#tissues
A sheet upon a sheet with a thousand more,
Clogging up spaces and fields galore,
Sealed together by blood and disease,
Yet scattered and thrown by a gentle breeze.
These remnants are a danger.
To myself, my family, any stranger,
So they'll be disposed away.
Yet frequency means the stack will stay.
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 7:32 PM UTC
On Hands and knees
Three tears fall onto the mat below me
drip drip drop
Emotions Escape
from the cage I have built
around myself
Realizations revelations
Release the Deep sadness of the truth
Oh, How perfectly aligned I am
When I am Alone
Sep 4, 2021
Sep 4, 2021 at 11:13 AM UTC
My tissue got a scar over all my weary skin,
my tears got not tissues to clear my sin,
bearing all those scars, I've been with none but with myself in war,
I killed myself over and over, those scars now is a shining surface,
I try to hide my face,
Because sometimes I feel disgrace.
I wish I could go back and replace.
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 11:04 PM UTC
how do you get through
the days that are
all tears and tissues?
—the days
of running mascara
and stuffy noses
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
https://artsofthought.com/2018/07/04/why-i-always-carry-tissues-2008-the-poem-i-love-the-best/
To My Children:
I’m laughing at myself,
As I am prone to do because
Why I Always Carry Tissues
Is the title of a poem
I write for you.
There is a story here,
Of parenting, and responsibilties
That transcends yourself, defines me,
Vis-a-vis you,
then and there, and maybe now.
When you were small,
I took you by the hand,
The cement canyons, trails & rivers
of West Eighty Six Street,
Together, we would ford.
Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do,
Your hand, from my hand,
I would release
So you could fall down,
All on your own.
It bemused me that I could see
Three or four paces ahead of thee
Exactly which crack,
Upon which you would trip,
And come crying back to me.
Back-to-me.
That was then.
And now,
Yes, no more,
Back-to-me.
But I always had tissues
to dry your eyes
And no surprise,
I still do,
Always will.
These days, they,
more likely used to dry mine,
As I have forded that Styxy river,
When crossed, you spend more of the day,
Liking Back more,
Than looking ahead.
No matter, by right and tradition,
It is still my mission, that when!
when you need, when you bleed,
as I know you surely shall,
These pocket tissues will be there
Ready, willing and able, fully capable,
of snatching away your tears.
When you need,
When you bleed,
And you surely shall,
These pockets of mine,
Of tissue made,
Are waiting for your tears,
And you, to fill them,
For without them,
Their raison d’etre is unfulfilled.
These used tissues are my history book,
Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life,
Of tears and hearts,
And concrete spills,
That need knees to be complete.
That is why you will find me, without fail,
Ready, willing and able, holding my
White Badge of Courage at the ready,
Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed,
Missions known as parenting schemes.
The scheme is clear, even if
my tissues you no longer request,
You will let your own babies
fall n’ fail, then take their tears
Put them in your pocket,
keep them forever wet,
Like my memories of you
the ones I cherish best…
Perhaps a tradition
We will start,
Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear,
Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors
Removers of our dear one’s fears.
If we are truly wise
Those tissued memories
We will keep,
Die among them contented,
Knee-scraped deep when!
When tears fall…
©Nat Lipstadt 2008
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
Why I Always Carry Tissues
To My Children:
I'm laughing at myself,
As I am prone to do because
Why I Always Carry Tissues
Is the title of a poem
I write for you.
There is a story here,
Of parenting, and responsibilties
That transcends yourself, defines me,
Vis-a-vis you,
then and there, and maybe now.
When you were small,
I took you by the hand,
The cement canyons, trails & rivers
of West Eighty Six Street,
Together, we would ford.
Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do,
Your hand, from my hand,
I would release
So you could fall down,
All on your own.
It bemused me that I could see
Three or four paces ahead of thee
Exactly which crack,
Upon which you would trip,
And come crying back to me.
Back-to-me.
That was then.
And now,
Yes, no more,
Back-to-me.
But I always had tissues
to dry your eyes
And no surprise,
I still do,
Always will.
These days, they,
more likely used to dry mine,
As I have forded that Styxy river,
When crossed, you spend more of the day,
Liking Back more,
Then looking ahead.
No matter, by right and tradition,
It is still my mission, that
when you need, when you bleed,
as I know you surely shall,
These pocket tissues will be there
Ready, willing and able, fully capable,
of snatching away your tears.
**When you need,
When you bleed,
And you surely shall,
These pockets of mine,
Of tissue made,
Are waiting for your tears,
And you, to fill them,
For without them,
Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.**
These used tissues are my history book,
Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life,
Of tears and hearts,
And concrete spills,
That need knees to be complete.
That is why you will find me, without fail,
Ready, willing and able, holding my
White Badge of Courage at the ready,
Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed,
Missions known as parenting schemes.
The scheme is clear, even if
my tissues you no longer request,
You will let your own babies
fall n' fail, then take their tears
Put them in your pocket,
keep them forever wet,
Like my memories of you
the ones I cherish best...
Perhaps a tradition
We will start,
Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear,
Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors
Removers of our dear one's fears.
If we are truly wise
Those tissued memories
We will keep,
Die among them contented,
Knee-scraped deep
When tears fall...
2008
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Boys are like tissues. -unnamed Twitter follower
If they're soft, they usually have two sides.
Both sides, so smooth and delicate, easy
To rip apart and expose the inner roughness.
It's fun to tilt her head back and gently lay
One of the halves on her lips and blow
Firm enough to get them soaring
High on endorphins and ******
Them out of the air, crumple,
And toss into the trash with the rest.
If they're rough, they're good
For one use only. They may be irritating,
But they get the job done. It's cheap,
They come in bulk, and always
Fail to clean up the streaky mess
Left behind for her hand
To finish.
If she's lucky, they'll have aloe
And lotion and designer brands
Made for those who are hard
To please. She'll be spoiled
By the silky smooth shine
On her face, but not one
Can keep up with the wear
And tear of being used
Over and over and over.
Once they're damaged, they're done.
She can't use them anymore. They know
The tricks. They know how they've been torn
Apart and crumpled and disposed without thought.
The smaller the pieces, the harder they are to manipulate
And bend to her every will. With one gone, what does it matter?
There's still the rest of the box, or the pack, or the cylinder.
Fifty. Maybe a hundred. All the more to her disposal.
Yes, yes. She knows what they think of her.
They all throw and shout and spit
Those filthy labels at her face.
But it's just another
Tissue used.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC
Sniffle on the train
a sneeze among the trees
bless you at your desk
sleeve wipe when out of sight
So sticky an issue
your own mother wouldn’t kiss you
Should’ve brought tissues
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
Have all the instigations of my heart issues
dawned insinuations of my used tissues,
Or am I the one to blame?
Can I trust a mind that never stays the same?
How are there no answers,
in the windows of your eyes?
Why aren’t my instincts strong enough to overcome these lies
I make up in my mind,
the ones that bring peace,
but only for a time in between my insanity?
For the very next moment I’m wise enough, I wish I was always wise enough, to come back to reality.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
I look at your face and it never shows you’re down
A smile spread around that’s taped over the frown
Concealer under your eyes to hide the long nights
Hearing your mom fight has your big headphones on tight
But pop melodies can’t drown out all the loud screams
Dishes left unclean, parents as scared as the teen
Food rots in the fridge, “Keep Out” sign hangs from the door
Damp tissues ignored, scattered across the floor
Try to make her laugh, but my jokes aren’t funny
Shows love through money, dries up the nose when runny
But the low hats and dark shades only cloaked her eyes
Wouldn’t notice my, mouth curved in when I’ve spoken lies
I bet you did see both my pupils wedged with glass
In sports getting last, cuz I was too effing smacked
Our lamps burnt out, the light in the house faded
In school berated, little girl how did you make it?
You saved the castle when I couldn’t be controlled
You took on new roles, cried for me to be consoled
Writing gave me back my voice when I became mute
My leaves wouldn’t shoot if you didn’t water the roots
You, you are my blood, without blood my heart won’t pump
When considered a flunk, blood made my heartbeat jump
Really didn’t mean for my lack of energy
To make enemies, but what’s done is now memory
What happened to me, to us, was unexpected
When it got hectic, everyone was affected
But my family, and Vicky especially you
Kept stable and true and that is how we got through
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
My love for him,
Is greater then,
my love for myself,
He has wiped away tears,
Shed for the past year,
I name him tissue box boy,
Because of you can sit,
And here all my ****
Your a used tissue,
But I love you,
But I can't **** you,
Pull out your Kleenex now,
Because of a guy,
Who did things to me,
You let me cry,
on your shoulder,
Because you tell me he was,
Wrong and always will be,
And I sniffle more,
Because you hold me,
When I need it and it's a lot,
And I wet your shirt,
Because you don't care,
I may never **** you,
And you may cry now too,
But you don't need that,
To love me,
And I stop crying for a minute,
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,
And you just love me,
And hold me,
Because love isn't about,
Physicalness it's love,
And with that,
You reply your empty box,
For next time.
Tissue box boy.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC