"childhoods" poems
Large and wide
Deep and Cool
Filled with the purest water inside
It was our village's hallmark pool..
Stone lined walls on all sides
WIth steps going down to the water
And stones for washing clothes
Which also doubled for scrubbing our feet..
Live with fish and water snakes
Who were friends with us kids,
Frogs who would sing chorus during the rains
and ferns green and bright on the walls.
With overhanging trees on the banks
We came running and dived into the water
somersaulted and torpedoed
and swam in all fashions and styles...
Swimming and diving from the banks
We played "catch me if you can"
from the time we are back from schools
Till it is dark and when calls come from our homes.
With swollen finger tips
and red eyes, but
After the long swim and bath
Having dinner right away and
slipping into a good night's sleep...
Days where there were no TVs to watch
Days where there no homeworks to be done
Days where what mattered most were friends
Days which take us to the sweet childhood..
Gone is the pride of our village
there are no kids who play in the water
For there is no water in the pond
except for a few months during the rains
Kids are no longer kids
They have TV to watch
Phone and computers to play
Virtual friends to play with
Lucky we were
to have such beautiful childhoods
Such memorable friendships
Such adventurous rainy seasons
....
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
*No
land **
for you.
Doomed
expeditions,
oblivion,
Only
a wreck's
inevitability,
Yet
soggy,
dogged,
Your
floating
cheer,
Echoes
in childhoods
infinite,
At water's
origin, paper's
invention...*
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC
beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
fringed in anger
runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
blasting from blacked out tints
weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds
beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
where bar tenders play therapists
and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes
beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels
That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
yourself
your friends
your country
she challenges you to
STOP DRUNK DRIVING
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
Puff the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
We know him from our childhoods
Living down in Hona Lee
Little Jackie Paper
He loved that dragon puff
But, he's grown up and he's moved away
He's too old for all that stuff
What happened to the dragon?
What is Puff doing these days?
Few children come to visit him
He's still swimming between the bays
Puff is writing stories
Of his time so long ago
He uses a computer now
For his writing was so slow
Little Jackie Paper
Is a doctor in Duluth
He doesn't think of Puff at all
He won't accept the truth
His imagination
Disappeared as Jackie grew
Puff was not a living thing
As far as Jackie knew
Puff is making money
But, longs for old pursuits
Like sealing wax and other things
And kids in rubber boots
Jackie came to visit
He brought his family to the beach
Puff was there in hiding
And he stayed just out of reach
Jackies son, he saw him
told his dad of dragon Puff
Jackie said, it isn't real
"Of this talk I've had enough"
Puff the magic dragon
heard this and he did cry
He missed his Jackie Paper
He never said good bye
Jackies son kept wanting
To see the dragon by the shore
So, Jackie took him down again
To find the dragon friend once more
Puff, he saw them coming
And he made his way on out
And to his little Jackie Paper
Puff, gave out a shout
He shot fire from his nostrils
He splashed water with his tail
He even showed Jackies young boy
How he could harness wind and sail
Puff the magic dragon
still lives by the sea
One day Jackie will notice him
And his mind will then be free
A child's imagination
Must be nurtured as they grow
Harness it as they grow up
Maybe they'll put on a show
Never, tell your children
to stop playing around
Play along and you will see
Puff is there still to be found
Puff, the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
He still frollicks in the autumn mist
In a land called Hona Lee
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
childhoods are forgotten
mere bonds simply left to rot
bewildered and betrothed to the very idea
of a more golden sun
and glistening moon
but not all the planets in the solar system are close
and are in fact very far away
words are to mean nothing
nothing
left with the wind
blown away
good bye! adieu!
I shall miss my friend!
and where is the blossom
whom I met so long ago
on Mars
on Jupiter
the promiscuity of proximity
reminiscing
within the shallow walls of the cave
that drips drips drips
to the past
and history becomes bloated
with subjectivity and
a sepia undertone
so how can we see what went wrong?
how can we learn the implications of each movement
made by our lips
fingers
each deep breath
that coincides with the galaxy
underneath a waning moon
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 8:22 PM UTC
vexed by the solidity of the granular surface
of this rough and tumble dream
i awaken to a forest of sunlight's in a dark world
to my sleep numbed mind
it resembles
the artwork of french revolt era
royal court damsel in distress figurines
dancing with dark-ages statues of plagues death
the starving meet the fed
and they struggle for who leads this dancehall of the marcarbe
burning the ashes of the old worlds dead flames
i look away to find her face
near mine
cut into shadowy sections
i hear within her spoken thoughts
the contortions her life has suffered
at the hands of grey faced strangers known intimately by her
i wish with heart and soul to reach out
and comfort
to remove the burden
the shadows of her face
are reflections of the world as she sees it
she is mesmerized by its ugliness
and she cannot close the door to her past
it lay like her childhoods bedroom
filled with broken teddy bears
and soiled sheets
if i could heal you
if i could even ease your moment
i would trade my living soul to have your smile
you are loved
you are so loved
a lame beggar in the rags of a monk
limps slowly from the effigy of a old world
as it burns with unspoken rages
white smoke from the roof
another chapter of history closed
with too many secrets
too many
but the beggar takes consolation
that she was given a second chance
a dove birthed from flames
here in the dust of the old world
you are loved
you are so loved
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
I see you in window panes.
Breath spreading from one corner to the next during a cold fall day.
This is the happiest moment.
And yet, it's never happened...
The fish hooks attached to my ears, leading to you.
A smile passes as I listen to the words they hang off of.
This is the happiest moment.
And yet, it's never happened...
A dress, stitched to my skin, hangs off the curves like water on Niagara Falls.
It's white crest spilling like nature and man wanted it to.
This is the happiest moment.
And yet, it's never happened...
I can only dream of this.
Because it has only been 5 months, since I held you so close to me that our first moment still hangs on my neck, still warm.
And it's not really socially acceptable to be handing over your past, present, and future to someone you met over the internet after only 5 months.
But it seems like a lifetime. Because I knew in the first hour in that car, driving from the airport, that I wanted my life to be spread over yours. Like PB&J; spread over our childhoods in a thick, gooey layer that is in the bottom of your stomach and the top of your mouth making it harder to talk about the times when all you had was Lego and hands.
I knew I wanted 2 things in life from then on.
1) To wake up ever morning with the smell of good coffee and good kisses
2) For you to be my barista.
Here's a tip, you look so good in white.
So let's wait a little longer till I can ask you for that ring in your pocket.
Till you take me to a fancy restaurant, where I put on that confidence you built up for me and you wear that shirt I bought you for our 5 month anniversary.
You have planned all this out. Until you realize I have been waiting since the airport for this question and a plan was never needed.
I can take the waiting.
It will be the happiest moment,
And it will happen soon.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
Quit yelling at your kids and expect them to sleep well
Quit yelling at your kids in the morning right after they wake up, before school and expect them to have a good day
You set the tone for your children
You set the tone for YOUR voice that they will always remember in their heads
You become their inner voice
Don't be their inner critic
Let's raise kids who don't need therapy to heal from their childhoods
Speak Life,
Speak Love,
Speak Bravery,
Speak Kindness,
Speak Hope,
Speak wisdom and,
Speak Truth
Most of all listen to your children. Be their safety net. Be their Home
-Michelle Sorenson, M. ED
May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 8:33 AM UTC
I see the space station passing over, and I wave, and think about all the silent machines above me. Orbit is a controlled fall – I remember that. An endless downwards hurtle, but with just enough forward momentum to keep from hitting the ground. Freefall. I think about satellites, and how this barely controlled freefall is the only way that they can fulfill their purpose. I think some people are like satellites: we also live out our lives in freefall.
Satellite people, that’s us. We’re the ones who always say the wrong thing to the wrong person, or the right person at the wrong time. We didn’t get the Rulebook for Human Interaction that the others got given at birth, or soon after. Or if we did, we never read it – discipline was never our strong point.
People in freefall Get It Wrong, often. We’re good at self-justification, and we tell ourselves that she doesn’t really love him, that our unhappy childhoods are to blame, that our badness makes us interesting. We never got the hang of sensible, grown-up love - our bodies shake, our souls twist and burn inside our limbs, and we open our big mouths, and the only thing we can keep down is Jim Beam and dry toast, because we don’t know if it’s all going to be OK, now we’ve spoken. In all probability, we’re never going to know.
We live our whole lives in freefall, people like us, but with just enough forward momentum to keep us alive. And we are alive – ****** and embarrassed and scared, but alive. It’s when we feel nothing, that’s when people like us hit the ground.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
How do you swindle the light?
This would be the greatest grift.
An ongoing experimental conn
where we all remember,
who the mark(s) is,
pretending, just in case,
behind the curtain,
sleight of hand,
behind the back,
if there is no wizard in the back seat,
just in case...you'll tell the kids:
'it was all for them.' So they could sleep.
Childhoods are just safe houses for hope.
In play roles come easy,
in assortments, and unpackages, separate;
but everyone knows the rules,
their part, they remember
that fairness is sacred to play.
Some games get played
and some gamers’ play is accidental.
The game like the carnival is vacuous,
inhaling all into its eye,
exhaling into its calm, swindles like a carney,
jettisoning all into the extinction of gratification.
The mystery lies in the conspiracy.
System can beat game, house, odds,
conn the conn and you can go home a winner.
The Universe is a big casino, you see.
And all you have to do is get up from the table,
cash in your chips, and figure out where your car is.
The house always wins, you’ll say.
But therein lies the reason we play.
Which you're sure to figure out in the lot,
cramped delineations garner thought,
you'll realize that therein lies nowhere.
The conspiracy lies in the abyss,
A place where villagers lose their cattle,
Costumed & uniformed, singing gray prayers.
Crop circles are diasporic clusters of hope.
Where science fiction invented the cold war,
Between ghosts created by radio waves.
A mass hallucination produced by trauma?
Dellusion v. Illusion
Nurturist v. Naturist v. Projection,
As long as it’s a weapon!
Destination unknown-
But just in case, let’s create something that can destroy us all.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
He smelt like smoke
as he leaned away from me,
texting himself with my phone.
We left the campfire outside,
in our shoes by the door
our socks overlapped in a tangle of limbs.
In that leftover guest room,
on the bottom bunk of the microwaved bed,
I remembered why I thought I knew what love was.
He was tired and needed a nap,
I was restless and cold.
Trapped inside because of violent temperate rainstorms.
This boy owed me stubbed toes,
thorn ****** through my jeans,
nicknames and rubber soles.
This was the boy who had always smelt of smoke,
who knocked over dead trees for me,
who lied about being able to rock climb.
This was the boy who went swimming in the ocean
before summer had properly began
when it was still much too chilly.
I taught him a new card game,
he beat me at badminton.
We played capture the flag and threw pinecones.
We sold cookies on the side of the road,
ate dusty blackberries,
traded innuendos and bad jokes.
This was sea-urchin boy,
slug boy,
the boy with the bird's nest hair.
This boy grew taller,
dropped his voice like a used bus pass,
looked past the top of my head.
He laughed when i stepped in a mud puddle,
dared me to walk in bare feet.
This boy suddenly went mountain biking.
I talked extra loud, in hopes that he would overhear me,
offered him rootbeer straight from the can.
Ate pretzels and learned to read his mind.
We shared our childhoods like penny candies,
switching all the peach ones for strawberry.
we agreed these are the best years of our lives.
He layed beside me, underneath as many covers as we could find,
taking up too much space and he knew it.
my cartoon boy.
My hand-drawn boy,
With smoke coming out of his ears
moved away.
