#parents
I’ve now grown and I turned out alright
But one day I came to realize
That this was not a smooth flight
And the scary things that I saw
Is the reason why I held on to my seat so tight
Now here are the few things
That made me hate this horrible, terrible ride
The fact once you realize
that your parents are sometimes never right.
To see that they are flawed beings, with broken wings and ****** mistakes.
To realize the truths and the smiles they fake,
Growing up to see only the image portrayed- was only for your sake.
They hide the tears and shower us with laughters
They told us joyful stories and happily ever afters,
But just as soon as i grow
Only now that I understand they were telling their own dreams,
That had slipped right out their fingers
So ask me what’s the saddest part growing up?
To see the hollow sadness from the two people,
who once i thought was happiest.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
Tears,
Shatter.
The floor,
Cracks.
Against the splashes,
You hear them splat.
Your heart beats furiously.
The girls heart breaks.
She falls.
Eyes shut.
The hits,
Leave cuts.
Her smile,
Vanished.
Against her own will,
She lashes.
Screaming,
"Mother, no!"
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
Hey mom-dad, listen.
Hit me, hate me, throw me out,
But don't shut me up.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
I wonder if I really am kind hearted.
Most people think it’s true,
But maybe I’m just afraid of being mean-
Maybe I’m afraid of being you.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
sometimes I think
that I really need makeup
to hide me from myself
when I look in the mirror
all I see is my bad
personality
brought to life
small eyes, full of lies
full lips, I'm a *****
my mother likes to say that
I don't need makeup, that I have a nice face
but that doesn't explain away
the facts
because girls snicker at me,
boys call me crazy behind my back,
that my father calls me fat
because "he loves me
and
is
trying
to
help"
so maybe the one, two, three layers of slick and color and shine
will bar the anger and wrongness
and lack of reason or rhyme.
maybe one day i'll have the courage to wash all the makeup
away.
maybe one day
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Its interesting to be in a home so different than mine. A home where almost always two people at least are in the living room, bonding. My family I love, but we are always in our respective corners; father in the basement, brother in his room, mother in the living space, and I around randomly, uncertain where and who to belong with.
This weekend I visit Hockey House, the affectionate name I'm giving my boyfriend's home. I mean it full of affection, because they are brought together by movies and food and especially hockey.
In my home we are only brought together by food and then we run to the hills for our alone time. Very odd entirely, because of the extroversion holding my heart.
I guess as I grow, I find a disconnect with the family who is so different from me. My mother, though the easiest to be with, can be a staunch, stubborn hypocrite when it comes to all things social. My father is a determined conservative who opposes all I believe in. Brother is being molded into the man my father wants as his son, which is slowly distancing me from him.
When I'm home, I'm a repressed me, who keeps her tongue latched inside her mouth, and keeps her head down as to not get attacked. Even the natural peanut butter I asked for became a battlefield of who was right and who was wrong, not just a happy cheer for me being healthier.
Its odd in a house I've only been twice I can be less afraid than in my own home. I guess things change when you become the person you want to be instead of the adult your parents want to be proud of.
Maybe its easier here because I care less if they judge me, while my parents judgment terrifies me. Parents tend to be scary gods who rule your life, and to let them topple in your eyes is something all more traumatizing to watch.
I still love my parents, as children do, but there's a disconnect between who we are that cannot be passed.
Love can exist everywhere, but it cannot transcend all obstacles, and that, truly, is what terrifies me most.
I never want to lose my parents, but I cannot lose myself either.
Only time will tell, and I guess I'll just enjoy college and my times at Hockey House.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
Child abuse!
Child abuse!
What kind of a monster are you?
Children all over the world are being abused.
They are abused at home by their parents,
At school by their teachers,
And as they play with thier peers.
They suffer from the East, North, West and South.
What then should be done to make an end to this problem?
Parents, teacher and friends,
Lets all think about this problem,
Lets all try to make an end to it.
THANK YOU!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
On a gusty autumn night
Another husband was swept,
Somber under the porch light,
Abigail watched and wept.
No men were happy,
As they dealt with poor Abby –
Day in and day out,
So miserable and naggy.
Nine is such a tender age
For a father to leave his daughter,
In horror, Abby waved,
Her mind underwater.
Crimes of parents, what a shame
Those with good ones count your blessings,
Lest we forget little Abby’s pain
And teach our children similar lessons.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
Would you shut up for five seconds?
I wish I could say this to your face,
But you'd demolish my feelings.
Lecture me about my age.
I don't have to grow up yet.
Better yet, I refuse to.
Age is just a number to me.
I ignore your opinions, I have my own views.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Of all the fun Ive ever had
Almost all I've never told you
From beach days to movie nights
And pizza stops and wrestling fights
Almost all I've never told you
Car rides speeding at midnight
Walking on the frozen lake downtown
Scared that I'll fall through and drown
Waking up in his bed
To giving road head
All the fun I've had I've never told you
You never knew, never found out about
All the lies I hand fed you
Dozens and dozens of times I did what I liked
Instead of listening to you
And of all of those times of adventure and fun
I regret absolutely none
Except the fact I had to pretend I wasn't actually doing a single one
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
The arguments are so agitating.
Why can't you just love me unconditionally?
Isn't that what we're supposed to do?
We are family, aren't we?
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
He weeps his heart, and hangs his head,
He doubles back, and follows her back to bed,
She says, " Some homes are towns and lives, while others wear their homes inside." And he keeps up though he's kept out, the volatile, the sudden frown.
She makes up the cupcakes but they're never vegan are they? No they're never vegan are they?
He makes a gift, and wrings his thumbs, the bubble bath, the tepid tub,
Outside where the rains have gone long, something gives him something strong,
And he picks up where he had left off, the trouble is he doesn't know when to back off, and the cupcakes aren't vegan, sweet and such spectacular, but they really aren't eaten, now that they've been made with eggs. No the cupcakes aren't vegan, though they are quite delicious. And he loves her forever, though he never eats again. No he never eats again. No he never eats again.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. There are children, and then there are alcoholics. One will never harmonize with the other.
Because alcoholics are never parents. They are shells, empty casings of love mixed with a burning taste of whiskey.
They are echoes of slurred, “Goodnight, I love you.” and “See you in the morning.” Each word filled with love, but blinded by the haze of liquor, so strong it fills your eyes with tears.
But most importantly, a child of an alcoholic will never be a child. No matter their age, they have gained the experience of those five times their age. They have watched life end with each tip of the bottle, but begin again when the sun breaks through their window.
I read stories about children who spend their days without a care in the world. And as a child, I wanted nothing more than that for myself. I wanted the carelessness, not the impossible burden of responsibility and secrecy that I held, hand in hand with resentment and hatred for the people who raised me.
There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. It’s not that we don’t exist— we do. But a child will never be a child when their parents can never be a parent.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
******
A word I have heard a thousand times
A thousand different ways
But has always sounded the same,
Like ignorance
A word that has never left me feeling worthless
Or unloved
Just misunderstood
Even when followed by being thrown into the bathroom stall of a Girl's gym locker room
Or by the few friends I had left helping me clean up my battered face and the hide the bruises
I have always been proud of the term ****** because even though it was said to be offensive
I was being acknowledged as me
But when the word was spilled by the woman who once rocked me to sleep till I was no longer scared
The woman who has always protected me
It was then that all the pain I ever should have felt
Took a hold of my heart and ran it up to my throat until the pain leaked from my eyes
I was angry
I was sad
And I was scared
Because I knew that word was always followed by violence
And I didn't think that I would be able to walk with my head held high from this one
My face turned red and my blood turned cold and I watched my father defend me
Finally I stopped him and I looked at her
And I said yes, but I'm your ******
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
People kept telling her:
"you can't be this, you can't be that"
the girl pretended to listen, their words a blur
she sat there unnoticed, her face flat.
She went to school
receiving an education
she let her parents rule
keeping silent, hiding her creation.
When the nights closed in
and her parents went to sleep
she took out a notebook with a grin;
after all it wasn't theirs to keep.
She bled out words
that had stuck on her skin
outside chirped nice birds
unlike the crows she hid within.
Soon her graduation came
as she held her diploma in hand
she heard her own name
with it came the feared demand.
"You'll become a lawyer like us, right?"
the girl whirled around to see
her mum and dad standing up to their full height
she bit her lip, only wanting to be free.
"No," she told them, "I will not!"
she looked her parents straight in the eye
looking like they'd both been shot
but the girl didn't want to lie.
"I'll become a writer,"
she told them, with a light smile
her parents did not turn brighter
but that hadn't ever been their style.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
What I have in my hand
Does what I say
What I have in my hand
I’ve had for more than one day
I’ve held it close
Yet never afraid
I’ve held it close
So it stayed
Close to my heart
Where I always pray
That I don’t lose its sight
Any day
It keeps me happy
That I don’t have to use it
It gets me sad
When I see others abuse it
He told me
I made him proud
That one day I could be
Just like him and receive
A present
From him to me
To show his love
Of the family
He gave me
His father’s heart
From son to son
It’s his father’s heart
In the form of a gun
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Rocky roads and crumbling gravel,
Fathers work hard to put bread on the table
Selfless decisions and callused hands
The pain that a mother goes through
is one we yet have to understand.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
Banned,
momentarily.
young, impetuous
stubborn and aware,
tac sharp, she merrily
swears all contraband.
trapped by parental snare
in her room of thoughts
she battles valiantly
with screaming demons,
playing cleverly,
her winning
hand.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
15 cans of beer
to drown the mind daily,
after work,
is no way to live.
(It's a way to die.)
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
I got this body from some people I knew,
For a while, at least,
And all of its shortcomings
Including shortness
Were presaged, previewed and
More than adequately demonstrated
Over the years we lived together.
In the years I ignored that, listening
Rather to their voices
Which illustrated another prophesy less physical
And am now stunned to welcome
Both my Mother and Father
In the shaving mirror everyday.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
He was not one of wealth and fame
And no one even knew his name.
He was just known as dad, the only father they ever had.
He worked long hours for very little pay
Yet their clothes were clean every day.
He never lost hope, yet he learned to cope.
He worked at night so he could stay with his children during the day.
He would give them breakfast then take them to school
So that they could learn the golden rules.
His routine was always the same- it would hardly ever change.
Clean the house, take a nap, and for the children prepare a snack.
Then start to prepare for dinner, which wasn’t always a winner.
Yet they ate healthy and never went without
Of that there is no doubt.
In the afternoon pick up the kids and bring them home
During the day they were never alone.
They would change their clothes then have a snack
While he took another nap.
They did their homework when he slept
In the softness of his bed.
He would then wake up and dinner he would serve
And not a complaint was ever heard
They would say grace and he would ask:” how was your day?”
Wash the dishes and put them away.
They could watch TV. until it was nine
Take their showers and then bedtime.
This was the life of a single DAD
, and it was the best part of his life he ever had.
CHILDREN ARE A BLESSING!
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
~
*Learning to patch. Learning to mend.
Learning to venture. Learning to comprehend.
Learning to capture and befriend.
Inventing the berry. Inventing the cream.
Inventing sweet slices before bedtime
and the Fragaria colored dream.
Loving new life. Loving each child.
Securing the stem and raising the vine
by loving the wife.*
~
May 29, 2023
May 29, 2023 at 2:56 PM UTC
The day after I got rejected, my dad called me out of my room and I knew what was coming. I wrote him a note. When I finally saw him sitting on the sofa, he told me to sit down. He began with, "Son, what's your plan?" I mumbled bluntly, "I don't know." He scratched the back of his bald head and continued, "You know, you need to find your passion in life. You might have thought that mechanics was your thing, but maybe--" he yammered on and on, about how to live life and what to live for. I handed out the note to him. He paused. "What's this?" "Please read." On the paper, I'd written, "I know, I know. This whole thing might just be a hobby after all. Yes, I have to find something that I'd be happy to work on. But right now, please let myself be delved in the sadness, so once I get out of it, I won't ever look back."
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
I’m hurting
I know your just doing it because you think it’s “for my own good”
But it isn’t and I hate it when you restrict me from everything that makes me happy
maybe you should try being less of a overprotective parent instead of trying to make me perfect
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
Children should obey their parents because that was what Jesus did.
Christ our Lord obeyed his parents every command when he was a kid.
Even though Jesus was perfect, he obeyed his imperfect parents because it was the right thing to do.
Children should strive to be like Jesus, they should obey their parents too.
When parents give their children chores and rules, it is for their own good.
If children are wondering if they should obey their parents, yes, they should.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC