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She is growing
Getting older by the day
She's becoming a lady faster than me or her mom care to say
  Her first taste of freedom
She is counting down the days
Soon she will be 16 and finally on her way
I will blow her a kiss and wipe the tears away
I will tell her how I love her  
My freckle face
Little Bit Mar 2017
sweetest girl
my greatest joy is
watching your
imagination grow
I'm honored to
be a spectator to
how it unfolds

even when it frightens you
because that unfortunately
is the cost of creativity

but don't try to stop it
that will only weigh down
your effervescent spirit
that would only mix your
true colors to ashy grey

I'll hold your hand
walk you through
the gravel and sand
and remind you to
appreciate the grand

your wonder
delights me
I can't wait
to see how you
surprise me
written 3/18/17
Abby Dec 2018
In sync they walk arm in arm
Along the tracks of an unused farm
Stabbing pains are in my chest
As I see their love at its best
Little do they know the joy they radiate
Or the pain in my heart from my own mothers fate

I wish that was me
That sweet synergy
Of arm in arm
Love in love
Together
Bonded
More than
The sum of its parts
Ilia Talalai Apr 2016
Let me meet you in a marbled
                                                 field of
                                                           sand...
                                      
                                                               Though
you bewitch me with clifftops hooded in emerald grass ...
                                                 Though
your sheep bleat loudly the marvel of your serenity...
                                   Though
you wait patiently beyond your lonely precipice,

             I cannot endure the eons
                                         raging against the cliffs of your security.

Every
passing year, the thunder of my broken waves
gouges deeper into your wounded coastline.
Every
rock torn from your embrace, resounds the pain of our growing rift
Every
crumbling cliffs edge dissolves the beauty I held in reverie...

                      I wound us in this way.


Let me meet you in a secluded
                                                     gentle
                                                          ­      cove...

There,
    upon quieted sands, my waves will softly stroke your skin.
There,
    the lions will laugh in cacophonous delight at our simple joy.
There,
    our worlds will dance as pebbles tumble into diamond crystals.

There, a child will listen woefully,
                                 the sea song of our love.

With eyes in contented darkness,
         With a soul filled, overflowing
                     With the power of bearing witness
                                                         ­      to this daily wonder.

Each
     breath brings her deeper into the burning core of her mind,
Each
     thought sparks the flame brighter
Each
     billowing blaze will enliven her roots, and
                                                             ­                     she will bloom.
    
      Then,
her eyes will open to a shimmering world,
glistening through tears of quiet understanding.
                     Then,
breath will guide the salt of our dance into her veins
                                  Then,
         she will dance to the song of our world.

With arms wide as eyes,
               she will embrace
                      this treasured moment  
                                 With the divinity of her mortality.

When the moment calms, she will walk solemnly through our shallows.
When my waves pull home at her ankles,
When the crystalline pebble shines brightly in her visage

she will reach with focused surrender through my water for a memento
of the love she feels so presently.

In our slow dance,
of Land and Sea,
               our love bears its fruits in tiny treasures.
In her little pocket,
                             the diamond of our love
will travel further into your heart than my waves ever could.

In this way...
                  you and I grow fonder
                                                             with every passing day.
B Chapman May 2018
Murky water I won't try to fight
A pinpoint hole
through which dark meets light

The somber mother of truth
Choosing this oppression
Destruction of a perfect conception

Cringing away from the touch of love
Rattling my bones
for what I don't deserve

Impossible consequences
For saying 'no'
to a God.
Anya Nov 2018
If we forgo pursuing truth
Then we allow ourselves to die
I’ve done so long ago
When I grew complacent with a lie
With the word of a woman
Who carries death in her sight
Unfit to reject her skill
For she brings with it slight delight
Both soldier and weapon
Difference had died with her
The daughter of hopes rejoice
Now walks as a hopeful killer
Burdened are the knowing
For fitting words had rung
And she knew of what escaped
Beneath her velvet tongue
Jamie Newton Jun 2018
I feel the pain and I push it away

I’ll Fill my mind with other stuff today

Yet you creep back in it’s hard to shake

Wondering what you think and feel is hard to take

I don’t know a thing, I’m in the dark

My Parental pain tears at my heart

The only thing that was sweet and pure

Lost to me through a perfect allure

I’m sorry baby, you will never know

How I roll in pain and agony so

But not for me, but for precious you

A daddy should be a proud and stable statue

I let you down and destroyed my soul

I dont know who i am now, or where to go

I’ve lost my baby, my heart and my pride

For a beautiful devil wrapped in an angels disguise

I will carry on fighting and I will never stop

I will get you back I will come out on top...

Yeah right, my fate is sealed

No more cuddles, no more love I finally yield.

Take her and take her fast

And while you’re there point that gun and blast

Oh that would be so simple, such an easy way out

Just stupid thoughts from a useless lout

I’m in a bad place, a deep depression, in a fudge

Hours and days and thousands of pounds in front of a judge

To no avail, I sit back broken and bent

dead inside from the years fighting I've spent

She was my anchor, my hopes and my pride

She was also my deepest fears on an opposite tide

Now those fears have finally come true

9 months 13 days and 2 hours since I last saw you.



By J.N
For anyone that’s made life shattering mistakes, know that you are not alone in your pain.
Jonathan Sawyer Jan 2018
A new year is come and you're still not gone.

I can feel you creeping up on me. You feed on my energy, yet, I cannot see you. I'm glad I can't see your face.

You smell like an old forgotten rot underneath a seam of doors hiding the old death of forgotten men. Your cousin looms, taunting me to acknowledge your presence.

You climb on my back--you've caught up to me.

I've tried running, it doesn't help. You live under my shadow; you're quiet like him too.

I can hear the smack of your lips graze across my consciousness, your breath--icy. You touch my eyes and they freeze without freezing. The hairs on the back of my head hurt because they stand on end amidst your frozen breath. You make your move and whisper icily into my ear,

. . . . You're nothing.

I almost agree.

. . . . No one loves you.

My wife does! And my daughter too!

. . . . No one wants to hear you speak.

Fine, I'll shut up. I look into a mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My icy stare sends chills to my bones. Is that really me?

. . . . Yes, you're dead.

Sometimes I feel like it, yeah.

. . . . Nothing matters.

Finally, we agree on something.

. . . . It would be better if you just weren't here.

I begin to cry.

. . . . Remember your daughter, here's a picture.

She's so beautiful. I cry some more.

. . . . You will fail her.

. . . . You have failed her.

. . . . I will consume her.

. . . . You perpetuated this all on your own.

. . . . You're a fraud, seeking pity.

. . . . You're a sorry person, aren't you?

. . . . Feel that burning inside you? This is what happens when you let in the dark passenger.

. . . . I shall consume you, too.



. . . . --AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.



Yes, it is my fault. Like the fault line in the earth's crust, my mind splits in twain.

The excitement ends when I've become drunk with madness, not seeing the light around me. I sleep a little, contemplating all that I convinced myself.

In the morning the sun is out, shining through the window. You're still sleeping though, dear dark passenger. I try not to wake you. I seek the sun hoping you will disappear and take your darkness with you, but you persevere, keeping your hands at the ready until I am vulnerable again, waiting to make my dance to the tune of hopelessness--always just, "one more time."
6 January 2018 - My take on bipolar depression, the dark passenger. My biggest struggle is what it does to me, using my daughter as a **** to dig the deepest abyss my imagination can create; I cast myself in. She's both my shining star and my worst despair, because I fear the dark passenger will take her, too.
lmbf Aug 2018
I’m writing this to you now, when I can still purely and wholly empathize with the challenges you are experiencing. That’s not to say that at some point I will stop understanding the way you think, but you will soon learn that time is unreliable. It shifts, but also tends to shrivel and jade our perspective on many matters of the heart. I hope you will be able to relate to my insight here; perhaps, you will even learn something from it.

You will fall in love. No, it’s not always the type you see in movies: girl meets boy, boy thinks girl is cute, they live happily ever after. Love is an abstract - almost like art, if you will. It blossoms in unexpected places. I have fallen in love with cities, the breeze of the palm trees on my face at the top of your great-grandparents’ house, and the gentle tug of the waves’ retreat into the sea. And I have fallen in love with the people around me, in every possible way. If you are lucky, you will have met some of them by the time you read this. But most you will never know - because that’s the way life works. They have loved me and I have loved them, and we have shared the days we were meant to spend together.

You, my dear, will experience many iterations of love as I have, too, throughout all the seasons of your life. Some will bring you immense joy and as a parent, I thank them for that. Others, not so much. And that’s okay! The important thing is that you use both with equal measure: to develop your capacity for feeling, to develop your means of expressing it, and to develop tenacity for handling all the heartbreaks/rejections of everyday life.

These are just some of the lessons I have learned in love and pain, a summary of all the letters I have written from the road. I hope you will remember these and many more, until the next time I write to you again.

Yours,
l.m.b.f.
(mom)
// Summer Freewrite Sessions 2018
The last piece of July.
Madeleine Apr 7
My daughter
You are Beautiful
Always
          -God
Azurel Mata Jul 2018
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I am not broken, I am free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.
Do you see me now?

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.
Do you see me now?


Pants swollen, hair to my brow,
Along my jaw,
Down my legs,
Sprouting from my toes.
Do you see me now?
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on my sheets, not between my legs
Stained by the girl who lies in her place
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, Burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Please tell me
Do you see me now?
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Alexis Oct 2018
If I should have a daughter, the word mom will mean more than just a title to her because when that word pops into her head she will think of her mother, her teacher, her support, and together we will sculpt our block of stone into the life we aspire to live.

I want her to embrace her Irish roots, so I will name her Cara after the Celtic word for ‘friend’. She will be a friend to all and love everyone and everything, and her name will remind her to always care for life and admire all its artistry.

I'm going to teach her to be like a tree; to transform the bad into good, and always give back to the world. She’ll grow gracefully but surely and as she ages, she’ll gather wisdom and experience from the world. She's going to learn that life is never constant and is always changing, but I’ll make sure that she always embraces the change with open arms; I'll tell her, “leaves are always going to grow and fall from your branches, but with each leaf lost, a new one will always sprout”. It’s no wonder that many great artists are so inspired by nature, as it holds an array of beauty, growth, and regeneration.

And every morning I’ll remind her, “Cara, don’t forget to laugh and smile today, because it’s never hard to smile at someone who is already smiling”. And when the day comes to an end, every night before bed just like my father, I’ll read her ‘The Giving Tree’. And once she can recite it word for word, we’ll read it together so that when she has children of her own, she can pass on the memories from her childhood and create tradition.

I’ll teach her that sometimes you need to take time to do absolutely nothing. When you feel those crashing waves of anxiety engulfing your body, clear your mind and be as calm as the glossy surface of a lake. “You are a still life - and like Van Gogh's sunflowers, take time and stillness to experience tranquillity and life in its purest form”.

“If you ever feel different and set apart from the crowd, embrace it and admire your uniqueness, and remember that no two brush strokes are exactly alike. The path to greatness is littered with rejections and ridicules, but I will be your walking stick; reassuring you whenever you feel weary”.

I'll tell her, “Identity can be easily misplaced in this fastpaced world of crushing expectations, so never forget who you are”. I'm going to teach her that there are times and places when she needs to be a formalist and follow every rule, but there are also times for freeform, where she can create her own.

When she turns to me in her times of fear and confusion, I’ll be there to reassure her and say “don’t be afraid, something you’re scared of or think is weird may just be something familiar viewed from a different angle”. She will learn that a change in perspective has the potential to reveal things that weren’t visible to the eyes before.

I’ll teach her to communicate through art; the universal language of neither words nor limits. Through abstract to express emotions and reactions, surrealism to illustrate the creative potential of the mind, and realism to capture life as it really is.

“And like the pointillism in the Island of La Grande Jatte, never forget to take in and admire every small detail of the big picture. You’ll see that the ordinary becomes extraordinary when taken in and experienced”. But I’ll also remind her to step back from her canvas every once in a while in order to see everything as a whole instead of obsessing over the minuscule details.

And when she comes to me with her palate completely covered with paint and no room for any more, we’ll wipe the slate clean and start fresh, because I'll teach her that when things seem to turn bland and unenjoyable, it’s ok to walk away and restart. And I’ll hold her and tell her, “You are the one who controls every brush stroke, every colour, every texture, and every layer, so remember that you, and only you are the artist of your paintings, and it is these fine works that make up your collection, called Life”.
Storm Albertyn Sep 2017
"My daughter, I have seemed to misplace
Instead of my darling, I received a disgrace
The poor old stork, to bring me this girl
Should retire his work, a shame on this world
Look at how she wishes she were,
Watching the world grow up without her
The luck she bares is all but good
"Listen and do, like proper girls should!"
Where's her beauty and womanlike charm?
All she has is an urge for self harm
To lose a daughter is a shame on its own
To receive a disappointment brings disgrace to my home
If returns were an option, I'd do it in a tick
Yet here she is and its making me sick
Counting the days til she's out of my hair
But for now I'll keep acting like I care"
This is really what my father thinks of me fyi
harlee kae Apr 2014
I will sit her down and tell her
don't give yourself to the first person
that tells you, you're beautiful.

Because someone else will come along
and tell you that you're beautiful
and they will mean it.
Apporva Arya Jun 2017
Don't mind if a feminist reply instead of a daughter.
Gone are the days when a daughter will sacrifice herself for a family which no longer keep harmony with her after marriage.
Jade Charlotte Feb 2017
When he drinks his face turns to lava
Hot rocks crumble from his glossy eyes
Heat steams from his porous,
Red cheeks

He is burning himself
His ***** gasoline
His temple a torch

Cold air
Fresh and excruciating
Bites his chin

The towering man
Shrinks small
He sinks into a deep sleep
BECOMING HIS DAUGHTER

She grasps the air
with her new born

fist
as if

she were stuffing
it down

her own throat
before letting it

circulate within her
until it became her

and then using
her new found voice

let out a great shout.

This cry
is me.

And so, was born
a father at that very

moment
holding her

in his palms
as if she were water

her wail
altering the very

molecules
of the air & how

he could now
never be

the same again ever

since she had decided to be
his daughter.
Soul Scribe Apr 2018
My volume dial turned left to 14,
My AC dial turned up because I can't breathe,
The rain dropping down hitting glass and then smearing clean
By my wipers who shoot the water off scene.
Continually firing no need for hiring for the wipers wipe for my drive entirely,
My daughter in the back seat trying to see blinded by the water forming a shining sea
Reflecting from the headlights on the cars in front,
Detecting slick roads ahead the car trys to save itself,
Explaining, "don't worry daughter is just hydroplaning
Because it's raining the rain picked up the tires from the road okay?"
I'm scared but I hide the feeling the itch on the back of my neck it's gaining momentum as we slide faster what the heck all these security functions on the car so I can see through the rain, but it won't save me.


The car stopped but the wipers still firing.
My daughter crying in the back screaming "daddy please don't go just yet I have something to say!
I got a boyfriend today his name's Bret,
I thought it was neat that your names were the same,
But unlike his I'll remember yours for all my days,
Goodbye, Dad."
A short poem capturing the last moments of a daughter and her father. While he tries to protect his daughter from the fear of the upcoming crash, the daughter is keeping quite about the new boy as to protect the father from the fear of losing his little girl. They both kept quite in order to protect. But in the end they were both separated forever.
PlaneJane Apr 9
I couldn’t trust you to listen to my secrets
And you proved untrustworthy when you read them anyway.
No I didn’t have a lock and key
But you trespassed where you weren’t suppose to be anyway.
Yes I said some things that hurt
But you weren’t suppose to read them anyways.
These words would have never made it out my mouth,
so it doesn’t matter anyways.
I would have tried to take them back
But you would’ve yelled at me anyways
I would have told you that my words, my communication was in lack
But you would have believed them anyways
I took all notebooks, stopped writing, threw them in the trash
But the feelings still lived anyways
I went and got my notebooks back
And decided to write anyways
I share new pains with new insight
But the hurt remains anyway
You ask me why I never call or call back
I want to but decide against it anyways
I’m still trying to work on communicating in fact
I finally called you back anyways
We’re falling short from a perfect mother and daughter relationship
But we’re still trying anyways.
I hurt by the
loss of you.
That you have
lost yourself.
That you can't seem to get away
from the depths
and nightmare
of your addiction.

I am hurting like a Mama Bear.
Lost my cub
and I can't find her.
I look endlessly.
Feel an avalanche  
of painful emptiness.

I am lost myself,
in losing you.
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