We didn't talk again
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
you sat on the piano bench
and i sat on the floor
we talked about our fathers
we shared our lonely childhoods
broken bones, broken hearts
i decided i could listen to your voice for hours
you told me you wanted to be a pianist
and i offered to teach you guitar
i played stevie nicks for you
and you said you didn't sing
but your voice is beautiful
and i wish you'd sing for me
you told me about the songs you like
and i went home and made a playlist
it's four months later and i have every song memorized
in alphabetical order
you told me you didn't believe in love
but i know real love and i know forced "love"
and i know i've loved you since that day in september
when you told me i had beautiful handwriting
and i'll never forget how you looked at me
instead of the paper
when the words drifted through the stuffy third-floor air
and i didn't even know your name
so for now i listen to your songs on repeat
and look forward to tomorrow
i just wish i'd kissed you
that evening of the recital
on that ****** piano bench
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
I'm not here to judge your perspective
We were in the same place but our childhoods were different
We saw and felt different things
It's not a bad word, it's the way we perceived and lived through everything
We may have been in the same places,
but couldn't see through each other's faces.
We both had our bad experiences
and found ways to get through them
It's been so hard for me to let go
but after we spoke I think I finally know,
I can't do the work for you,
You have to want to evolve for you.
I can't tell you every story I have
and believe you'll understand where I stand or where I've stood,
You have your own desk where you'll write your book
Although it hurt, because I had so much hope.
You preached so much to me about how we should be close-
You told me how you wished for a relationship to grow,
You said I never shared, never asked and never cared.
I feel like I tried so much but your words make me feel unaware.
It hurt when you told me I hide,
Probably because there's some truth to it,
that hurt me deeply inside.
I have masked around our family for as long as I can remember.
I learned so early that I wasn't what was wanted
I was only loved when I went along and nodded
I always agreed, except for when I couldn't
I'd say no to things to avoid the acting
I hated that I had to be a certain way
To stay free of your judgement
I couldn't wear the shoes I wanted,
or play the songs I liked in the car without hearing your homophobic comments
Having to become every expectation
It is how I have lived for so long
I'm so burnt out now
and I finally don't have to be strong.
I went along with it to avoid the uncomfortable feelings I had,
Every time I would have to be around you
I put up with things I should've never had to.
I'm talking about your husband putting your cat on my face when I was asleep and he knew I was allergic.
The more I reflect, the more I see it
Everything you've projected on me
To avoid your own feelings
The clothes, the music, the comments, the expectation of who you wanted me to be-
I'm sorry you feel like you can't keep growing
Now that you're older and have your own family
It must be so painful to be stagnant
When you want to fly with sunflowers
I hate that I make you feel negatively
and there's nothing I can say to help you
I tried the hardest I could to be honest
and because I did my best, I am now free of my mask of burdens
Jan 17, 2024
Jan 17, 2024 at 9:05 AM UTC
land’s become copper and rust
but for a few golden strands
of heavy-headed grass
spears tall, yet avoided harvest
appetites of roving deer
will soon consume them, too,
overcoming fears, that gray-band
of asphalt they dance against
they stand silent, await frost
certain to repaint the place
as cotton clouds, my breath,
remind the lie of endless life
clutched fast in cold-numbed limbs
this web of brittle bones,
like the huddled trees outstretched,
is tossed in bitter winds
and in there I lost your face
the body stooped and shuffled away
with never a backward glance
taking our childhoods with you,
old man
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams.
I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma.
I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.
I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there.
I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end.
I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.
I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within.
I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.
And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls.
Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.
I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.
I am cycle breaker,
I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear,
I am no longer frightened maiden,
I am fearsome mother.
I am new.
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 12:15 PM UTC
Growing up never comes when you expect it:
It's when you realize that the suicide note under your mattress
Probably has a few too many commas where semicolons should be,
And a little too much emphasis on the last four years of your life-
Missed due dates, flunked exams, and friendships that were supposed to be forever.
It's when you figure out that the boy you spent your freshman year of college worrying about
Never even knew the name of your favorite book,
Or anything else that really mattered.
It isn't something you can predict, or prepare for-
It isn't a sudden shift of priorities that all of a sudden appear
Somewhere in your subconscious, making it a lot easier to get up at 9am for a statistics class
That you're inevitably going to fail.
It isn't anything you do that will change, but rather
A shift inside of you that slowly shakes your entire being.
Youth is only beautiful until it's corrupted,
By the sultry hands of time, beckoning you forward when all you ever wanted to do was hide.
It slowly seeps down into the darkest corners of your mind,
Swallowing up all that innocent ambition
Flung upon you in the fifth grade by a board of indifferent teachers
Who decided to deem you gifted, introducing you to a world of knowledge
Too fascinating to mingle with the uncertainty of responsibility.
There's something frightening about growing old,
Maybe it's because you spent one too many hours of your childhood
Pretending to be someone else- caught up in a storybook world
Full of daydreams and simplicity, too one dimensional for reality.
It's not that it goes away all of a sudden: all the premature doubt
And impulsive wishes of death, or something like it.
But rather, it takes a different form-
That which was once a big red ball full of passionate emotions,
Has deflated, leaving you with only a faint residue of what you used to feel.
Maybe, you got your wish after all- something had to die, you know,
In order for you to carry on without losing your mind.
It's a sad paradox, this sequence of living,
As intuition slowly deteriorates, and common sense
Slinks in, in its premeditated, yet lackluster manner,
And before you know it, you're not a kid anymore.
Peter Pan flew the coop years ago, but Neverland still remains,
A testimony to all the lost childhoods of the ones
Too eager to lay their stake in the land of milk and honey.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
As childhoods flourished
We were always told
Up in the skies we had a valuable soul
A guardian angel watching us grow
One for each one
To watch over us
To be our helping hand
As this rose bloomed
She came to see
Her guardian angel was not in the sky
Her guardian angel roamed through the night
Sometimes in a tie
Others in a chef coat
Regardless of clothes he watched over her
With hugs and laughs years of a friend
It wasn't till now that she came to see
Not only an angel was he
But a friend much more than she could see
He'd smile at her
Even when she was not in sight
It kept her alive through lonely nights
He was a friend a guardian, you see
A helping hand in times of need
Soon her eyes were opened
He kept her safe
He kept a smile on her face
She will always believe
She will always love
She will always be thankful
For her guardian angel.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
in moonlight whispers love fills my heart
and glass with wine, and magnifies
my soul to tenderness.
the biting, scraping, lustful pining
for distant and abhorrent truth
is solace in place of reality.
a reality where we address the trauma
of unkind childhoods, bloodied knees,
and chipped teeth.
misunderstandings that follow the gap
in a shortness of breath before an apology.
that remind you that your thoughts
can only love if you do.
and years later you will have some drunken
outpour that darkens the moonlight
and comfort, but makes way
to some otherworldly dawn beyond
the you that reads this now.
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 5:10 AM UTC
i cannot fly
for i am lost,
in a world i do not know
and have yet to understand.
emotions are trapped deep in my throat,
caught in my chest,
intangible wisps of half-formed words,
bent and misshapen,
thrown together like mismatched furniture,
never with the intention of being articulated.
we are souls on the verge of being,
but not quite enough
to be.
walls hover above my head
closing in,
as stones crumble beneath my feet,
rocks tumbling,
disappearing
into a fissure of emptiness below.
in isolation
i fall,
surrending,
before the earth shatters
into millions of pieces
of other broken souls,
and we carry each other
as burdens on our backs
even though we are all damaged,
flightless.
the earth is 7 billion humans long,
the circumference composed of pain, suffering, healing;
souls piled on top of souls,
and we are caught,
caged into a life we didn't agree to live.
we did not sign a waiver in the last moments before our conception,
or in the delivery room,
or when our faces were first greeted by the sun as infants,
we never had a chance to cease to exist altogether.
my wings are clipped short,
and i do not know how to fly--
i'm thrashing against the sides of my cage,
my songs of joy becoming tears of sorrow,
of desperation and faltering hopes.
i'm bursting at the seams
that were hastily sewn by others,
people i hardly know.
they patch each incision with torn bandages,
that come undone with each breath i take,
only to be mended again.
we are fighting to save ourselves
whilst wrestling with the darkest creatures that only ever existed in our childhoods,
our youth being a fleeting memory,
scattered by the wind.
it has become a mindless struggle
as they pull you
downward,
binding your wrists behind your back,
as you stumble
helpless to catch even yourself,
let alone anyone else.
for how can you escape from the darkness
when you cannot fly?
and how can you fly,
when you do not even know where the sky is?
-j.m.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
United with more than double helix,
Tangled lives and childhoods intertwine,
Rasied as sisters,
Best friends to be,
And as your tears clench on your heart,
My hands will reach to pull you up.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
I go
Along that lichen path
so white, and straight
so assertive of mystical quality
along the barren rocky coast
I am old now
and what were once white houses
on far off misty shores
are now gulls against cloud
sitting in the water
Here is a special place
A place of many childhoods
my childhood
but still here
steadfast against this changing world
I cast my offering in
a Penny
into this rockpool
which has forever faithfully been named
the wishing well.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
Peace
Will there ever be peace?
Or are we all headed for doom
When it comes to my life
I truly think there's no such thing
Peace has never been apart of it
Are you out of your minds?
There is no peace!
How can my people have peace
When we have nothing
There's no childhoods anymore
This is a wasteland
This is a place filled with injustice
There can be no peace
When there's war on our streets
As long as we're living in this hell
Peace will never come around
Until you clean this mess you made
The only peace I have..
Is my peace of mind
This is why I keep my weaponry
As I walk these streets
Because there will never be peace
Once again, how can we have it
When abortions are carried out
Children are thrown off buildings
When suicide is the new norm
Drugs turning neighborhoods out
Racism is still a common actuality
Young girls are ***** each night
Peace will only come
When this turmoil comes to a halt
When we are finally unshackled
When everything is back to normal
But of course we truly know
That it will get worst before better
So no need count on it
For it will never come to pass
The norm is now a storm
More like a F-5 Earthquake
Rumbling the days of our lives away
I pray constantly still..
The somehow peace can be met
Until then, I worry of me and mine
I want what the clowns on top have.
Peace! Peace! Peace!
Don't brag about us needing peace
When you're not aiding any for us
Share that peace with us
Or should I strategically say,
Provide a piece of peace...
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
People have aesthetic childhoods.
With parents that understand and cuddle them when lightning strikes.
I remember the teddy bears in my bed,
and how they smelt of mum and dad,
how I would hold Odettes ear with my finger and thumb,
my head ducked under cover in fear of an alien tickling my toes.
But now the teddies are placed high up on a shelf
away from me, out of reach.
When I realise the ear isn't in my hands,
I look around and see the dust at my feet,l like I'm down at the bottom,
I look up,
my family are at the top
and the red cord of family love bounding us together is thin, and I fear we are soon to have a disconnect again,
When I make it to the third or fourth level
I see their faces grinning with pride
at their daughter succeeding and waking up before noon,
and I say something funny to lighten the mood,
but I tumble lower by one or two
depending on how fake the laugh I hear was.
I sit in the gravel and wonder.
I don't understand why I can't touch them anymore because I'm like my mum,
we're both alike,
and I'm like my dad,
we're also alike,
but I feel lost on a planet when I meet their eyes,
like I'm somewhere I shouldn't be,
I wallow in the dust for days, until I feel
them prodding me with a stick from the top shelf,
asking me when I'll finally reach the top.
Telling me that I'm seventeen now and that I used to be on the sixth shelf when I was sixteen.
How I used to do so well with my homework,
and I would get great grades,
but now I get dark stains around my eyes,
and a tearstained face,
but from their great height, they can't see my shoulders shaking,
they just see me carrying my baggage,
too heavy for my small frame to handle.
I force my way up the mountain,
until I see their faces,
they smile and I tumble right back down.
I feel like screaming;
LOOK AT ME!
I AM HERE!
I EXIST!
I AM ON MY PLANE,
AND YOU ARE ON YOURS!
but however hard I do scream,
the wind picks it up and carries it away,
and all they hear is;
'Look at me, I'm on your plane!"
They smile.
I tumble three.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 10:05 PM UTC