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India Aug 5
From her lessons in independence we learnt that everyone leaves,
Abandonment as sure a fact of life
                                                                ­                                            as death.

We learnt that love was transactional,
A currency,
A receipted ***-for-tat tete-a-tete.

At the altar we were shown lies,
In the white dress a million yes’s but the question was never till death.

I could walk through darkness without worry,
I’d never been shown the danger,
Been encouraged to see an enemy in calories but not strangers.

We learnt to lie to avoid bruises,
Wooden spoons used for more than stirring soup,
The salt burning streaks down our faces when the *** boiled over the stove top.

Truths ignored and lies inelegant
We learnt to wield fists with tongues  
Sparring for our lives.
Cautiously awaiting the
whistle pop
truth drop
wished unsaid
upon
impact.
24/11/2021

feels incomplete but I don't know where it's going
I don't want kids
But sometimes I fantasize about being a parent...
So I could treat my child in ways my mother never could.
But what I think I really want
Is to go back
And parent myself
P I Watson Apr 2
He is off to devour the babysitter

No need for shoes in the summer heat

No need for pants inside the house

Three steps at a time, tiny claws awhir
Tyrannosaurus teeth aching to crunch the bones of his Brazilian prey



Sometimes I remember to move carefully around his loud, joyful willingness

Or I don't remember

And tear a fat chunk of adventure out of him with a stinging rebuke



But he is a T-Rex with two tons to spare
83
I want to hug
my son's son
60 years from now.

With beauty,
and pain,
and wonder,
and heartbreak
written into the lines
across my face.

Telling him
he is enough.
He'll always be enough.
Find more @damonrobpoetry
Dylan McFadden Dec 2021
The
Hallways of hell
Must be
Littered with Lego's...

.
Have you ever stepped on a Lego?
do not expect for this to be a poem about love.

I owe you, right?
you gave birth to me,
which means I should be grateful that you didn't yell at me today.
thank you then.

I tell you I am hurt by your words,
but I should be sorry for being hurt by you?
I am sorry then.
it will not happen again.

I ask to close my door,
but this is your house.
you ask for me to clean your mess,
now it's my house too, right.

I need to take care of myself,
I'm starting to feel better.
I am wrong, you come first
I owe you every last breath.

I avoid the mirror.
I will look fat no matter what.
I wonder where I got this from.
thank you for my self-hatred.

see I have finally realized something,
parenting was your job,
not mine.
so why the **** was I doing it?

I do not owe you anything.
you chose to have me,
you chose to raise me.
you failed but I have to pay?

I have come up with two words for your parenting style,
mental abuse.
Rainswood Aug 2021
Sitting on her clutch of eggs
agitatedly growling.
She plucks out her own feathers-
a warm belly for incubation.
Depriving herself of nourishment for days.
Her eyes glaze over, crazed.
Maternal sacrifices run deep
through her hollow bones.
Watching a broody hen reminds me of how depleting it can feel when you are a new mom.
Kate Jul 2021
I know they love my me

I just wish it was the same love that your supposed to have

I wish they tried

I wish they at least pretended to try
grew up to realize that I was their burden
Thomas Mackie May 2021
Bitter, sour, barely sweet,
when I was in your tummy,
you craved that acidic fruit,
and even though we've since leaned towards
different suns and
fermented,
it's still my favorite.

Your twisted seed,
what has become of me?

Growing up your love was a grapefruit.
Pulpy, complex cuts, precision with a tiny knife.
It left a sting on my lips,
but it fed me,
and it gave me vitamins and it was
juicy.
This morning as I consume these two halves I think of us.

Duplicate cells, my pink flesh and thick skin and
biting taste, all from you.
Both of us hollowed out and squeezed until we have nothing left to give, but we're still
bright yellow on the outside.
A poem for my mom
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