry it’s their fault and they deserve more. Like you. I hate it when you scream and even more than that I hate that you can’t admit your faults and refuse to grow up. There’s no light in your eyes, no brightness in your heart, and your soul remains dull and ugly. I pray God forgives you, and I pray He gives me the ability to forgive you too.
Abuse has the ability to breed a lot of hatred in people, and I think that’s forgotten in favor of painting us like pitiful victims. We’re bitter and angry too, and undoing the hatred that was gifted to us by our abuser is a lot of work.
Steve Page Apr 22
I do not mind carrying you,
you carry the conversation while I breathe
and your breath warms my ear

I do not mind the angle at which I hold you
as I bathe you and listen to you sing
and your arms soap my cheeks

I do not mind the slow fall onto the bed
your light keeps us aware of the night
and your dreams bruise until you forget

I do not mind,
but I wait for a dawn alone.
I led a staff network of parents and carers for several years.  They are champions.
Persephone Mar 15
I lost my faith in religion when I lost faith in my parents
If they couldn’t save me, what chance did god have?
M Tamura Mar 3
I see you so often in my dreams,
working magic by being close it seems. It's hard to believe you've gone away, that I'll never get to see you, with my hair all grey. But I'll never have to decide for you which treatment you may need or have to put you in a home because your mind had seized. I always worried that someday I'd explain that I need to take away your keys, and that you'd look at me in pain. Those are the only positives I can muster with your loss, I can list those with a half smile because I'd feel uncomfortable being boss. Love for me in this world, went down dramatically when you left, for who loves unconditionally and who knows best? I can only weep and mourn you just like I had with mom and hope to god I'll see you both, in the ever after beyond. I am so very thankful, been lucky enough to have had such a loving and awesome dad.
Kaemae Dec 2021
I knew nothing
I’m no better
And I’m so sorry.
I’ll do better, and pray for what was,
but I won’t be there.
I wish I was but I just can’t care.
I feel like parents expect too much from kids. When you don't fit you're parent's perception of you what do you do? I'm looking for feedback so that I can improve on my writing. Any tips?
Jenni Renealynne Oct 2021
You screamed at me for the agony your dead parents caused.

-it wasn’t my fault.
Chris Bee Sep 2021
Because you sang to me when I could not sleep; because you held me when I needed it; because of the years of laughing and crying and other lovely and terrible emotions I see in the lines etched in your face; because you never once held me back, never once doubted me or my own path; because you never let all of the painful moments and mistakes I had pass without showing me what God wanted to teach me; because you accept my flaws, accept my needs, and push me to realize I am worthy of love and happiness; because you gave me the strong belief system that I rely on daily; because you showed me what a healthy family is, striking the dream of growing my own one day into my heart; & because you are my mom and dad; one I share your namesake, the other made me your spittin' image, and when I hear my name, or see my image in the mirror, I can't help but feel you close to me, and no matter the distance, I feel you holding me when I need it, and hear you singing to me when I cannot sleep.
Part 1 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from Samuel Green’s “Some Reasons.”
M R White Sep 2021
She knows of the sensitivity that riddles me.
Even the quickest of her words I catch, and they leave my hands red.
Why mother?
Why do you spit venom at me, and weigh me down with cruelty?
You know how I nourish my sensitivity.
You know I will eat up and gnaw angrily on your words.
I try to pick out what I do not want to hear,
But I hear them anyway. You know my ears are always open.
You know I take everything to heart, why do you take advantage of that?
Why father?
Why pick a woman so bitter and cruel?
Do you not want me to be loved?
I have a wound in my chest.
And I try to fill it with her love, but she offers me none.
Where can I lay down all this guilt my mothers give me?
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