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Any song can sound sweet,
if you tune your tone appropriately,
and add a lyric,
with a melody
and I have seen where there is a life,
there is a song
but some songs are not only a love song
that notion was a loop, intense, black and blue passionate song
was not romantic

She was a sad song
and I thought I would know how to make it better
like if I could be the only to love her again,
I believed that everything would fall into a melodious love song
but  I lost a few lines of lyrics
and there was bit melody missing that I couldn't find
and I saw too many scratches on the disc
I couldn't let myself be made no longer
trying to fix her entirety.
.
@Musfiq us shaleheen
scratches on the disc
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Enveloped in a cloud of rain,
drenching spirit and soul.
Sunlight flickering through clouds ahead;
finally hope.

Leaving sadness behind at last,
my spirit longs to move in the sunlight of dance.
My body singing, rising to its newness,
twilight is turning bright with vibrancy ahead.

Praying the path will not turn
to the dark rainforest of gloom once more.
Can I believe in the light?
Can I believe in a future with hope?
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
Rose Aug 2018
3 may 17

sincerely hoping to tear this page out.

i promised myself i would never write about you because i know that once this pen grazes paper, the thought of you will be permanently engraved somewhere, and although not physically, but mentally and emotionally in the depths of my brain, figuratively.
my outlets these days are quite scarce. i tore out my sheets and tried to erase the thought of you, of our intimacy. but what i've ceased to comprehend is that it's not that simple. i can change my sheets, remove my posters, switch my nightlight, remodel my whole room, but, that doesn't change it. change the fact that you still consume my thoughts like a virus, spread throughout my body, filling my core to the brim with inadequacy.
i love you, i hate you.
it is a constant cycle of indecisiveness that floods me with feelings of deep desire, love, and infatuation, to the less constant but still present, feelings of rage, anger, pain, and resentment projected towards you.
i can't wait until the day.
the day when you are either out of my life for good...
or
prove to me that love still exists.
-v.la
Jack Jenkins Nov 2016
I did love you
You just
Couldn't take a
Chance
//On her//
I don't think I've ever poured such heartbreak into such few words before...
Jack Jenkins Feb 2017
I believed I was immune, invincible;
  to the scorching heat of your surface.
  That I wouldn't be burned up or
  consumed by the fires you stoke.

I was not strong enough to endure
  and turned to crystallized glass
  and fell into your atmosphere,
  shattering into sparkles of dust.

I fell apart in your atmosphere,
  shattered like a comet across
  the scorched plains of your
  heart and soul.

& in the darkness of your being
  I look up to your skies and I
  see your Aurora Borealis &
  I know everything is okay...
//On her//
To be wounded by love is the sweetest pain I have ever known...
Andrew Sep 2017
I can't grasp your moving picture
When you were the director
Of my life's lovely scripture
You were the connector
To a screen that dug deep
Your image makes me weep
Your image scares me to sleep
So I may dream of you
And a world for two
When in reality
You are one
And I am none
So I tell triumphant stories to myself
Like the past glories of someone else
I direct movies in my mind
My brain always on rewind
To a time I crossed a line
Painful memories to remind
I don't know what I'm doing
When your picture keeps moving

In my mind film keeps burning
In your mind film keeps turning
Life is tough without you
But that's because life is tough
And now you're just another part
Me another broken heart
I was dealt my cards
They got me this far
Then shattered to shards
Like the film of you
That hit the cutting room floor
The moment you walked out the door

I developed strife
From the memories I edited
In your life
Will I be credited?
Christian Ek Jun 2014
I find myself looking for you in other people.
Whether it is in the way they think or the way they appear, I see straight through them to you.
I find you in places I thought I could be alone.
Where once I could go to this view to clear my head, now only causes me distress.
I remember sitting on the beach once and your eyes washed upon the shore line.
I am waiting to go home into your arms.
I need you so much, that another person's touch, practically causes any feeling of attraction.
You held the power to make me smile when no one else could.
And I don't think I'll find satisfaction until someone else can capture my attention.
- Christian Ek
Lacey Clark Oct 2018
Raised faux-religiously in a catholic school by convenience of neighborhood (though, I loved the plaid and I wanted to do Eucharist but my mom explained I wasn't catholic, so I dabbled with the hymns and cursive) by my two *** moms and some 'extra kids' (fostering, etc) in Spokane. Homeschooled later (and seriously religiously, Vacation Bible School, NO HARRY POTTER and no saying 'stupid', a lot of neighborhood scootering) by uncle auntie and my two home-made and hilarious cousins (siblings) in Nevada. another private school in the Wild West with my grandpa and grandma (maybe religiously? they took me out to Mexican dinner religiously). And scattered across the West, Mid-West and South for all the rest. Public schools interwoven and equally traumatizing in between states.
One school in florida was known for fist fights and head lice. I kissed my first boy there. and girl. I left for what I thought was summer vacation and never came back. Another accidental move.
I had been squeezed in-between the palms of each coast for high school (plopped in the midwest).
In Wisconsin, I popped like a pimple and broke some major skin. Tried to end my life a few times. Psych ward after psych ward. Pills. Pills. Pills! A nurse took me aside and said "i have hope for you" and it was the first time i felt seen. met hard drugs to replace the cutting- they felt like long lost friends. Easy to pick up.
And recovery was like feeling your face after a satisfying shaving... and not a scratch since.
Now gliding along the West Coast in Academia's matrix. Politics and community engagement and the center. Clean. In the Heart of the City. Biking with helmets. Shoebox studio apartments. Nose in book, nose in food. Day job with a class of kids who I love and who love me. Space to grow, assess, reshape. Optimism. Peace. Stability.
Jim Timonere Nov 2016
If only the life's sidewalks
  Were like people movers
That quicken our pace,
   Soften our steps, and carry
Our baggage for a while.

How great that would be…except

The machine would choose our
   Path unless we got bored and
Decided to carry his own baggage
   And set out on his own.

So I guess a short trip through the
   Airport is okay, but I think I’ll make the
Real journey under my own power.
Cress Rosario May 2014
There are some times where I look up in the sky
Wondering and asking myself, why?
Life has so many reasons
I don't know what or maybe soon

But one thing I believe..

I have all the dreams and imagination
To keep my life in action
I can make it happier
'Cause I will love everything forever

I can think of a deep blue see
I can look at the white bright sky
I can feel the calm cool breeze
I can smell fragrances of flowers and trees

And these things made me believe..

Whatever I've drown my mind in thinking
There are more reasons to keep smiling
Sing and dance to heart's delight
Be thankful for a beautiful life

Keep on moving
Keep on swaying
Keep on fighting the fright
Keep on moving through life
Marla Apr 25
We used to be the kind of friends
Who'd ask each other questions
So that we can try and pretend
Our lives weren't so sad,

But then you left and became someone else,
A hollowed out Gatsby with pathetic tendencies.
I'd be ashamed if I had known you more myself,
Yet you'd always keep your feelings away from me.

Now we've departed and gone our own ways,
Though I reminisce about you most days.
I wish you hadn't gone and stayed in your pain,
Maybe then we'd be friends till old age.
Keiya Tasire Mar 14
When roaring sorrow
Uprooted me
I envision a lotus flower, staying gently a float upon the pond.
The sun's soothing, comforting light warmed my heart.
Breathing in.... Breathing, gently out.
Releasing both hands
Clasped in pain.
No need to leave
No need to go
The deep sorrow of my heart beating
Rivers of Love's tears upon the pond.
Yet the sunshine never failed.
I am floating gently - to that perfect spot
Within the pond.
I, Lotus flower
Send my tap root deep down below
Taking root, among the other lotus
Beautiful flowers anchored to the pond's murky floor.
In the first year after my son died. I found it best not to make any huge changes within the first year. I needed silence, peace, and stillness of my home and a simple pattern of life. I  needed the love and support of my husband, which he freely gave. Stephan's death uprooted my heart and turned it upside down. It was as though I was floating through my time without even noticing that there was any time at all. There came a time when the worst of the grief subsided and I was able to put my roots slowly back into a simily of a regular routine of time. When I settled in, I found the support and love of friends and family who were open to support me through the rest of my grieving journey. I am grateful because they opened the  doors of compassion, understanding and the insight gained from their own past grieving. It was good to be among other lotus flowers, sharing roots of understanding, love and caring.
Blinking Nose May 2016
I reminisce too much.
Besides, what else is there to do?
Remnants of the past, fragments
Still squirming in my conscience

In some vague room
A flicker of my smile, a candle, a black robe
And my button down shirt
Laid across the floor for you to step on
And you carefully tip toed
To catch me in time, but I wasn't falling

The seasons have passed exceedingly slowly
But now, I am smiling again
My nights are somehow less tormented

It is beautiful today and I have things to do
But before I leave and conquer the week
I pause, if only for a moment, in this sun lit room

I touch the French window
And leave you behind, one last time
Like shabby finger prints on unstained glass
I am not worried about the past
Because I don’t live there anymore
I invested in the future
That’s where my heart wants to go
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