"gabs" poems
A sliver of air on the wind
Cold, but familiar
Then she kept going
Saying she wasn't good for me
Saying goodbye everyday
I convinced her to stay
And I stayed by the frosty air that was my
"Love"
My "Baby boo"
My Gabs
But today she left,
And now I'm colder than I was before...
They all leave... I guess she was no different
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
That's what they always say.
Get it together
Apparently all the doctors and psychiatrists' opinions mean nothing.
Stop dramatizing
Apparently, I'm just faking.
Get over yourself
Supposedly, my chemical imbalances are my fault.
Just fix it
Supposedly, the solution is purely my own willpower.
Stop the gabs for attention
You want me to "just deal with it"?
Fine, I will.
You just won't like the outcome.
The real question is, will you miss me after I've just dealt with it?
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC
in your room all alone
curled up in a ball
rocking back and forth
telling yourself there's nothing wrong
But then there's a noise
As your closet door creaks open
you rock a little faster
not seeing this hand that is coming
slowly creeping on the bed
pulling your blanks down
the hand is getting closer
now your freaking out
you jump off the bed but stumble
falling face first on the floor
the hand gets down it gabs your leg
it pulls you to the closet door
you start to wake up and scream
before the your pulled in
as the closet shuts it doors
you punch you scream
you claw at the door
as the hand pulls you in further
crying and scared
pulled down a flight of stairs
you are sat up on a chair
the hand it moves away
but something else comes forward
it tries to sneak up toward you
then covers your eyes with it's hands
still crying in fear you ask to be spared
then hear a strange voice
a light gets turned on
your hear somebody stand in front
as the hands move away from you eyes
you see your brothers standing there
laughing at how much you got scared
lowering your head you feel ashamed
your brothers were wrong
they should not have done this to you at all
thanks to them you'll never look at them the same
when then unbound you you walk away
back the way you came
opening the door you came in before
no longer the same person anymore
your brothers have taken your pride
broken you inside
changed the course of the rest of your life
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
Amy.
Four years old.
Walks in. Gabs a snack, and sits in my lap.
I saw the first tear.
I knew that look.
I had seen it in the mirror.
She isn't perfect.
But neither are you.
Why point out something that is obvious in everyone?
At four years old.
She already is doubting herself.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
We drove
to the funeral directors,
Nat, Gabs and I,
to pick up
Ole's ashes.
We walked from the car
to the building
across a forecourt
in silence,
it seeming surreal,
yet all too real
as we approached together.
A woman met us
at the door,
a well fed,
plump one.
Can I help you?
We've come
for the ashes
of my son,
I said.
His name?
I told her.
She showed us
into a room
and we sat in silence.
The small room was built
for solemnity: sad music
was piped from speakers
on the walls and the décor
was dull, yet fit
for the sad occasion.
We waited,
looking at each other,
looking away.
Part of me expected,
unreal, yet
somehow real,
for Ole to walk in
in his black coat
and hungry bear gait
and say:
Fooled you all
that time.
But he didn’t
of course,
just the music
and an air
of heaviness
and deep sadness.
The woman returned
with a small oak casket
with Ole's name on
the brass plaque on top.
She handed it to Nat
and gave me a form
that had to be filled in
before Ole's remains
could be interred or
the ashes scattered;
another piece
of officialdom in death,
as if nothing else mattered.
We said our thank yous
and gazed at the woman.
She had a look
of sadness,
a solemnity,
but she had no tear
I could see, but why
should she, I thought,
she didn’t know young Ole.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
He waits for her
to get on the school bus
he's seen her waiting
with others
at the bus stop
now as he sits
in the side seat
near the window
he feels a sense of panic
go through him
as if just the look
of her eyes
will send him
into a tailspin
and confusion
but Elaine is behind
her sister coming along
the aisle of the bus
he tries to prepare
to look as casual
as he can
her sister passes by
talking to her friend
Elaine looks down
at her feet as she walks
will she look at me?
John asks
that smile yesterday
so shy so certain
he waits and looks at her
she walks on shyly
then just when he thinks
she won't look his way
she does and blushes
yet smiles the shyest smile
he thought was possible
then she's gone
near the back
where she usually sits
with her sister
he can if he wishes
look over his seat
and see her
but he can't
he hasn't the nerve
hey John
Goldfinch says
beside him
did you hear
about the football scores
last night?
no I didn't
John says turning his head
watching the view
as the bus starts up
and away
she smiled
she actually smiled
he muses
you know who'll win
it this season?
Goldfinch says
no idea
John says
and couldn't care less
but looks at the view
as Goldfinch gabs on
of this and that
and football news
yes she smiled
shyly but smiled
he muses
smiling to himself
and seeing
in the window scene
the colour of flowers
and the shades of green.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC