I Jan 10
He hurt me today.
My body felt my bone break.
Yet he is not here,
Pain without contact.
He made me cry today.
My head held onto his words,
Yet his mouth is not near.
The sound no longer intact.
He pushed me to the ground today,
My knees felt the impact.
Yet his hands are far away.
Probably holding himself,
Stroking away his own pain.
He filled my lungs with fire,
Filled my mind with anger,
Yet he is not here.
I cannot tell him.
His boot on my leg hurt,
His words hurt,
His hands.
All today.
I want to tell him,
I want to burn him with my air.
I want him to feel my fear.
Yet he is not here.
I have no target for my flames.
Instead, simply memories,
engraved into my brain.
Here's what I'll collect of us:
1. Your hand holding my nine year old one,
2. small and uncertain
3. small and growing
4. You waking up before the rest of the world
5. The sound of you raking fallen brittle palm fronds and leaves
6. Feeding the dogs
7. Turning the cornmeal for them in the massive pot
8. Your rare smiles
9. The smell of Old Spice
10. Filling the shopping cart with whatever I wanted
11. My too-tiny hands clasping about the cart and pushing it along with you
12. Us scouring the aisles for Eggo's waffles and my favorite brand of banana chips
13. My nine year old self sitting on your lap while you dozed off
14. Our conversations about politics and the current state of the world
15. Our long conversations
16. Our long conversations about your youth
17. Me hearing your story about how you cared for yourself from 15 years old for the 105th time
18. Me never getting tired of hearing about that story
19. Your rare smiles reaching your eyes
20. The softness of your hair as I stroke your head now
21. Sitting by your bedside and being comforted by your soft breath as you sleep
22. Sitting by your bedside remembering my childhood with you
23. The long summers in your house with grandma and my cousin
24. The long summers in your house on the island
25. The long summers back home--back in your home country
26. Your hand holding my nine year old one,
27. small and uncertain
28. small and growing
29. You waking up before the rest of the world
30. You going to sleep after everyone else
31. Your hand holding mine.
32.   Your breath.
33.   The softness and steadiness of your breath.
A list poem dedicated to my 90-year-old grandfather as he battles prostate cancer. I love him and respect him with all my heart. There are so many other memories that I will cherish and hold onto, like most recently, my trip with him to Niagara Falls. These are just a few that I can fondly recall from childhood. He's essentially the father I never had.
Let us sit down together
Let us reminisce of more simple times

~So I sit and remember when I first met her~

When things were lighter
When the sun still shone
When my heart pounded
And was no longer stone
When the blood rushed to my lips
And looking at life with purpose
I didn't feel worthless...
And how your hands were soft
But only at the tips
And when our eyes were caught
My heart was simply sold, to you, whom bought
And nothing can ruin that moment
Sadly, this love became no longer true
ta Dec 2017
i love it when it rains,
when it pours,
calming what pains,
the scatter of our devours
releasing what remains,
reminiscing what was once ours

it is such a soothing,
calming feeling,
to know that my tears
aren't the only one
falling,
flowing.

flashes,
crashes,
the remaining of our memories,
the haunting melody of our lullabies,
all gone,
all done.

goodbye, big-hearted ego.
just let it all go.
see you, long lost love.
you’ll always be kept in my trove.
farewell, my lover.
it’s all over.

(rhyme, chime; t.a.)
10/28/17
Fhrea Zenntine Dec 2017
i listen to songs that were once ours;
maybe they'll lose their meanings
if i play them for hours.
shuffle, pause, play, repeat,
save me from this misery by memory;
yet i show signs of masochism,
opening wounds then rubbing salt,
unknowingly singing these songs
     in thought of you.
ps. The song is I Miss You by Blink-182
Temporal Fugue Dec 2017
Why is it?
I only think of you
on the porcelain throne

Taking, but more specifically
giving a dump
alone

Fecal you are
in my thoughts
and mind

Odious and evermore
like crap from
my behind

Maybe it's because
simple human decency
you lack

A low down no good bully
reminiscent of matter
from my crack

So I remember many things
but all of them
end here

Sitting on my porcelain throne
reminiscing your face
and grinning ear
to ear
The only thing that reminds me of a bully ;D
even after all these years
KatThebliss Dec 2017
The endless trickle down my neck reminds me of you

The memories like warm honey that dry into a sticky mess on my back, pulling me down to earth whenever the next fall is taken

I can't hold in the rasping breaths that plague me, hyperventilation crushing the base of my skull, a fight for my conscience, my concious

I can't see the end of this now as I know it is near, I can hear it. I can taste the bitter synchrony of our thoughts, and I give my final look

One last trickle, my darkest friend.
...
These walls are ringing with laughter
They are drenched in tears and soaked in pain
They sigh with the weight of a lifetime of memories
They are saturated with stories and songs
They breath the cry of a baby; the lilt of a father’s voice
These wall are stained with struggle, scratched and dented with trials and feuds.
They cling to the paint that peels away to expose the mold of mistakes made
Fractured and cracked tiles tried to reconcile and found forgiveness in the art of their flaws.
Creaking stairs groan with the desperate prayers that shattered the air in the depths of despair and brought healing.
The ceiling is reeling with the feeling of kneeling before the King as one member and crying out:
This is our house. Our home: where Satan will roam no longer and we are made stronger as we sing to the King as family.
Now here I stand, my hand memorizing the land I was raised in. Each grain, divot and angle is a sliver of my mind. I am frozen in time as I rewind through the blinds and find myself near the kitchen shelf, where food no longer lingers. My fingers scan the sink: I think of how we'd drink straight from the faucet, my mom's voice yelling “stop it!”
Dissonant notes drift from the phantom piano in my mind. A child's hands land on the ivory, making chords and strands of a melody. She turns to grin at her feat as loving parents treat her to praise for her serenade. The crackle of flames as we played board games, waves of heat to beat the winter cold and bold flecks of snow flying with our dice on the carpet. A cry upstairs leads to pairs of frightened eyes in the dark of night. Pattering feet make a hasty retreat to the safety of daddy's strong arms and mommy’s protection from harm between the blankets and pillows. A golden sunrise leads to adventures outside; trees to climb and bikes to ride, mermaids and cowboys, escaped slaves and so many toys. Rustling leaves shed buds of green; lapping waves on sandy beaches, sunshine days full of ice cream with peaches. A million laughs and a thousand hugs, cake in the bath with a bubble filled tub. Sights and sounds and smells of the past, and I'm the last to feel this memory so real. Grazed walls and scratched floors full of knicks and dents meant to tell stories and prevent us from forgetfulness. I soak in the lifetime of love that's been lived inside these four walls as I walk down the hall. I'm here at the door for the last time it seems. This whole dreadful process feels like a bad dream as the seams of my mind strain to drag out the time. But the tick of the clock resounds as the lock clicks and my life is quickly drug away to lay in the way of another child who will play in this place. And in my mind, these walls I have loved all my life have just crumbled and fallen and died.
riwa 2d
nighttime is reserved for thoughts of what could have been,
thoughts of us,
thoughts of you.
(8.12.17)
Mary Frances Nov 2017
Many times I've been alone just reminiscing
Of kisses and hugs and what could have been
Of looks and touches and many Ifs
Of strokes and curves and things we would miss.

Many times I've been caught off guard
When forgetting seems to be so hard
When someone mentions your name
When I'm doing things we've done the same.

Those were the times we had.
The times when we're still mad.
And that's how they will remain.
Our reminder to keep us sane.
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