"recoil" poems
I don't expect you to understand
Why I recoil when
You extend your arms and hands
Why I brace for impact
Within the trajectory of your touch
It is warm,
and I am cold.
It is wind,
and I am stone.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach . . .
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.
You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
You would burn it all.
To do a dance,
To wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
To look in a mirror . . .
To tell an image, that it’s anything but you.
And it is in that moment, that you'll find
You’ll tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed
Your own obliterated youth . . .
To feel, and then
to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
You would find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
Back to you.
To betray, and to amuse
Alone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.
And maybe, one day, one will choose
the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
until they find there’s nothing left.
To feel the flame within its breath consumed.
Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
And die a death,
Whose dance you six-times misstep
And on the seventh, betrays you.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:46 AM UTC
I can't sleep
Everytime I remember your words
They snap and recoil
And hurt me awake
Next time when someone
Promises me forever
I'll just smile
Look them in the eyes and ask
How long is forever to you.
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
The way a devoted fan
refuses to wash the hand
touched by the one they admire,
I recoil at the thought
of thoughts that may interfere
with our most recent talk,
close my eyes so no new images hide
the sight of your smile, your lips
pursed in thought, your thin fingers
brushing the wind-blown hair
from your face, your leopard print
sneakers, your hands in mine....
Or was it mine in yours?
This is the dreaded foretaste
of suffering. We both know
what harm can come
from holding on too tightly.
We have learned by now
that all things are impermanent.
Nothing, not even this,
should be clung to.
We have wisdom
on our side, you and I,
and this is why we
should survive this unsettling
flood of love we feel.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am struggling
Struggling to understand
Understand the whys of my life
Why I was sexually abused
For the first 10 years of my life.
Why I still struggle to have
Healthy, normal relationships.
Why I long for human touch
But still recoil when touched.
Why I cannot find peace.
Why physically my body is failing me.
Why, Why, Why??
Everyday is a struggle
Some days are worse than others
But it is always a struggle.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
My neck noosed
My legs loosed
I witness the tragic
It seems so emphatic
I feel entropy
Enter me
Centering
Around love and pain
I wear gloves of shame
Toxicity taints touch
My reaction is to cautiously recoil
For I feel a great punch
When I expect them to be loyal
A tear rolls down my cheek
Navigating scars
Like a man who is meek
Navigating bars
It starts and stops
Then keeps going
The tears drop
From what I'm knowing
That my time is evaporating
Dealing with the exasperating
I feel I can be caring
I just need the chance
We'll see how I'm fairing
On the end of your lance
Penetrating deeply
The pain is unceasing
Like a thousand bee stings
While you stand there feasting
Making me feel alive
From the pain inside
I guess things could always be worse
Sometimes that feels like a curse
Because I have problems all the same
But it's true
The sum of our troubles equal this game
That we lose
Even though I'd rather deal with *** and silence
Than to be vexed by violence
They're all just ways of imposing our will
Whether it's through who we birth or ****
Conflict is how we get our fill
Every day a different fire drill
We hate each other
We date each other
We underrate each other
To deflate each other
Pain is used as a tool
Until blood lays in a pool
These things that annoy us
Are met by avoidance
These things compound
Until I can't be unwound
I live in a world of contending intentions
It's a world of our own selfish invention
A world that burns bright
So I can't sleep
When day turns to night
I hear death creep
Seeking to take me from a life I never asked for
But I'm grateful to have
Life is about experimenting with opening doors
And I'm stuck in the lab
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
take me down to a source
of flowing water
that moves constantly
without rest and yet complains
of nothing.
even frozen, you can see dull
faded silhouettes of fish and
plants writhing and trembling
under the surface.
take me somewhere with
earth that crumbles in my fingers
that holds the sickeningly attractive
stench of security and comfort.
i want you to bring me to a place
where sunlight filters and drips
down to our feet through countless
leaves that wave their jagged edges
'hello, hello' they say and our reply
is through our heads.
would you take me somewhere
i can wrap my arms around the
solid wood of a tree trunk and
know it will not recoil, but gently
caress me with arms tattooed with
foliage, and hold me close so i can
hear it's heart beat through my soul
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
I wish I could love my life and love myself
a little bit more,
fall on my hands and knees at every chance
and praise the life I lead.
I wish I didn't hate myself quite as much
and I wish I didn't recoil at the idea of my life,
the Grimm's fairy tale where Hansel and Gretel got eaten,
Rapunzel never threw down her hair
and Snow White was never kissed by Prince Charming.
The hatred burns hotter when I think of myself,
poor little rich girl,
sat in luxury in front of a warm fire,
belly full,
as thousands of kids in Africa bloat to death with paper thin limbs,
families in the Middle East are massacred and scattered across their countries barren landscapes,
innocent, too soon nearly corpses whither away in hospital beds,
sinking their teeth into whatever life they have left, clinging on.
I'm stable on the mountainside.
My family have never even seen a gun.
I haven't missed a meal in my entire nineteen years.
What the hell do I have to complain about?
My unhappiness disgusts me nearly as much as I disgust myself.
Sitting on a damp bus,
watching beads of rain rush down the dusty windows in diagonals,
like meteors crashing into Earth,
I curse.
I curse the vehicle,
I curse the safe home it's taking me back to,
the three course meal it's taking me from.
It's ******* sick.
I wish I could smile and mean it.
I wish I could love and not hate.
I wish I could love myself.
I'm so sorry for not being able to fully appreciate my life,
for taking it for granted,
for sounding like a spoiled brat.
You probably hate me as much as I hate myself.
I.
I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
*******
I.
That's a vowel I'm going to try and use less of
(at least after this poem),
I promise.
Oh the irony.
I am not looking for sympathy.
I am not looking to be compared to a dying child on the street.
I am not asking for a single kind word.
I just ask for a bit of forgiveness.
I don't blame you if you can't seem to find any.
Just know I'm sorry
and I'm going to try.
Now.
*A
E
-
O*
U
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
Go to sleep—though of course you will not—
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady
car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls’ cries in a wind-gust
broken by the wind; calculating wings set above
the field of waves breaking.
Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests,
refuse churned in the recoil. Food! Food!
Offal! Offal! that holds them in the air, wave-white
for the one purpose, feather upon feather, the wild
chill in their eyes, the hoarseness in their voices—
sleep, sleep . . .
Gentlefooted crowds are treading out your lullaby.
Their arms nudge, they brush shoulders,
hitch this way then that, mass and surge at the crossings—
lullaby, lullaby! The wild-fowl police whistles,
the enraged roar of the traffic, machine shrieks:
it is all to put you to sleep,
to soften your limbs in relaxed postures,
and that your head slip sidewise, and your hair loosen
and fall over your eyes and over your mouth,
brushing your lips wistfully that you may dream,
sleep and dream—
A black fungus springs out about the lonely church doors—
sleep, sleep. The Night, coming down upon
the wet boulevard, would start you awake with his
message, to have in at your window. Pay no
heed to him. He storms at your sill with
cooings, with gesticulations, curses!
You will not let him in. He would keep you from sleeping.
He would have you sit under your desk lamp
brooding, pondering; he would have you
slide out the drawer, take up the ornamented dagger
and handle it. It is late, it is nineteen-nineteen—
go to sleep, his cries are a lullaby;
his jabbering is a sleep-well-my-baby; he is
a crackbrained messenger.
The maid waking you in the morning
when you are up and dressing,
the rustle of your clothes as you raise them—
it is the same tune.
At table the cold, greeninsh, split grapefruit, its juice
on the tongue, the clink of the spoon in
your coffee, the toast odors say it over and over.
The open street-door lets in the breath of
the morning wind from over the lake.
The bus coming to a halt grinds from its sullen brakes—
lullaby, lullaby. The crackle of a newspaper,
the movement of the troubled coat beside you—
sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep . . .
It is the sting of snow, the burning liquor of
the moonlight, the rush of rain in the gutters packed
with dead leaves: go to sleep, go to sleep.
And the night passes—and never passes—
4k
*Dust on the ledge, before me, magnified
Smell of gun oil in my nostrils and cramp in the calves
The boredom of the wait intensifies,
Stale air in my loft is full of must
With the failing light I’m grateful it is almost time to stand down.
Through the cross hair sprints a target
An ordinary, everyday, running target,
I know not who this target is,
I know not why it runs across my sights,
But because it is, where it is,
It becomes my enemy.
In a microcosm of time
the loud bang alters things forever.
The buck of the rifle’s recoil,
The immediate sour stench of the shot washes back across my face.
The intoxication felt, in being the one who caresses the trigger.
The satisfaction earned in deservedly making the ****
My target spirals in mid stride,
Contorts in agony
And collapses to the rough tarmac
To lie dishevelled, an insignificant, dishevelled item.
Checking the **** through the telescopic sight
I see the rough stubble of the chin,
The nicotine stain on the fingers,
I see the colour of the eyes are pale blue.
…I know well, it will breathe no more.
With descending twilight
I trudge from my tower perch
With the long ****** rifle slung across my weary shoulders
The crones in the street glare as I walk by
There is a loathing in their aged eyes, It is a tangible thing.
I know they have no knowledge of the target,
But they know, however, that there has been a killing made for the cause.
A cold beer would be nice.
God! how I hate these young punks with purple hair.*
Marshalg
Gaza, Palestine/Mogadishu, Somalia/Kabul, Afghanistan/Tehran, Iran/Cairo, Egypt/Islamabad, Pakistan/Soweto, South Africa/Dier El Zour Province, Syria/Beirut, Lebanon/Baghdad, Iraq/Tripoli, Libya/Pristina, Kosovo/Grozny,Chechen Republic/Veracruz, Mexico/Guatemala City, Guatemala/Sao Paulo, Brazil/Moscow, Russia.
27 November 2012
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
I always give in. I can express one thing to him and then act on another just because I don't want him to hurt or feel unwanted. I don't know what to do, I am constantly at war with myself. He is too sweet, I can be quite sour. Public displays of affection make me feel uncomfortable. I am just so weird and he is way too normal, he wants to call me baby. The moments become soiled and I start to recoil. He treats me like his girlfriend and I just want to be his friend. He wants to settle down, I want to ***** around. He wants to hold my hand and I want him to hold my throat. I try to tell him that we are not right, but I look at his face and see his pain and loneliness- my heart breaks for him every time. He tries to hold me tight and I am often out of fight. What ever am I going to do? I've let love make a mess of me.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
When I was in the fourth grade I didn’t understand magnets.
You told me that they were like a boy and a girl,
that the positives and negatives stuck together,
but with two girls they would just repel.
Repel,
as if the idea of two girls being together was so awful that mother nature herself would come down to pull them apart.
I think about that a lot.
And now I’m standing here in front of you,
the words dancing behind my tongue,
and I am fighting to keep them down.
I want to tell you that I’m finally happy,
that I found someone,
that when I hold her hand I don't want to run.
I want you to know that I love her,
and that I didn't actually know what love was until now.
I want you to know that with her everything is brighter,
and that I take back my feminist rants because if she were my wife I’d always cook dinner.
the love songs I listen to finally make sense,
and hell,
maybe Romeo and Juliet weren't crazy after all.
I know this might be confusing.
But before her I was soil,
And now I’m a bed of roses.
I’m sorry for hiding this for so long.
and now it seems like a college phase,
but if we’re being honest I always knew.
I knew at junior prom when my date’s hand made me recoil.
I knew when I never really hit that boy crazy phase.
and I knew when I saw her,
When we watched a movie on the grass and I laid my head on her shoulder,
and I felt like I was home.
And I’ve tried to change,
if I knew how I would.
When Mom died you said you would always love me.
I hope you meant it,
because I’ve tried to pick between you.
Take you, leave her.
Take her, leave you.
But I can’t.
So please don’t make me.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
I remember your scent well,
Of all things, coconut.
My clothes, my pillow,
It all smelled like you.
I clung to that scent and I knew it was fading,
"Please don't go."
You even sent me a letter smelling of you,
So your scent would be always be near.
And for months after, that scent made me recoil,
As all the memories came flooding back.
And now the scent is once again benign,
A gentle reminder of a love now lost.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
XXII
When our two souls stand up ***** and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,—what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,—where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
3.2k
Dostoyevsky said, “your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.”
I've felt rage seething in my chest for as long as I can remember. I've felt as his talons ripped open my sternum, digging for a place to call home. this rage has nestled deep into my ribcage, devouring my will to survive while carelessly residing within my nightmares.
I've surrendered to this forsaken depression fury has vacated deep in the confines of my irises - despite witnessing myself across grey-tinted glasses; a smoldering storm rippling miasma throughout my body, manipulating my hands into a devout pyromaniac; suffocating every chance to heal.
I've known nothing but bitterness congesting my heart. My dreams were burdened dreadfully with the stench of wrath. it mutilated my arms; burrowing into capillaries, and asphyxiating my habit to vanish.
This incessant sin I've endured has brought me to my knees, existing only to ***** out my ability to be a mortal in an unforgiving universe. I am not a cosmic metaphor, the iron residing underneath my skin has become impenetrable.
I am adorned with stillness while this betrayal has bloomed into a supernova. the things in which I lack have ignited into an endlessly violent explosion -
Atomizing my bones, swirling stardust into a forlorn emptiness.
A world that was held by the unfaltering resistance I persevered against, it has ravaged my memories, my moribund existence trembled; shivering from the growl of the recoil - the remnants of creation kissed abysmal lips within the faraway distance of a boundless abyss, raining tears for the last time as the destruction leaves a life void of meaning.
The last words ever heard in this universe spoke softly as if to lull the existential bereft into a long hiatus -
"This was all for nothing, just as destitute as this vacant nothingness, human life is ill-fated to be star-crossed and powerless."
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 6:51 PM UTC
I've learned to love my black face
to stand in adversity and embrace
all the god-perfected beauty that he has placed
on this resilient black face
resilient
able to recoil or spring back into shape after bending, stretching and being compressed
resilient
the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties the very definition of black and its beauty
the definition of 300 hundred years of slavery and then modern complicity to be black proud and beautiful openly
to live in a world where European features are aspired to and to be black is frowned upon so if you have any black then you’re shunned
But we all know the stars couldn’t shine without the black space allowing them
Any giving moment our black greatness could swallow them
And funny thing is the same black face you call a disgrace only to turn around and try to obtain the very thing you shunned
so why is it that my curly hair is detrimental to society and my full lips cause controversy and my ****** curves taking as trends and stolen from me
told that white is what is to be and white model thin is in
while you praise poseurs for their artificial curves and fake tanned skin
yet through all the racial sin that dates back to 1910 when the KKK became known for lynching black men still then
we are able to stand in a crowd of hate and discrimination
the years of toil being perceived as an abomination and still love our skin
still rock our curly hair and color our full lips
still embrace our curvy hips
and embrace our “ghetto names”
and our ghetto trends
proud of it
proud of my face
yes I'm proud of my skin
because to be black is to be beautifully resilient
By poetic90's
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
What must you think of me?
Dark
Hungry eyes
Full of hurt and hope,
And
All
That love,
So sudden.
I've never met someone like you.
I know you see it,
And yet somehow I think you believe it,
Receive it,
Understand.
And I don't know what to do,
Because
Nobody's ever known that
And not flinched from me
The way you recoil when your hand rests accidentally on a hot stove.
In your eyes I saw...
Joy.
