Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
laura Oct 2017
three's up
i'm throwing my life away
throwing my three's up

three **** summers in a row
three nights in the slammer
three days getting drunk

been thinking about all my exes a lot
been thinking about you a lot
and how we'd spend the night doing homework

and then sleeping together
used to get me chicken nuggets afterwards
and now you know what goes on in my brain
***, programming and chicken nuggets
from mcdonalds
haha
Azaria Aug 2018
tracing your hands
like loving you
in night vision
you unfold me
like linen sheets
on fridays
i want to be naked
and weak
with you
Here are a few ideas to do;
you'll feel better about you.

Make them your daily goals;
they're good for body, mind, an soul:

Be compassionate, generous,
and considerate.

When you give a gift;
you'll both benefit.

Hike in nature,
its reward is in your favor.

Watch a sunset;
It will help you forget.

Exercise more;
your health will soar.

Converse with a  stranger;
its benefit is a game-changer.

Take a deep breath of air;
it'll make you more aware.

Listening to relaxing music
will uplift your spirit.

Take the time to expend;
connect with a long lost friend.

Dance in the rain to your favorite song;
It will attract the throngs!

Smiling is a stimulus.
Laughter is contagious.

Eat dark chocolate;
it won't hurt your diet!

A mindset of playing,
is better than complaining.

Do what you love today;
tomorrow may be another D-Day.

Soak yourself in the sunlight;
it will change dreary to bright.



By Milton L. Delgado
12/28/17
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ May 2015
It wasn't my first time drinking
But it was the first time the earth moved beneath my feet
The first time my head spun like a top and the ground made it harder To keep straight
Kings cup and mike's harder lemonade helped me achieve this Unwanted goal
Along with the memory of you

My feet slamming with every step and I try to think of you
I don't know why I do this to myself
Other than wanting to feel sorry for my being on a daily basis

But for the first time when your memory hit my head
It's like my mind put up a brick wall
Not letting you climb over it
No matter how hard you tried to jump over
No matter how hard I tried to pull you up
The wall got higher
And higher
Until I couldn't see you

And that's when I fell back
Through the fluffy clouds in my head
Into the bliss of my brain
And started thinking about those chicken nuggets in the freezer
As I mix some of that mango moscato with cheap illuminium cans

The sun's lining hits the grass

I lay on the couch
Remember how I couldn't even try to remember the pain
And liking it

It makes me start to wonder
If this unwanted goal is my savior from you
Or the devil for me
I'm just letting everyone know that this was like the third time I had ever drank and I don't plan on making this a thing ever. I've seen how alcohol has affected family members and I'd rather not put myself through that.
that mango moscato was like candy though.
Azaria Apr 2018
you move me: like
the way the air feels in
spring
dropping nuggets:
like seeds
in the ground
your fingers:
an extension
of my laughter
kissing your lips:
like inventing a
new season
smitten: like bees in
nectar
endlessly falling.
Shadow Puppet Mar 2018
'Cause that is the only thing that makes me happy
Besides everything else
In spite of me

I'm attracted to the things that hurt me the most
I love when the pain burns
Burns your memory into my mind

'Cause I forget everything
But I do not forgive enough

The boxes of ******* are piling up in
front of my door

I can not take anymore

Walking past the memorial that was
created while I was in a heap

Trapped in my own mind wishing
the one burning was me

How could I forget such a thing

That night I went back to sleep

So now I sing
but I am at a loss for words

All I hear is sirens
In the grand scheme of things
I have no control

Is that scary to you?
Am I afraid of me?

I am facing my ashes
Time passes
This is everlasting

but everything is temporary
None of it is real

And I feel it through the lost lullaby
the birds sing in the morning

'Cause these warnings
are the nightmares that will not let me sleep

These are the thoughts that imprison me
Late nights drinking coffee
I think back to the times I held my peace

I think back to the times
chicken nuggets were the only things
concerning my nose

****** Crossroads

No one knows I am stuck
in this lost lullaby
3.11.18
Mary Gay Kearns Apr 2018
At the end of the pier you could look out to sea
Listening to the swell flap on the rusty cast iron
Of geometrical supports.
Barnacles clung, sealed like gold nuggets
And in the distance the slow **** of a tanker.

The wind would whisk around the terminal
Throwing hair to the sky
Floating chandelier skirts tipped
Revealing best underwear.
And the clock sang its time to the birds.

Over both sides were fishing rod rows
Their owners sitting on canvas stools
Above seagulls nibbled the air for food scraps
And beneath strong swimmers bobbed
Watching children skim pebbles in the waves.

Love Mary xxxx
TD Nov 2018
We are enslaved by acceptance. Who cares if we are the sore thumbs...who really cares if our identity is a blight or a fist raised in solidarity.
And yet—-
and yet—-
I milk these words like they were nuggets of wisdom..Rumpelstiltskin and his straw. We trade in our straw for bricks and build a Sphinx in our search for acknowledgement. We create what we cannot understand and lick our chops while being gobbled up by our idols.

Touche’ reflection..
touche’!
Chris Slade May 30
The Avro Vulcan, a majestic big old iron bird, sublime,
was to do a flyby for just one memorable last time.
Maybe with a jet fighter or a Spitfire on each wing, who knew?…
Unthinkable to miss it… almost a crime.
Thousands turned up every year, always a great day out -
but this year would be special, there'd be no doubt.
The last flight of such a legendary plane made it essential…
So, after the flyers’ break for lunch, the crowd filled out.

The entry fee to occupy the field was heinous. 25 quid!
That was for adults - and a fiver for each kid.
So, many more than those that paid, sat happily outside pubs.
Others found shelter in the perimeter’s trees and... kinda hid.
Now, to see a Vulcan fly anytime, anywhere, was magic…
She was a Leviathan of the Cold War,
that held players in the planet’s power games in awe.
And this would be her last time doing the rounds on the air show circuit -
Seeing this locally was hard to ignore.

Mark (a nephew) was a window cleaner by trade.
A regular, down to earth, happy go lucky guy.
…Saturday comes and the kids all voted "McDonalds"…
“A Happy Meal!” they’d cry.
He said that was fine - they’d all go after he’d nipped over
to the airshow to watch the Vulcan fly.
No idea whatsoever, of course, that just by going to Shoreham
just 5 miles away, for half an hour or so… that he might die.

He told his fiancé he’d only be an hour or so…
be back in time to take the kids for a burger and, "NO!"...
He wouldn’t stay. He was the only one in the family
who was bothered anyway…so he wouldn’t ****** up their day.
So, in haste, because apparently Chicken Nuggets & Fries
was much better for the kids than a load of old planes,
he cranked the best out of his bike along the 27 and,
once at the lights by the Sussex Pad,
he pulled over to the kerb to watch from the bushes.
Good view? Well not bad!

Andy Hill was a flyer of many years. His weekday job,
flying for BA.Taking holiday makers, business folk, transatlantic in Seven Four Sevens...
A flight deck maestro, soaring up, just under the heavens.
He’d done Shoreham loads of times… it was exciting, exhilarating... almost sport, his game!
He was off the hook,  became an ace. It gave him that 15 minutes of fame!
Free to thrill - a hero! Standing out from the crowd with every daring step. His aim!

He wasn’t just a petrol head… this bloke had aviation fuel in his blood.
Adrenalin on tick-over. Nought to 60 in 2.7 seconds with 22,000 Horsepower under the hood.
He left Epping full of fuel, just 90 miles away, so in two ticks he was with us, fully loaded and, the weather? It was good.
First up after lunch at half past one… he streaked across the crowded field.
Over and out and up, up, up… Little did the spectators know that Andy had forgotten he was flying a Hunter…
He thought it was last year’s aborted routine in a Jet Provost… The one they'd stopped part way through being, too risky.

"He’s not gonna make it… I can’t look!" There was a hush… a nanosecond’s silence and then the rush,
the whoomph that said it all… that hush! The ground shook!
And the eleven - plus others injured - went up in Andy Hill’s very own fireball!
No, of course, Mark wasn’t the only one to die that day.
Ten other ‘innocents’ left us in pretty much the same way…
Maurice, Dylan, Tony, Matthew, Matt, Graham, Mark R, Daniele, Richard & Jacob.
Mark T, our Mark, had the distinction of having two funerals, not just the one…
More remains were discovered, analysed and found to be his!
Even after he’d…already well... ‘gone’.

The injustice that eleven spectators or just passers by should die
when the survivor, the off target driver, who sped too low from the sky, should, after a suitable pause in this ghoulish game, be exonerated and not take any blame.
Well it’s all sort of things… It's ridiculous, pathetic, obtuse, a joke… who do they think we are?

But the great and the good deliberated, scratched their heads and worked hard to make everything look ’right’…
Tolerance for the bereaved to grieve, platitudes, condescending attitudes, a memorial service.
Thanks - genuinely - to the emergency services… Not just a little buck-passing… But the public often judged them. Arsing about - to cover their corporate backside.
They can’t insult me (or us)… intelligent people have tried…

Andy Hill was judged to be not guilty of 11 counts of manslaughter by gross negligence.
But he claimed he blacked out in the air, having experienced ‘cognitive impairment’ brought on by hypoxia … possibly due to the effects of G-force…. Of course!
The 11 were either hit by the plane or roasted in a fireball caused when the jet flew too low and too slow. But if it wasn’t Andy’s fault then whose was it?

Surely this can’t be the end of this travesty of justice!!

BUT, there IS a new memorial to the dead. And, trust this...it’s a good one too…  The best that money can buy - and that anyone can do.

But there's is also a very bitter taste, still today…
that somehow... just won’t go away!
This is a bit of a saga... But I think it's worth it...On August 22nd 2015 there was a disaster at Shoreham Air Show, West Sussex... on the south coast of England and eleven people died. A loop the loop, too low and too slow. The pilot lived and recovered from his injuries and was found not guilty of eleven counts of manslaughter by gross negligence.
tinhearts Aug 1
God’s Magnificence
Calling out Sons to follow Him
Mountains put before us
Nuggets of treasure to guide against sin
Truly His Love forever will flow
Testing our character to believe
He takes us through situations so we will grow
To becoming who we were meant to be
Christ in us
Our hope of Glory
He takes us to mountains
Seek and you shall find My Story
Not in religion (who killed our Jesus)
But in the pureness of His Presence
Surrendering our souls through weakness
His precious Life embedded in us
We must forever allow this Seed
Of righteousness to perfect our view
Giving us the power that we need
To overcome the enemies there to distract you

Focus on His Love

Carnal church doesn’t know the Truth

Worship from a contrite heart dwell above
Bringing fourth A Masterpiece in Christ as proof
He doesn’t dwell in buildings
Or anything made with hands
His Glory will not be shared  with any natural kings
It’s a beauty born WithIN to help us stand
Let us praise Him through this storm
Knowing the perfect plan He gave to save
When we are obedient His Nature forms
A precious pearl priceless and brave

Oh the Love
Oh the blessings
Living to witness His purity liken to a dove
To help the ones going through His testings

Confirming His Love

Caring deeply for your souls
Jesus DIED
Would we die for our friends console
Only Jesus can save as He wept and sympathized
Loving you in high hopes
Holy Spirit please fall powerfully on hungry hearts
Listen carefully to His ALL
Mighty are the workings WithIN, His inward parts
Changing us from living without to Living withIN
Like in the beginning before we lost our Light
Never give up trusting
In the only One who can change your flight
*
tinhearts~©️
Elizabeth Dick Dec 2018
I have traded in my fanboys
For an air conditioner.

My chariot is a minivan,
No longer a palanquin.

I have given up the power of Julius Caesar,
And the lust of Mark Anthony,
For an orthodontist with a beer gut.

Caesarion ate decadent Mediterranean feast from the best chefs in the world,
Now my son Conner eats something called, “chicken nuggets” from a drive thru delivered by a greasy teen.

I still remember the taste of glutton when I drank my pearls,
To flash my wealth in front of Anthony,
I thought Rome was a ***** to deal with,
Now, I have credit card debt.

When I theatrically entered the after life
I did not think of the next.

On Palm Sunday I have flashbacks,
Of being praised,
Of being a queen,
Of being a God!

What circle of Hell is this?
Leiah Jul 22
Bad days are just good days that started off with false promises of euphoria
Maybe you got an A on the test you didn’t study for
Or they served those spicy chicken nuggets you like
Maybe the sunset was pretty

And then maybe you realize a day with good doesn’t guarantee a good day
suddenly its 3 am and tears stream down your face
You’re wishing it could just be over
And you listen to something that makes your heart drip black ink
Wishing you were lucky enough to call it only a nightmare
And you bang your head against the cold linoleum bathroom floor as you lie wishing you could just sink

we may be afraid now but with time comes courage
after you’ve stared at wounds soaked in alcohol and
covered with minions band aids;
at your horrified face in the mirror after cutting your bangs too short
after you’ve starched your hair with every chemical under God’s sun;
And dyed it manic panic cotton candy pink
After the spray tan that stained your skin a color that no natural human body has ever displayed
After you run out of unhealthy ways of coping

You’re left
Wishing you could go back to a time of fifty cent over sweetened iced tea
California sun searing into your skin
Pastel green Baskin Robbins ice cream melting between your fingertips
Summers you spent yearning for autumns
now becoming winters spent yearning for spring
you’re dissatisfied no matter what season
But trust me when I say that
You are going to have bad days and
sometimes good days where
it’s hard to see the good
Trust me when I say you still have plenty of time and many new roads lie ahead
Meredith Ann Feb 6
I once said your voice was ramen and computer keys,
and I've decided that it's fitting,
as it punctuates in your rushed excitement,
and drips with words of inspiration.

And tonight, as I spill out my heart to you
over the binary code as my eyes slowly wilt,
I long for the day when we can do it in whispers across a dark room.

Or back in the bright night,
with the energy of sharing secret writings still flowing in our veins,
Or shared excitement over the one,
whose voice was rich like black coffee,
Or the day we shared chicken nuggets and a headline,
and I decided that I liked you.

Thank you for your words,
dragonfly girl,
for they bring my heart to peace,
and I feel known.
To someone who's seen my entire world, while only seeing a little of me.
Still Crazy Mar 12
“keep your dementia well organized”

it spreads to the outward edges like camera film alit,
burning inside outward, fast and quick,
the mutterings dispersed in voices
precisely loud enough to not be distinctly heard,
but perfect for your
active concerning consternation

you summon different voices for every occasion cause you
keep your dementia tools well organized

order is the successful methodology for maintaining
what otherwise appears and truly is, irrational rantings,
nuggets of chicken, you’re too chicken to loudly scream,
lest someone solves the riddles you are raving

it’s insane to keep your crazy so well managed,
it’s sane    to keep your crazy so well managed,
it’s crazy to stay sane, when your demented nature,
is dewy decimal handy for steady decimation

you laugh while writing this,
recognizing a well organized personality disordered,
is the key to success at anything you do,
like being crazy cool
you, still crazy after all these years,
do not lack for historical perspective

oops! typo, hysterical perspective,
old tricks for new doctors, renewable energy
never fails to confuse and amuse,
hard work keeping yourself entertained
at the medical professions expense

which is why I keep my dementia well organized
3-12-19
i always wanted to follow
in your footsteps... i admired
how you came here with nothing
less than nothing, a child of the enemy,
hated by anyone who lost a loved one in
that small prairie town during the war, which
was almost everyone.

i admired how the mayor hated our family
more than anyone else in town, and how
you ended up as his only daughter's
prom date... that must have been awesome.

i admired your work ethic,
your incredible generosity,
how many people i saw you
put so much money and effort
to get back on their feet... how
my old lawyer who was now
driving cab, you took aside
discreetly and thought i
couldn't see when you
gave him a thousand
bucks that you really
couldn't afford to give.

i admired how you were quick
to correct me; i remember when i
was very young, parroting something
i had just heard at school i'm sure, when
my dad gave some money to a homeless guy,

"Dad, he's an Indian, he's just going to spend it on beer",
and I got a cuff on the back of my head,
and a harsh but poignant talking to,

"Jason, we're all the same underneath our skin so that's the last racist thing I better ever hear from you, and you have no idea who that man is, what kind of really bad stuff that man may have lived through, and if he spends his new money on *****, I'm **** glad I could buy him a drink."

and my dad would know. he grew up surrounded seeing
unthinkable things being done by ordinary people in
horrible circumstances, trauma that would put most
people's very worst to shame... and he drank.

yeah, i followed in my dad's footsteps,
but the very last ones my mom would have
wanted me to follow, but at least now i'm taken
12 more steps than he did; and it's working.

since you died three years ago Dad,
i've had these recurring dreams
of us out on the ice covered in
deep drifts, and i need to take
giant leaps to step in the deep
prints you've left in front of me,
and try as i might i can't keep up,
and i lose your tracks in the blizzard,
and i don't know which way to go anymore.

i think it means something, not just random
psychic debris, but one of those deeper kind of
dreams that is trying to tell you something.

i think it's telling me that the time is long past
where i should take all of the very good you gave me
and forgive all the very bad, the drinking, the other women
that broke my mom's heart over and over, even on her death
bed, things that i thought i could never forgive, things that
i thought i'd never want to forgive, and just to let all the
bad stuff go, and keep the good, like a miner from an
old western panning for tiny pieces of gold from so
much mud and muck, but with persistence, finding
those little nuggets and leaving the rest for the
waters of a stream or river to wash away.

i hope to see you again someday, where all heals
will be wounded in us both, and father and son
can meet just the best in each other, and embrace.
maybe we sometimes, or even most of the time, supposed to have the legendary "big talk" with a parent who has been less-than-great at a lot of things as a parent, just as we've been less-than-great at a lot of things as children, the water runs both ways, where we settle all the stuff we want to settle... maybe that is more of a thing we do with moms. maybe some things we need to settle within ourselves when enough time has passed since they've gone, and learn not to hate the parts of ourselves that are sooo much like them.
Sidney Chelle Nov 2018
do you ever look at that freshman year photo of yourself,
(maybe hair fuzzed, maybe eyes wide, maybe teeth wider still,)
and think,
“ugh!!!”
you think, “that’s not me.”
and you’re right.
it’s not old.
it’s not tired.
it hasn’t slept through first period yet - and survived.
(so you had to fight off two cats to do your homework, ended up being pretty rushed and of course you know teacher wants your best work…)
it hasn’t crashed a car into the garage yet.
(*******, you were going so slow! how did that even happen??)
it hasn’t had sweaty-palmed movies, a quick rub on the pants before going in for the hold.
(she smells so good!)
your mom makes you broccoli, extra mushy because that’s how you like it, and you get a little teary.
you think “i haven’t cried over broccoli since i was five.”
you wear the same coat that you did in seventh grade.
the arms are stained.
you can almost still see grass from hills long ago.
when you put it on, your stomach still rolls down those hills a little bit.
you feel the cold snaps inside its very lining,
an excited screech, a simple pleasure.
you still know how to do that special little breath before the big one when you step outside.
(means your lungs don’t turn into icicles. maybe you won’t need it where you’re going.)
i bought that coat about one foot two ago.
(i’ll still need it where i’m going.)
i confessed my first about three hundred sins ago.
(i’ll still need it where i’m going.)
you went from giving gum to people you’ve never thought about,
(trust me, it’s nothing!)
to trademark glares, meant to keep the thoughts out.
(don’ttalktomedon’ttalktomedon’ttalktome.)
it feels like there’s a watermark over everything you write.
it feels like your sense of sight
is far off.
(maybe it’s in california,)
it got pulled out.
(maybe it’s in pennsylvania,)
it rooted again elsewhere.
(maybe it’s in boston. maybe it’s always been boston. your whole life, it was boston. you never even knew.)
glassy-eyed stare,
(over water.)
now that’s some trademark glare!
(over ice. over easy. over and out. so over it.)
maybe in sophomore year you called a teacher by their first name,
and ran away when you got that trademark glare.
now it’s “hey douglas, guess who didn’t do their homework uh-gain?”
it’s a joke that y’all share.
you know you won’t remember so much.
you won’t remember the shoe squeaks, every last-minute print job.
you won’t remember the chicken nuggets, how much gum bubbles ****** you off during MCAS,
but you remember a glow.
i remember a warmth, so much.
i remember every time that i grew a little more “i can do it and i don’t know what it will be,”
even if i don’t have the words.
will you remember too?
i wrote on my arm once,
“it all feels so dissolved.
eyes are tired.
eyes are hopeful.
the growing up gets closer each day,
and we are moving on.”
all of this isn’t knowing you can fly.
it’s knowing you know how to try.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
We get better as we get better

Mneuromorphicmeme makers
Sapiens augmentatious, that's us

Who could argue against us. AI don't know

Smell that smell,
Suffer, wait, wait wait
let patience have her perfect work

wait to see the whites of the eyes,
what am I seeing?

Why the shades at night, are you cross eyed?
Are you lookin' at me?
What are you lookin' at?

Shame on you, who can see what I see
I look at you
do you see what I see? nope,
similar, right

watch my eyes, see the whites,
ninoculate bi noc u late

see the angle point 123
see
the point I see from my aiming vector,

see my point from the angle of your POV
see

Pretend you do, and walk a mile with me,
help me with my load,
you know any stories told 'round here?

Life history strategies, those they conserve,
per haps a cultural system,
like pickling, or fermenting, or culturing
gut-felt tales of gods and monsters?

Guts, good god, Maudie, come see
a-fore-al-flusher, disgusting
turds taken for golden nuggets,
we missed in the dust
dancing in the golden sun shone
through a tiny hole in the roof
through which rain may drip, someday we may remember

Camera obscura, who first saw the truth in one of those?

"what you diggin' fo down there, Gold?", she giggled,

Gold dust sprinkled fine as fine can be,
breathe this
Deep in the tunnel,
the last highest part of the dust of the earth,
the dust of many men drifting in the wind,
radiates, dis integrit-ified, trans mogr ified known,

No, I would not have guessed.
I should have learned and
did, did you? Is war your

right and my wrong?
Warrior,
can you imagine
following a peace? Bliss? Nirvana? The
rest that remains for the people of God?

Is this real? Is real. AI affirm ifative

Warfare is thinkified, just-ified, never done.
The doing of evil at this level of living is imaginable
only, not re-alizable.

We remain mortal. These peaces we put together are
for mortal moments.
We remember learnings we recall from gatherings together,

Familiar things, whence we seen the source whither
haps in my favor may be found
in the next round
after, ever after

I find a way back to the light where I saw
dancers in a blue moon beam,
blue light, not calendar man made myth of two full moons
in a single cycle of the moon,
we know better,
set your timer with the solstice,
let the seasons roll.

Precision, close enough, field-ish, an ion cat ion sort of,  

the safer it gets, the safer we need it to be,
let patience have her perfect work,

safe liberty needs broad horizons,
not high walls.

Enemies are ideas wishing to be im-portentious,
as if forever is a game to be won.

Contention is single source. Pride.

So, you, passerby, can you make proud, or pride
weigh more than the peace I made?
Want to trade?
I take your pride and flush it, wipe your own
stench away, but trust your gut,

a peace-filled gut wins every single time,
incident after incedent, pre-dictable as forever
in any direction,
going on.

Does this smell digestible or does my gut go
NONONO yech onomatopoeic retch

finger down the throat, you know, the secret sign,
in a word,
*******. Don’t swallow any more. Spit it out.

Why not? The dog eats it.
It's disgusting.
But, watch, the dog rolls in it, then she sneaks up
on the skunk, oh
****, I ruined her hunt, she had that skunk,

Until I yelled, "Macy, no!" She froze, the skunk fired,
on my exclamatory point.

Right there, see. What is aimed at,
wait to see the whites of their eyes,

shoot 'em.
Sniff, nose gnostic vapours settled by dew
soak into the mulch maker's realm,
de cay, de cawl, draw back your cowl and scowl

in the mirror,
or was that in a movie? The camera was you, you
saw the blood swirldownthedrain, you
saw thy evil mother,
locked away,
NULL-ified for as long as I live. Okeh.

******-drama scenario. This is the game? No rules?
You lie. Lying is allowed here, it is a skill
we conserve, we conserve the
sacred liberality ification
manifested in the
leavened sons
of God's sons.

Truth, be known, has one foe. Pride that makes the lie.

-------
Magical transfer, dis gust, take yo breath away,

congenital liar, natural nurturerer,
teller of tales of the mighty hunter,

the hunter of might,
might he be a hunter of darker

theory of mind, begins with the first lie

I may remember mine, do you?

The green man? Yeah, spiderwoman's caretaker.
Lacto, make some cheese,

we offer the milk mixed with the smoke
from the mushrooms grown on
the darkside of *******.

Leadership, lead away. Followers,
this way, down or
up.
It's POV, you see,
Ya'll are the beta testers. If people as smart as you don't tell me I am mad, to try, I shall continue to pay close attention as time, per se, parses out.
Hilary Apr 15
Eulogy for Justin Bradley, Age 22 who committed suicide 2/28/19

My Sweet Boy

You had a beautiful soul. You had a tortured soul.

You had so many friends, but still felt alone.
Your friends were everything,….But which one to text, from your seven phones???

Great Falls, DC, Road trips, Museums, Golf, or Gold Cup
You were always … I’m down dude, just hit me up.

You lived for cheese pretzels, chicken nuggets, Chipotle, Mac and cheese or JUST turkey bacon….
Why were you taken?

You had a beautiful soul. You had a tortured soul.

Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Supreme,
Who needs to spend big bucks?
When you can get it from China, even though the quality *****.

You flew, flipped and twisted,
Off buildings with no fear
Luckily you found an outlet in cheer.

You had a curiosity and intellect beyond your years.
But how the hell did you become a Republican?
For that… we will give you a mulligan.

You had a beautiful soul. You had a tortured soul.

You were struggling to make sense
Trying to figure out YOU.
We tried to reach out.
We tried to break through.

So, my message to parents and to young adults who choose to be,
Giving love and hugs every day, should be your reality.

Their room may be messy, their hair uncombed,
the recycling not taken, and clothes on the floor.
But don’t jump on them the minute they walk through the door.

Depression is a disease not to be dismissed.
Get help for your child.
Try to assist.

Remember to celebrate their brightness and light.
And take a moment to enjoy these gifts, each and every night.

You had a beautiful soul. You had a tortured soul.

So go to that ultra festival in the sky
And As you flip over those Pearly Gates, we wave good bye.

I love you Justin and I will miss you forever.

— The End —