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zoe nichols Feb 15
Things are starting to fall into place
I think or am I lying to myself
What more could I ask for
I got the man
I got two beautiful kids
So why wouldn't I be

Yet I'm still stuck
Anxiety overloads
Scared of myself
What have you done to me
Wanting acception from you
But why

You don't care about me
You only cared when I sed
Yes here take it
Yes here control me
Yes here's my life

Your meant to show me
How to live
How to survive
How to grow up
How to be strong

Yet all you taught me was
How to relay on you
How to struggle
How not to budget
How not to love

So all I will say is
Goodbye
The hardest goodbye I've ever done
Soo ....
Bye mum bye dad

I will survive on my own
I will teach my kids
I will make them stronger
I will make them smile
I will make them laugh

Because that is what
A parent should do
caroline Sep 2021
I swear her eyes were the ocean
a world unparalleled humming behind her eyelids
offering but a seldom glimpse
when briny streams soaked her cheeks
delicate sand entwines my ankles
creamy shells pepper the shore
her laughter glides within the salty breeze
combing my hair most gently
I miss her so, but I fret not
for there is one thing I always knew
a deep-sea soul surpasses land
and she swims at ease
where she belongs
as tides lull and waves become whispers
her ocean eyes smile back at me
written years ago
Leah Ward Aug 2021
Mmm, the sound babies make
before they know how to speak.
Small murmurs in the dark, waiting for light through the window.
I try to follow the recipe:
Hazelnut, flour, pretense.
Stir, stir, stir.

I hear the radio from the living room:
Silent night, o holy night
My mother sleeps on the sofa,
and she’ll sleep until the light comes through the window.
Coffee sloshes against the back of my teeth like whistling wind on a train through Mumbai, and I hear the voice in the back of my head:
Take your mother to India before she dies.

Eggs, butter, time: whip and stir.
I am trying myself to bake the cake for my mother’s birthday. She deserves so much.
I think of the summer in the south
The neighbor with the baby
The mother wailing
I can’t do this I can’t do this
And I hear my mother’s voice in the back of my head:
If you want something done right,
do it yourself.
Duckie Apr 2021
I see you in the drunken man on the bus, singing hits
from the 60s,
I hear you when a man near your age belittles me, over a
job he knows nothing about,
I feel you when that initial rejection from someone hits, craving
validation you failed to gift me,
craving to be enough,
I smell you as friends open bottles of cheap ale, a scent
embedded into my bloodstream,
I miss you when I see a father and his child playfully race in the
park over the road,
I'm always wanting what I don't have.
Jason Jan 2021
I'll never see it's like again;
The springtime coming to life
In my grandmothers back yard,
The birds singing, insects humming,
Sun dappled camouflage on the pond.
One mid-morning, mid-mourning,
Dreaming of love lost,
Hoping for hope.
It's funny, how young love is like childhood,
Gone before you truly value it,
Only cherished after the fact.
Only, cherish that fact,
Value it, before it's gone.
Humor your heart, like a child,
Hope for hope,
Dream of love!
And some mid-morning, quit mourning,
Let your camouflage fall, feel the sun,
Let the birdsong bring you back
To the wonder of childhood!
Love the autumn of life,
You'll never feel it's like again.
© 01/10/2021 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Written about one of the most beautiful mornings I have experienced, wishing that a certain person were there to share it.  It was one of those moments where you don't really know whether you should go on. I decided that morning, that instead of ruining every beautiful moment mourning, Instead I would imagine she was there with me, sharing every beautiful moment. That I would take her with me in my heart forever. And that's what I did.
Dave Robertson Dec 2020
6th
With overflowing hearts
a man and a woman
younger than I am now
watch their kids’ fascination grow
opening a paper square to show a busy sleigh.
For now, they can avoid the fact
that the thing that keeps
the young girl’s hands warm in the picture
is called a ****.
Zac Shawhan Sep 2020
Is it another year so soon?
My little man, my dear big boy
as time goes on it begins to wound
yet still there remains a lasting joy.
Surprise hugs and silly kisses
shrink my world to you and I
and time’s wounding power decreases
as you teach me to deny
all I have and all I desire
to give it up, to self forget.
This is a truth that reaches higher,
to become content as vignette
Son’s third birthday
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