"birthday" poems
That pure innocent smile,
Your childish face and that side profile,
Your silky hair and that perfect hairstyle,
Would never forget you.
**** I miss you!
The touch of your smooth skin,
That beautiful little chin,
Your blushy cheeks and that grin,
Still I adore you.
**** I miss you!
Those big dope eyes,
That Stupid nose ,
Those size 7 feet and pinky toes.
Your medications and Ayurvedic dose.
Wish again to feel you.
**** I miss you!
Baby I still remember,
that freezy December,
The day we fell off the scooter,
Your stupid buggy computer.
Our first date and the perfect kiss,
That raining night we spent in balcony
When you burnt the toast and macrony,
That birthday card you made me,
Helping in projects and assignments,
You taking care when I got sick,
I recall all those perfect memories of you,
still there's a place for you,
**** I miss you!
I wish you would have waited,
I would have come back,
But I can't blame you,
It was me who needed the space,
The fault is my OWN!
So I am the one left ALONE! :'(
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Alam ko kaarawan mo nung abril labindalawang at ngayon
Humahabol pa ako sa regalo ko na tula para lang sayo.
Naaalala kita bilang aking best friend nung intermediate palang tayo
Ngayon pati sa facebook konektado pa rin ako sayo
Paminsan-minsan ikaw nagchachat sa kin at minsan ako rin naman
Nagsheshare ng problema at nagbibigayan ng tips kahit papano man
Ngayon dalagita na tayo, marami na rin mga problema sa school at iba kaso
Gusto pa rin kita makausap ng matagalan eh marami lang talagang inaasikaso
Nagkataon nagkita tayo sa mall at ang napansin ko bigla ka tumangkad
Syempre naingit agad, hindi ako pinagpala ng diyos ng tangkad eh.
Natutuwa ako nakilala kita noon at nagkakilalan tayo ng lubos
Kahit malayo tayo sa isa't isa, at saka nagpapasalamat rin ako
Naging best friend kita at lagi tayo nagtutulungan
Kung may problema tayong hinaharap.
Kung alam mo lang maeffort ako kung hindi lang natatamad
Lalo na sa pagibig kung pinageffortan dapat masuklian.
Pasensya na kung nahuli ako ibigay ang regalo ko para lang talaga sayo
Nagpapasalamat ako sa lahat ng alaala natin dalawa at sa susunod pa.
Mahal kita dahil naging parte ka na rin sa buong buhay ko!
Happy Birthday! To the 16th girl Vivien Hannah Isabel Estrada!
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
Is it not easy
to greet to someone
whom you never spoke
for a very long time?
Among all people,
I am the only one
you've always bypass
to talk to
I know the hindrance
why we ward off each other
just to make ourselves
escape the stigma
Curiosity gets bigger
Each time I look at you
Should I wait patiently
Or take the wheel further
One thing I could do...
All what I wanted to say,
all my thoughts about you,
are profoundly veiled
You and me
are the only ones
to know what's in...
where people shouldn't know
A storage box
of unspoken words
a birthday bag
of sweets
If you are reading this
do not assume
that I did them
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
It's been nine years now. Nine years since the angels took you away. Nine years since I stood at the home, looking at your peaceful face; eyes closed, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips. It doesn't seem that long. It seems like yesterday you were calling me your little princess; I'm still that little girl at heart. The one who believed she would grow up to be a beautiful elegant contessa. I don't have many memories of the times we shared as I was only young when you passed. In fact, sometimes I struggle to picture your gorgeous, smiling face telling me stories of your past of advice for when I grew into an elegant older woman just like you were then.
I was only 6... 6 years old and I had to go through the pain and heartache of having my nan cruelly taken away from me. I'll be 16 next year. I'll be having my prom next year. I will be leaving year 11, getting my GCSE results and starting A-levels next year. So much has happened in these 9 short, short years. There is so much more to come and you won't be here to share it with me. My graduation from university, my first career move, my marriage, my children... Your great-grandchildren. You won't be here for the good times, the bad...The happy and the sad...
There are certain qualities about you that I will always remember... Being made banana sandwiches every time we went round to your house! Having a Sunday roast with you and Granddad every single week! Your 60th birthday (I knocked Zack down and felt so chuffed!) The last birthday you ever spent with me... You made my birthday cake that year... If I remember correctly, it was a princess castle with all the Disney princesses stood around it! You told me I deserved a cake because I was a beautiful princess also.
I know you will be looking down on me and the family just to make sure we are alright! I just hope it's a smile on your face and not a frown! I hope I have made you proud nan... I really do. I hope you Rest In Peace nan and I will never forget you. Forever in our hearts and minds. 15/06/2004... We love you nan and always will. <3
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Mahal na kilala kita sa simpleng haha
Minisage kita kahit di kita kilala
Sabi ko sayo hi ganda
Di ko inakalang mag rereply ka
Sabi mo salamat huh.
Sa simpleng batian tayo nag simula
Humaba ng humaba mga salita
Hanggang sa nakita ko
Ay hala mag kabirthday tayong dalawa
Mapag biro ang tadhana
Mas lalo akong naligaw sa bitag nya
Pero sa pag kaligaw ko nahanap kita
Sabay tayong na ligaw sa tamis ng tadhana
Tapos sabi mo mahal may sekreto ka
Mapag biro nga ang tadhana
Kasi kng gaanu katamis ang pag mamahal mo
Ganun din kasaklap ang katotohanang d pueding maging tayo
Di pueding maging tayo kasi may nakatali na sayo
Pero kinain ko ang lahat ng pait na to
At oo kasalanan ko
Ang dating maliit na biro ng tadhana
Naging libingan ko
Pero ayaw kong bumangon mula dito
Pinilit ko,pinilit mo at naging tayo
Kahit mapait pinilit natin na patamisin ito
At naging okay tayo
Ang saya nga ng birthday natin pareho
Sinupresa mo ako
At sa unang pag kakataon
Napag tanto ko na mahal mo nga ako
May pa cake kpa mahal at palobo
Tumulo ang luha ko
Kasi di ko inakala sa magiging masaya ako
Magiging masaya ang kaarawan ko
Kaya salamat sayo mahal ko
Pero habang tumatagal mahal
Mawawala na tayo
Halos di ko na maaninag ang iyong anino
Nalungkot ako
Pero bumalik ka mahal
At sinabi mo pabalik na siya
Ang nakatali sayo
Gumuho ang mundo ko
Ang dating hukay ngayon ang naging bangin
Wala ng takas sa sakit
Ang sabi mo aayusin mo mahal
Tataposin na ang dapat taposin
Pero paanu kng sa istoryang to
Ako ang pangalawa
Ako ang kirido
Ako ang maninira ng pamilya
At siya,sya ang una at ang pinakasalan mo sa harap ng dambana.
Mahal anu ang laban ko
Nasasaktan ako
At oo di ko pueding isisi sayo to
Kasi ginusto ko din naman.
Namalibing sa bangin na ito
Pinaglaruan tayo ng tadhana
Yung akala kong magiging masaya
Nasa binggit na ng kataposan nya
Ayaw ko man sana ipilit
Pero sa bawat hagupit ng sakit
Pangalan mo aking sinasambit
Mahal naririnig mo pa ba ako
Pag dumating siya panu na tayo
Maaalala mo pa kaya ang mga pangako mo
Na magiging masaya tayo
Kasi kung ganun kakainin ko na din ang pait na ito
Ou ako na bahala sa lahat ng pait
Basta mahal mangako ka
Di tayo aabot sa dulo
Pero paanu sakanya ka kasado
Ako,pangalawa lang ako
Nadudurog na ako
Gusto ko na sana taposin ito
Pero paanu kng mahal kita
Minamahal kita ng todo
Ngayon gusto mo palain ako...
Pero paanu kng sa bawat paalam mo
Sinasambit **** mahal mo ako
Mahal mo nga ba talaga ako
O mahal mo lng ako kasi binubou ko ang kulang niya sayo
Please kng aalis ka umalis ka lng
Kasi di applicable sa atin ang kng mag mahal ka ng dalawa piliin mo ang pangalawa kasi sa una pa lng nakatali kana.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
*here's how it happens
the morning after
you reach into the drawer
where the your t-shirts live
to find it austere
you'll shrug because
you're still drunk
& you can't remember
when last it was
that you had something wet
or how long it's been
since you made the floorboards blush
or why the carpet is upset
who wouldn't be
the contents to the upended ashtray
strewn around the apartment
resemble the aftermath
of the smallest war
to ever take place in norfolk
some midnight thief
must've made off with the lighter
because it isn't in
any of your favorite spots
maybe you chucked it
along with a hundred other things
that make noise when they land
in the neighbors yard
you won't remember putting
the refrigerator's belongings
in the bathtub
or scrawling a buzzard
on the bedroom door
but then again who would
you'll pretend it's spring again
before putting on your winter coat
to go out front with a cigarette
in your mouth
you'll hope for a passing stranger
to *** a light from
or drag yourself to the corner
with couch cushion change
to buy a new lighter
and on your way
you won't bother looking back
this is just another day
on eggshells for no reason
another november
choking on birthday candles
on your way home
you step over beer cans
the kind you fell in love with
and wonder who
had the last laugh last night
or if anyone said a word at all
it might've been another
moment of clarity
it might have been some idiot savant
any adjective that feels like home
anything that keeps you thirsty*
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room.
...in the morning
they're out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,
cabdrivers...
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
32.8k
I do not like this phase of a heart break.
When you purposely avoid love songs,
Or sometimes you play them just to make yourself feel like your hearts still pounding.
When the person you loved and hid from every waking soul is brought into a conversation.
Or when he isn't.
When you see other lovers who have made it years without the cruel hand of fate ripping their love from them.
Or when you see they haven't.
When you notice him writing you smaller, casual messages when they use to be breathtaking and beautiful.
Or when he doesn't write at all.
When I ask you if I am pushing you away and you say no.
*"Alright, happy birthday! Text me later tonight?"
"Will do"*
When every hidden goodbye ends with those two words. And my broken, belittled heart.
(i. r.)
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
i.
I intentionally failed to wish you
a happy birthday this year,
though I know significant dates,
hours, moments, people,
by heart.
I still search for you in boys
I mistake for bandages,
the ones with eyes almost
the same shade of your hazels,
lips resounding your laughter,
resembling a wisp of your smile,
But they aren't you.
ii.
Sometimes I pretend you're dead,
because it's less painful
to stop reaching out into voids.
iii.
My mom still blames you
for everything that preceded that year.
Though you probably had no idea what happened
when we stopped talking altogether.
Can you believe it's almost been three years?
iv.
My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away'
Though, I'm pretty sure he knows
it's you.
v.
Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath?
How most everything she wrote
brimmed with melancholy?
How I loved every single word?
Especially that piece
where she talked about expectations
and disappointments.
You'll never know that
up to this day I still think
people are selfish enough to
always, eventually turn into the latter.
Even you.
vi.
It's sad I never got the chance
to tell you about Ted.
How she loved him so much,
she just had to figuratively dive headfirst
into the flames-- burning herself,
what was left of her--
after she found out
he never really loved her
the same way
she loved him
in the first place.
vii.
*truth is,
some of us
never learn to accept
the love we think we deserve.*
viii.
I don't know if you still read my poems
or if you still think about me,
about us, sometimes.
Every time you fall asleep past eleven,
a part of me hopes you do.
because I always remember you--
in birthday candles, red ribbons,
off-tune voice records, golden arches,
concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes,
the last flickers of city lights
softly fading out of the blue.
I remember you
in everything, in everywhere,
in everyone.
It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget.
No matter how much I just want to forget.
I want to forget.
But, how could I?
When forgetting means forsaking
the very memory of you.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
Anxiety is not stress.
Anxiety is not some umbrella term you can use to describe how you feel when your favorite character in a book is in an intense battle unless you can somehow feel how fast their heart is beating until you can feel how hot their blood is until you can feel what it’s like to be that character in that situation the weight of the world on your shoulders
Anxiety is not finding lighting candles to be the only solution, candles are another problem. Another long paragraph to your list of “Things That Can Easily **** Me” example: “I didn’t leave any matches out, did I? I blew out the candle right? I need to check. Do I smell burning?? PUT THE CAP WHEN IT’S DONE! Will set off my fire alarm? Does my fire alarm work? Where’s my fire alarm??? Where’s somewhere I can put it so it doesn’t hurt me. THIS IS OK THIS IS NORMAL THIS IS RELAXATION.”
Anxiety is not stress.
Anxiety is horrible flashing images, constant reminders, the most negative form of “what if” imaginable.
Anxiety is wasting all your time thinking about an 8 page paper due for class in a week but instead of bringing yourself to writing it you are sobbing on the floor thinking of how bad for your grade this will be.
Anxiety is having a crush on a girl and trying out makeup for the first time.
Anxiety is having a crush on a guy and wondering if your sense of humor is funny enough.
Anxiety is not stress.