I saw that you wanted
What was in
Mine.
And god,
I've been trying to recover from that ever since.
It makes no sense to me.
No sense.
You saw
You saw the secret.
It spilled out at your feet
And I wanted to fall to my knees there
And beg you to forgive it.
But your eyes never shamed me-
They glowed
(god I cannot unsee them)
With excitement,
As if maybe my touch shocked you
The way yours shocked me.
In that moment
You must understand,
And every other moment since
When your eyes have found mine
And burned my disguises to dust within seconds,
Every single thing I ever knew about myself
Was overturned.
That's why I can't get you out of my head.
Why I'm scared,
Why everything I do now is a little shaky and uncertain in my mind,
Because everything
Is new.
I based my life on the knowledge that I had to hide.
Everything I was sure of, everything that had been
Proven
Time and again to me
By never being disproved
Dissolved in that moment.
You razed it to ash.
When you touched me with tenderness,
I fell apart.
When you kissed me,
I lost everything
I've been wanting to shed
For my entire life.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Screaming midnight chimes,
hidden alibis illuminate your crimes,
ferule moonlit beams of light,
recoil in the shadows, glowing in white,
shaking soul in the twilight zone,
kicking up dust as you run for home,
emotions take you by the hand,
scatter away like the desert sand,
cold trip in a purple haze,
eaten away in the last of these days,
haunted, we are all haunted,
ghosts of the past gnaw at our thoughts,
searching in vane for safer ports .
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
Dragon – a reference to government or a leader with such great powers.
Economics can determine the future?
The decision making, which can force millions to abide to the law established by government, can determine the future. That’s it.
An extension of affluence for all,
But where is the long term?
Poverty and high unemployment,
Now an argument?
With two years to educational progress,
Juan Dela Cruz drew back and recoil.
Humankind’s race,
With such declining economies..
A need for taxation of the working class –
To stay number one, or should I say, the Top 10?
For those capable to success,
No full-time salaries.. No livable wage..
A further education..
Would it be worth it when a full-time was offered?
For the move of the dragon,
Is there a downgrade forecast for the nation?
GDP has been calculated, water dragon may not be drown..
Meagre realm’s tyro – for their incomes deduction.
(4/2/12 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
Water surrounding me. Why youthful spirit? Time even recoil, yet escape? My night mare, see a track no destination? Daytime, No route, originaly? I knowingly how some see day light before sunrise? Deeply asking, never generalizing? Its hours before night, new it rough of course. I tried, sunrise eventually not caring is caring why position the past? My Past?
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Breathe...
I walk into your room,
And turn away from the caution sign that greets me.
The room is cold and smells of disinfectant.
I creep up beside you so as not to have you wake.
I avoid the lines that provide you life.
How small and helpless you seem.
Just a fragment of your former self.
A stranger...
I hear someone enter the room and I turn my head towards them.
The judgement and embarrassment are evident on their face.
I feel pity from those who watch his torment.
Eye contact is avoided.
They recoil from his touch and reach for the gloves,
That place a barrier between them.
I turn back towards my father.
So many memories...
Both good and bad.
I focus on the memories filled with joy.
The ones I wish to remember you by.
I keep the pain buried deep below the surface of my heart.
The silence is unbearable.
I reach for your hand and you turn your head towards me.
Your smile is quiet and no longer reaches your eyes.
There is no need to speak.
I feel the anger bubbling up inside me.
At the thought of the pain you must endure.
So many others out there in the world
But you were chosen to bear the stigma.
How did he contract it?
Is he gay or an addict?
I tried to ignore their ignorance,
But I just want to hurt them,
And have them share our pain.
I remember the day they told us,
"Sir you have AIDS".
I froze and looked up at you.
You told me it would be okay.
A lie to protect me from what the future would bring.
The end is near.
I love you Dee with all my heart,
And I will share your memories.
I give you one last kiss before you close your eyes,
You will now be free of the pain in this world,
Let your soul finally find peace.
I say goodbye for the last time,
And watch your breath fade away.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
A couple years have passed since I crumbled Us,
Ripping Me from You with no whisper of warning.
A second love grows as life's pendulum circles, and
Eerily familiar memories caution me from darting
Into the same traps that I ensnared you with slowly.
My nose smells the fear of repeating old mistakes.
In this similar space, but different place and time,
My hands recoil from how I soiled your fresh heart,
And my tongue tastes the sour reality of my crime,
Finding you at fault in my final moment of failure.
I drowned in the truth of how deeply you loved me,
And, it should have been returned with my eyes'
Gaze a little less harsh when I splintered apart We.
And you never deserved to be flooded in the proof
Of how I was not the saint you painted and framed.
My dear, first Love, if you are reading this, I'm sorry.
*"For now, know that I love[d] you and wish you the best.
I'm not sure when the pendulum will stop or where it
Will land in the long term, [for] still I am apparently no
Closer to understanding any [more] about love [than you]."*
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
when my faith is tested
i recoil into the lurid nest
by moonlight, by the sound of a lyre
whose blood whispers dank currents
into the low hillside.
and over the hillside
pour screaming maenads
who pluck from the damp ground
snakes for their altars.
a timid peak out of my grotto reveals
a crawling sailor scattered on the rocks.
Apollo’s choir releases hymns
from underneath dark sediment.
i am secure inside the den
the man writhes on the shore for help
but even if i let him in,
i will consume his rooted soul,
so he dies one way
or another.
foot
steps
does he really wish to
become absorbed by this
dark cloak? where he will kick
and drool and never again
see rain stretch over the Aegean?
as i have not seen past this
constant haze of lead,
an infinite bang on a finite drum i
played long ago into infinity?
and the swirls
of infinity
shedding outward like the
tresses of a fire haired fae.
a sprinting sugar fae,
the wind inside the hair
outside her head,
blowing behind her.
she dashes through the wood
until her feet fossilize
within the rock below.
one day several naturalists will find
the slabs of granite
and make a map of elegant
collarbone etched into hardened stone.
all the while i will guard this cave, alone.
and if my foes send winds as
messengers, i will saunter in
amusement, with an olive
on my tongue
the wind cannot destroy
the seashore,
the moon and sun
command the tides.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:00 PM UTC
My child,
As you watch your worlds get torn apart
With a malevolence you can’t comprehend,
Please do not throw yourself into the crossfire,
This is a war you cannot mend.
Their anger is too deep-rooted,
Their hurt is much too strong,
They will insist on going down fighting,
And refuse to see where they are wrong.
Find shelter from this constant storm,
Please close your eyes and ears.
They won’t listen to your pleading,
They choose not to see your tears.
Your screams won’t penetrate their spiteful resolve,
Your little voice will go unheard,
You have no choice but to be strong now;
A responsibility so undeserved.
My child, you cannot help them
As they stand firm on this battle site.
You must know this will be one of many,
There is too much wrong to put right.
If they could see how their bellowing makes you recoil,
See you cowering on your knees,
They might take heed of the damage they’re wreaking,
Reconsider this incessant, vindictive reprise.
But this road is far from ending,
So don’t exhaust your resilience here,
You must protect yourself from the barrage,
For they have not the strength to shield your fears.
It will be another long and tiresome night
As you are again dragged through this mess,
Processing all of their vicious accusations
For all that they refuse to confess.
So as you watch the two people you revere the most
Spit venom at volumes you can’t stand,
I beg you not to let it make you hateful -
This is not what they had planned.
I know how you long to fix it,
Desperate to appease their pain,
But my child, too much has already been broken,
Just please know you are not to blame.
I wish I could offer an escape route,
Tell you everything will be OK,
But there is no choice except to ride out this bitterness,
Await the dawn of a new day.
And on that day you’ll find a way to forgive them,
For destroying everything you knew as home,
For their selfishness stealing all innocence
And turning safe places into war-zones.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC