Memories from a history I call yesterday
are not the reason why I feel so miserable today,
for my misery isn’t because of what I lost yesterday,
but for the history I’m not making today.
Written o January 17, 2016
Composition number: 541
A mouth full of words that ever since you have been left unspoken.
Now I’d give anything to have this silence broken.
I never meant to take you for granted and the proof is in every poem I’ve written,
but when I see your picture those old wounds reopen.

I curse the past, so goodbye!
I’m going backwards, I don’t understand why.
I look back, but all I see is wasted time.
How can one yearn for something so bad and not have it in their life?
I had one thing with you, something I treasured with my life.
Now I have sh*t and that’s how I feel like.

This bed could be warm with my arms holding you close,
but my world stopped turning long ago and yours continued its course.
Written on June 14, 2003
Composition number: 156
It happened so suddenly on a Friday evening.
I was alone in my room when I heard a voice talking to me.
I started listening to some music to avoid it,
but the voice was getting louder.
What is going on? Could it be my thoughts?
Where is this life that I dreamed of? Who knows!

Regrets and mistakes flood my inner being.
What I’ve always feared is what I’m living.
You fled out the window, jumped off the fence
and didn’t even leave a footprint, not a single trace.
Are you forever gone? Could all this be a lost cause?
Where is a friend when I need him the most?

The hours, the days pass, the routine separates us more.
Outside there’s a war, we can’t even realize what’s going on anymore.
No matter what, we’re on our own.
Here we are today, tomorrow is unknown!

Once I break the chains of yesterday, what does lie past everything that’s ahead?
Should I be afraid to flip through the pages of a chapter unopened and unread?
Where will I end up? I don’t know. Will I make it on my own?
Somehow against all odds I will learn to trust in myself alone.
Written on August 20, 2010
Composition number: 365
Another girl
Different emotions than the night before.
Where are you?
Are you back home?
Is it alright if I called you tonight?
I’ve filled this room with things to forget you.
But it wouldn’t let me.
It’s still empty in here.

The time drags by.
Memories of you echo off the walls.
Am I too late?
Are you back home?
Is it alright to hear your voice tonight?
This ceiling fan always stares down at me.
Like the world is spinning
But I’m just lying still.

Maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe it’s everything.
Sam Jul 3
Your words are worth believing
It gives me reasons to love.
But never do I expect;
Your sweet talks that are entertaining
Are kind of bluffs and very decieving.

Thus, I regret the part where I trusted you
I should've never held you when I knew you were a rose full of thorns.
Now I am marred by fears -
To trust
And to love.
It was 3a.m
When I lay awake on my bed
Thinking about you
Thinking about us
And what we could never be

It was 3a.m
When I wished to be just a little bit braver
So that I can tell you
That you're the prettiest
And you look the loveliest when you smile

It was 3a.m
When I wished that I could be just a little bit braver
So that I can look into your eyes and say
I like you
I love you

It was 3a.m
When I was drowned by regrets
Over things that I never do
Words I never say
And you that I've lost

Em MacKenzie Jul 9
Happy belated birthday Mom,
I'm sorry it's two days late,
but I've been a bad daughter
and an even worse person.
You always told me not to go to your grave or put flowers on your headstone;
"I won't be under that ground," you'd say,
"and don't waste your money on flowers, I'll have no use for them where I'm going."
I still visit sometimes, and I do still bring flowers, but not nearly enough.
I know if I had been the one buried, you'd wear the grass down with your feet and then have the courtesy to plant some seeds.

Almost eight years later I still think about you everyday
and not a minute goes by where I don't miss you terribly.
What a cruel thing it is, to live a life where you're always missing someone.
To have so many things to say and receive no reply.

You would've been fifty seven this year.
I wonder how you would look as you got older, and sometimes, rarely, I forget what you looked and sounded like when you were here.
That's probably the worst part of it.

The first time I visited your grave was about a month or so after you had been buried,
the graveyard drowning in so much snow I actually visited the wrong headstone.
I'm sure Mr.Brown enjoyed the talk, though.
It was only after digging my bare hands through ten inches of snow and ice that I realized I was four spots down.
I then recognized your grave from the moonlight reflecting off the glass vases of yellow roses we had placed there during your funeral,
wedged in place with the snow hugging them tightly;
the roses frozen in time,
it was both beautiful and aggravating.
Good things funerals cost so much,
they should be able to have someone clean up the plot after the service.
I threw the roses out and gently tried to remove the vases:
the one with "wife" shattered in my hands and my frostbitten fingers picked each shard out from the snow.
I still carry a scar from that vase.
The one with "mother" on it remained in tact, I was just as gentle with it but it did not shatter.
You told me near the end that nothing in this world, nothing was powerful enough to ever have you taken away from me.
That vase sits on my dining room table to this day, nursing a reluctantly dying plant just as you'd want.
I don't think I'll ever have the green thumb like you did.

But I have everything else from you,
you always told me Kate was raised by your sister and that she was too much when you were so young,
"But you, Emily, you're MY daughter."
You said I was a godsend of a baby, never crying, content just to sleep,
and that I carried an old soul.
You laughed at how I always excelled at being alone as a child,
and you were so intrigued by my sense of imagination and creativity.
You always said you were the same when you were a kid.

So tell me, now that I'm older and I feel so alone all the time,
am I still you?
Were you this isolated and alien at my age now?
Did you carry the empathy to cry at little things you saw on the street or in a commercial,
so much so that you believe this world to be lost?
That you saw life as one big slap in the face?

I still try my best everyday to make you proud,
It breaks my heart constantly to think I didn't when you were here.
But life is cruel like that, and I was young and stupid and arrogant.
I know if you see my daily life,
you know I'm not 100% better,
and I know I probably never will be.
But I work hard, and I always say my "please" and "thank you"'s,
and I live by your example of always trying to help anyone in need.
It might not make up for the demons that I struggle with,
but atleast I still fight them, right?
I lost some years there where I should've died, and sometimes I wish I had,
but I didn't. I'm still here. I'm still trying.
And to be honest, it's not for me, or for my family, for love or sunsets, or dogs or any of the things that bring me up to a solid "content."

It's for you, because you taught me that's what you do in life.
You fight. You fight until your last breath.

I've thought this a million times in my head, but I'll say it now,
you were always right about everything.
As teenage girls, we challenge our mothers at every turn and decision,
convinced we are mature and capable of making decisions,
and then we say hurtful things when we don't get our way.
So you deserve to hear it, you were always right.

I wish I could tell you face to face.
I would tell you how much I miss you, more than either of us could've ever predicted.
I would tell you how blessed I feel to have had such an amazing mother.
I would apologize for judging you for the drinking,
I would tell you it took me forever to realize, but eventually I accepted my mother was human just like everyone else,
and just like everyone else, myself included, you made mistakes.
Above all else, I would tell you that I love you more than you'll ever know.

I'll be turning twenty-nine next month,
which means I have one year left of smoking.
I didn't forget my promise to you, I'll quit on my thirtieth birthday.
I'll continue looking out for my sister to the best of my abilities,
even though she can be impulsive and brash on occasion.
I'll continue to show empathy and kindness to as many people as possible, just like you would've wanted.
And finally, one day I hope to keep the promise I made to you so many years ago:
I promise to try and be happy.
Extremely personal write, but needed to get it out. If you're lucky enough to still have a mother, tell her you love her today and thank her for existing.
Irlomak Jul 8
Like a human blowing a candle
you were the candle,
I was the human who blew the light of the candle,
making you disappear
all the light you once provided
the warmth you once emanated
the goodness you've sweetly dispensed me with
a single trace of your scent
nowhere to be found.
Months have passed,
head still turning left and right
back and front
always hoping to see a familiar sight
only to realize that
even hoping too much
won't ever bring you back to me.
Skye Jul 8
A gust of wind,
Turns into a hurricane
A gust of feeling,
Turns into an emotion

Droplets of rain
Turns to a downpour
Droplets of tears
Turns to sobs and screams

You who made me like this
Please, I beg-
No more.
Come back to me....
i lost a friend and i regret it so much... i'm sorry
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