Anxiety is downloading an app that checks on your health and leaves you wondering how long this has been going on for.
Anxiety is wondering how to fix your eating disorder instead of actually fixing it
Anxiety is outing yourself to fit in
Anxiety is always wearing pants because you’re too afraid of your own scars
Anxiety is staying up countless nights crying crying crying you cannot yell your thoughts are no longer your own
Anxiety is writing a list of pros and cons to killing yourself
Anxiety is lighting a candle so you can slowly burn the list because
Anxiety is telling you if someone finds out, you will die.
Anxiety is not stress.
Anxiety is having making a friend and losing them in less than a year
Anxiety is wondering if all this help is helping or do I need to help myself
Anxiety is your friends questioning you non-stop are they really questioning you or do you question yourself?
Anxiety is memorizing the suicide prevention hotline
Anxiety is beating yourself up countless times “How could you forget something as simple as a Birthday?!”
Anxiety is “I only have three friends and one hates me, one I’m trying not to lose, and the other I love too much to tell the truth”
Anxiety is “It’s only a matter of time before we all die!”
Anxiety is “Congratulations! Two of your friends have died this year alone! One ******* hates you! Oh! HAHA! Wait! They all ******* hate you!”
Anxiety can turn you from “Wow. I look kinda good today.” to ”DYSPHORIA! DYSPHORIA! DYSPHORIA!”
JUST ******* KIDDING!
ANXIETY IS STRESS!
AND MUCH
MUCH
MORE!!!!!!!!
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
I was thinking of a son.
The womb is not a clock
nor a bell tolling,
but in the eleventh month of its life
I feel the November
of the body as well as of the calendar.
In two days it will be my birthday
and as always the earth is done with its harvest.
This time I hunt for death,
the night I lean toward,
the night I want.
Well then--
It was in the womb all along.
I was thinking of a son ...
You! The never acquired,
the never seeded or unfastened,
you of the genitals I feared,
the stalk and the puppy's breath.
Will I give you my eyes or his?
Will you be the David or the Susan?
(Those two names I picked and listened for.)
Can you be the man your fathers are--
the leg muscles from Michelangelo,
hands from Yugoslavia
somewhere the peasant, Slavic and determined,
somewhere the survivor bulging with life--
and could it still be possible,
all this with Susan's eyes?
All this without you--
two days gone in blood.
I myself will die without baptism,
a third daughter they didn't bother.
My death will come on my name day.
What's wrong with the name day?
It's only an angel of the sun.
Woman,
weaving a web over your own,
a thin and tangled poison.
Scorpio,
bad spider--
die!
My death from the wrists,
two name tags,
blood worn like a corsage
to bloom
one on the left and one on the right--
It's a warm room,
the place of the blood.
Leave the door open on its hinges!
Two days for your death
and two days until mine.
Love! That red disease--
year after year, David, you would make me wild!
David! Susan! David! David!
full and disheveled, hissing into the night,
never growing old,
waiting always for you on the porch ...
year after year,
my carrot, my cabbage,
I would have possessed you before all women,
calling your name,
calling you mine.
27.1k
have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?*
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.
Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.
And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.
If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest
Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.
Moral:
Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower
23.5k
Being transgender is like this:
Everyday of your life, you have always wanted a dog.
For as long as you can remember--
even if you don't know to what extent--
you have wanted one.
You asked your parents, Santa, the easter bunny,
even the tooth fairy.
Then one day you get a dead cat for your birthday.
You say "This isn't a dog,"
But "You get what you get and don't get upset"
So you carry around and care for the dead carcass.
All sorts of people look at you,
unable to understand what you are doing.
So then one day you decide to try to make it look a bit nicer.
You wash it a bit, comb what little fur it has left,
cover the decrepit limbs.
But then you realize the futility in doing this all the time,
because you are still carrying around a dead animal.
So you continue to carry it around because you have to,
no matter how horrible it may be.
Although you are carrying around a dead and rotting cat,
you aren't a ******* cat owner;
You still want a ******* dog.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
I remember they once told me that
music is the best time capsule
It's where people keep their secrets and feelings;
of their insecurities, their mistakes, their sadness, their first cut,
and even the wounds and bruises that invisible to the eye
It's where people let their wildest dreams alive;
of the one they can never reach, the one that will never come back, the one that got away without proper farewell
It's where people store their most sacred memories;
of their first kisses, their first love, their first dance, their first bucket of roses, their first heartbreak
So they were right after all,
Music is dangerous, yet addicting; it can either tear you apart or put the pieces back altogether, it depends on what kind of ghosts living inside the interlude
Thus, be careful who you listen the music with
some melody is louder than the others
**
Today I played the music box you gave me on my seventeenth birthday
How odd it is to realize that music sometimes can be a time machine, how every strings and clinks bring me back to you—towards you
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
Rolling down St. John's Heritage Highway
after Sean, my grandson's birthday party
I belt out my pioneer song with vigor
echoing across the vast beauty,
wide open, sacred spaces
pristine vistas
Norman Rockwell cows grazing
in bygone pastures happily
moo along
Driving past the yellow deer crossing sign
Florida woodlands giddyap near the edge of the road
long brown antlers prancing to
a timeless rhythm
I hope and pray that I can somehow
kindle a spark of appreciation
in my niece and grandsons
so that they may behold
the baffling greatness
and mystery that is our universe
These young'uns are mighty attached to the
virtual reality, world and landscape
of computer technology
A sprinkling of cowboy stars flash
an omnipresent wink
Sunset bonfire explodes across
the frontier horizon
Turning the corner onto Emerson Drive
smoldering scarlet orange embers
reflecting lights
shoot fireworks, launch rockets
through an ever expanding field of vision
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
Pick yourself up and dust off your shoulders
because you're a soldier and have no time to rest.
You can't escape this life because you sold your soul for this
and in the next year, you'll be buried right under your feet, six feet deep.
Will it be your hell?
Tied up alone surrounded by nothing but chains
for years and years.
Calling out to empty shadows and swallowing dust over these times.
Will it be your heaven?
In the summer of ninety-six
with the night lite up with fireworks on the fourth.
Chasing the sparks because you're a child again.
Pick your feet up and march to the drums of your family.
You promised to always protect your family
and this is all you know to do.
Giving up your life for your brother's
is what you were trained to do.
Your heart is weak but warm.
But you will not be needing it for long.
You find peace in the night
but always keep a candle lit,
to keep an eye on your brother
because he is all there is.
Things can't be rewritten or reversed.
You've just got a confused mind
and acted out of grief.
But you're always able to rewind to the night
a bullet took your brother.
These lifeforms made a deal for you, that they knew you'd take.
They could care less about your feelings.
They could **** without warning,
but you trust them with your brother's life on this one.
So now you stand a man with a deal to die
but it's all worth it because now your brother can live.
Selling your life so he can have his back was the best birthday present
you could give.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
My mother should be an author
She carves her soul into millions of pieces
Leaving it behind all of the family photos
When I see my mother
I see a woman
Who wants to hide her soul in a needle
Just so the screaming can stop in her mind,
These bottles are rattling in the living room
You see they have put shackles on her heart,
She can't love anymore
Without having ***** in her water bottle.
Where is she hiding her beer?
I feel like my mother is giving me a scavenger hunt
From the shards of glass that were left on the baseball fields
My mother used to take me to.
You know she always wasn't like this
She was strong minded and had a big heart
Tonight I will tell you the story of a woman
Who lost her soul to the Keystones to the Miller Lites
To the ****** Mary’s.
Let's rewind time
See how to **** the soul in ten years
10- I look into my mother's eyes and I start to cry
Because I'm looking at a woman who I don't know anymore
9- I refused to bail her out of jail again
Because I'm afraid her kidney will fail if she drinks again
8- My mother staggered into the theater and disrupted the whole play,
My cast mates turned to me and asked, isn't that your mother?
7- I had to hold my mothers hand
Because she was throwing up the cocktail of drugs and alcohol
6- Daddy had to get mom out of jail she was drinking again
5- My mother throws the bottle across the room
And told me the reason why she drinks is because I'm Autistic
4- My mother overslept for my piano recital,
I didn't think it was a big deal
But I remember she spent the whole night crying
With a wine glass in her hand.
3- Mommy I didn't know your prescription came in a needle
2- Mommy the prescription say 2 pills a day
why are you taking 6?
1- My mother went to the doctor
Found out that she has Rheumatoid Arthritis
I don't know what that means,
But I know she will still be strong right?
0- She took me to a Dodger game for my birthday.
I remember Sammy Sosa hitting a home run that game
She told me that the only person that can **** your soul is yourself
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
do you ever wonder
about the difference between
looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
i spent my 11th birthday
under the assumption
that he might come back
if i drank his aftershave
like maybe if i could turn blue
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i coughed up the day the post-it note with your new address on it
burned a hole in our refrigerator
coughed up the day
the divorce papers came
and my mother
took a baseball bat to the mailbox
i've been choking on the splinters
for 17 years
it's been 17 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
17 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
17 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
spat tired music
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty
*you know
i never echoed until you died*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
In the chair he played,
His muscles burned with his pain.
It was always constant,
The needless burning of his nerves.
Fingers curled he played,
There was enjoyment in the music.
It erased the pain and the sadness ,
The that the many scars of his nerves gave him.
Then he was gone
17 and gone in the last beat of the hearts
we cried happy birthday
But he wasn't the only one
What of the one teacher?
You helped him play through the pain,
While you yourself suffered,
How soon were you torn from us too?
Its all to soon.
You know their will be a final symphony,
they wont let you go without the notes.
draped on your shoulders like wings,
Angels of the band.
You both were pillars of strength,
And we all remember and sing and play.
For the good don't just die young,
They are set free of their suffering.
And we love you,
Let the symphony play.
I will cry for the man i barley knew,
For he helped the one I loved.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
At four, you took my hand and pulled me to your bed,
your small form cuddling, curling, you urgently said,
"Tell me… tell me a story! Story, make it long",
I began to tell the story, the story of when you were born:
Drums and bugles, bubbles and balloons,
somersaulting clowns and calliope tunes,
you came out to meet them, on the day that you were born,
and they were there to greet you, through a January storm.
Lions and gorillas marched to military airs,
snowmen and snowwomen danced without a spring time care,
somewhere in the harbor, a tugboat played a note,
and all the while you smiled a smile, upon a birthday float.
Just like a circus troupe, we formed a great parade,
and sauntered to the birthing bed where your mother lay,
she picked you up, she held you, as close as close can be,
her hand in mine, she softly said, “Now... we are three.”
Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
i.
Happy birthday
To thee, dearest
Friend. Mayest
This remembrance of birth
Be another year for thou
To thinkest of none end's;
But a brighter tommorrow.
ii.
Resteth gal sarah,
Put away all of
Thine sorrow's,
Didst thou not
Knoweth; there's
A God who breaketh
The alshshayatin
Who cometh against
Thee.
iii.
Thou art not alone,
As me and mine Jane
Art alway's there to
Be, a friend in need.
Growing seed's, to
Help-another grow.
iv.
Mayest the morrow
Be for thou, as white
As snow; mayest the
Seraphim, who surround's
Thy worries and protects
Thy home, showeth
Thee the light above thine tear's.
Smile mine friend, a friend is here.
Mayest thy sight be clear, and thy crown
Be uplifted and flared. As the world's glare
Hast betrayed thine eye's. Observeth upward
Wherein paradise lies; as thou wilt hath wing's one day
O' laureate of poetry's net. O' brilliant friend; of Jane and mine.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Thepoet(Sarah Ahmed) birthday dedication.
Sorry Sarah day late on b day dedication... But a happy wonderful birthday from me a friend if you ever need one there as you have always been there for me and Jane and have always been a major blessing to me and Jane!!! May the heavens open to you, and may you overcome your battles you face in this world...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY poetic friend !!!!
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
For he's a jolly good fellow,
adorned in yellow and love,
it was hard to see his face through the smoke of a three blunt rotation, but I could feel his heart beating from across the trailer.
Worn out eighties music was the unofficial theme of the night and I think we lived up to the expectations Eddie Murphy set for his.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
I got cakes;
On my menu,
I say baby;
There's nothing sweeter then you...
Cake,Cake
I like sweet cake
She make my heart pound;
At some wonderful speed rate.....
I'm very energetic;
So I love chocolate cake;
Eat it for breakfast;
Red cherry on top;
That's some blossom red lips;
I love rich cream, So baby
Bring me a whip....
You the number one on my menu....
Cake;Cake;
Chocolate Cake
Olivia Brown Vanilla Cake;
My spectacular lunch break;
With a nice cinnemon flake
Pound of cake;
She a dream cake
Cool me downn,
with some strawberry
milkshake;
She's second on my menu;
Cake;Cake;
Vanilla Cake
Supper time;
more like super time;
Everyday my birthday;
End it off with some cream cake;
I love cake;
look like dream cake;
Whip my cream,
with semi-sweet wine;
Cool me down
with ice cream
Cake;Cake;
Cream Cake....
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC