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He Remembers


The breeze blows the curls that frame her face
He watches from a distance
Notices her fingers brush the gentle wisps out of her eyes
He remembers her touch

The waves crash against the rocks
He remembers her voice
Her face turns up towards the sun
He remembers the softness of her skin

She pulls a flower to her face
He remembers the beauty of her body
The smile covers her face
He remembers the spirit of her embrace

She tucks the flower behind her ear
He remembers she never shows fear
She rises gracefully
He remembers her body beneath his

She walks towards the ocean

He remembers glimpsing just a touch of her soul
She picks something up off the sand
He remembers her tender heart

She looks out over the sea
He remembers her laughing softly

She walks into the crashing waves

He remembers how easily she hurts
The waves crash upon her
He remembers the harshness of his words
She suddenly is covered by the sea

He remembers the tears that he caused
She lets go for she remembers what she has done
He remembers what he has done
She welcomes the water to spin her into darkness

He remembers the anger he felt
She feels the life ****** out of her
He remembers her plead for forgiveness


She feels the release as she dies


He remembers he could not forgive
She is pulled from the water by another
He remembers the love he felt
She is covered with a blanket


He remembers the soul she gave
She is turned on her side
He remembers her at his feet


She is lifeless

He stops remembering
He runs to her
Her body is so still

He breathes his life into her
She continues to be lifeless


He yells at her to live
She had given all she could give


He breathes his very soul into her lungs


She hears him faintly through the daze


He begs her to return
She feels so welcomed in this darkness


He tells her he is sorry for his harshness
The sea sputters out of her mouth
He pulls her close


She lives by the breath of his soul to hers


Written By Niyahlove All rights reserved
Jackie Apr 2014
She remembers peeking through the blinds as her mom pulled out of the driveway every summer morning
She remembers attending the same school for nine years with the same people
She remembers how her grandparents basement smelled like smoke and after her grandpa died, it no longer smelled like smoke
She remembers sticking her head between the railings in her cousins house and getting stuck
She remembers her grandpa teaching her how to play basketball
She remembers being afraid to go to sleep because she thought she would forget to breathe
She remembers losing her friend in 9/11
She remembers learning about what death was
She remembers asking if there was a playground in heaven
She remembers asking if she had to come inside when the street lights came on
She remembers sitting in the back seat of her dads truck, thinking that the moon was following her
She remembers getting a concussion during basketball when she was a freshman and not remembering anything after that
She remembers coming out and how her parents didn't accept her
She remembers falling in love and how it hurt like hell
She remembers her parents fighting and covering her ears
She remembers wanting to die
She remembers when her memories were too painful to remember
Percy Order Dec 2016
Now there he is, dying
In old age he suffers
from liver damage he dies
Though he suffers

He smiles.

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a night
This is the night she dies
He cries
She smiles

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a day
The day of their anniversary
It was there last
Though he know
He smiles

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a night
The night his son
Had a son
He is very happy
He smiles

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There was once a day
The day of a wedding
The wedding of his child
He smiles

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a night
The night his son
Goes to college
He is sad

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a day
The day his son
Have gone to school
He is proud

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a night
A Night like no other
The birth of his son
He smiles

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a day
They knew
He is a father
He have a son

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a night
A sad night
They fought
A misunderstanding

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a day
The best of his days
The day of their wedding
He is very joyful

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a night
The night he proposed
She said yes
He remembers

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There once a day
The day they met
She was beautiful
She still is

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles

There are more memories
He could not remember
But in his heart
It stays forever

His quiet thoughts
He thinks
He remembers
He smiles
He dies in peace
gith Feb 2018
she remembers
the feeling of belonging
she remembers
the first [and last] kiss
she remembers
feeling new emotions she’s never experienced
she remembers
notes and letters
that made her feel wanted
she remembers
his touch
sweet as honey
she remembers
when he said the three words
that would change everything
she remembers
trusting him more than anyone
she remembers
him sheltering her from pain
she remembers
his beautiful brown eyes
she remembers
laughing until her stomach hurt
she remembers
a love so breathtaking
and she will never forget
the way he made her feel
she would of given you the world
Michael DeVoe Jan 2010
She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him.  Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this *****, you're a *******”
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
maybe she remembers

maybe she remembers
all those loving words
we whispered in each
others ears

maybe she remembers
all those nights that we
stayed up

all those nights that
turned to morning
before we ended
them

I remember
I remember them all
I remember them and
tears come to my eyes

not just for losing them,
those wonderful nights
that turned to morning,
but for the fact that I
lost them, caught up in
blind hormonal rage

my words were nothing
against the anger you
rightfully threw against
my fragile mind

and I was crushed
my mind fell into pieces
as I was reminded not to
get ****** in

I cried
I’d never cried like I did that day

because I did
I got ****** in
like I knew I
shouldn’t have

but I don’t regret it

she probably remembers;
I told her I could let her
go then,

and I did
but it was hard
too hard
but I did it

I’m better for it

maybe she remembers me
I hope so

maybe she remembers
what we did
and
what we didn’t do

we’ll never be the same.
neither of us,
I remember why
and maybe she remembers
too
Sol Dec 2014
He sat on his bed, thought of her and nothing else...

He remembers sophomore year. He remembers the salt spray
and the moonlight that bathed them.
He remembers her handwriting as she wrote his name
on the soft sand beneath them
He thought of love, and nothing else.

He remembered the end of sophomore year and how he hurt her
He remembers the very words he used to deny her
"We're just friends" like a bullet the words pierced the air
towards her chest. His cold voice assured her that she was nothing
special.
But the young mind is stupid and easily confused so much so
that when he said they were "just friends" he meant that
She was the everything that came to his mind
when people talked to him about love

He remembers Senior year, when they got back in touch.
He remembers the empty conversations they shared
filled with "How are you?" 's and "Have a nice day" 's
that killed them both each time the phrases left their lips

He remembered sophomore year again, at the beach
he remembers her soft, freckled skin and the moonlight
as it shone from her eyes.
Like diamonds born through heat and pressure.
He remembers she was beautiful.
She didn't think so but he did, he knew it.

He remembers she left
and he remember it hurt.

He tells us that she's the everything he knew he needed.

"I don't love her" he says.

"Yes you do" we told him.
My friend is such an idiot.
Preston C Palmer Mar 2010
your happy remembers you
i left the letter on your pillow so that you could read it
you don’t want to read it
you throw it away
you tell it that you are done with it
especially when the cat doesn’t come home
even a cat  remembers your happy

     and i remember your happy
when it came home in your smile
when it held your hand as you laughed
when it whispered in your dance
when it snuck into your room at night

    sometimes
your happy calls your celular phone
it will buzz on the kitchen counter
and i will remember how it helped you smell the grass
and how ants used to crawl up your nose
like pioneers
in search of new places
new territory
to divide and conquer

    your happy left a note on the front door
it used the clear tape from your desk
it must have stopped by while you were gone
wondering
when will you return?
and you say that you will never

    your happy is still looking for you
it sent a telegram to your car radio
it wants to sing in your breath
it wants to dance in your feet
it wants to tell you that it missed you

    i stopped at the home of your happy the other day
to tell it you were gone

    your happy remembers you
it remembers the smell of your hands
it remembers the feeling of your head on its chest
it remembers the sound of your hair in the wind
it remembers your toes on the pavement and your hand in the cats hair

    your happy will never say goodbye
even after you are gone
it will leave a message in your shoulders
it will tell you

    your happy remembers you
    your happy remembers you
heather leather Jul 2015
the therapists think he doesn't remember,
they think that it is a faded memory and that
derek doesn't know what he did

but he does
he does remember, he remembers holding her in his
arms, he remember intertwining her blood covered pale
hand with his own, he remembers looking down at her
and crying and wondering what did he do?
how could he do this?
he remembers screaming in agony as he heard her last
words, "i loved you so much"
he remembers wanting to stop his own
heart from beating and he would've, he would've he swore
to god that he would and he grabbed the knife and
he was so close, so close, so close to being
dead just like his love but then she came
she stopped him, just like she always stops him, he doesn't
want to be stopped this time though
but he is and she holds him to
her chest and she whispers sweet nothings as he cries
he hated her, he hated her so much this was all her fault
all of it was her fault; she was the one who told him to do it
she was the one who gave him the knife and said it
was either her or his love and he couldn't leave carmen;
carmen was always there for him and she always loved
him when everyone else didn't so he took the knife
and he killed the one girl who understood him, the one person
who he could've gladly spent the rest of his life

the therapists all think that derek doesn't remember,
but he does, he remembers it all; he remembers being
dragged to the hospital and forced into an asylum,
he remembers the word 'schizophrenia' being repeated
over and over again to his parents and he remembers
thinking that he was insane and that's why he had to leave home
he knows he isn't crazy though, he can't be because if he were
then carmen wouldn't love him and she does, she tells
him that she does everyday and she makes sure to say it
in present tense because she knows how he feels
about the word loved

(h.l.)
I've always wanted to write a poem about schizophrenia so i did. thoughts?
Rose Eastridge Apr 2016
To this day he remembers the first time he saw her
Her wild eyes gazing back at him from across the room
And he immediately knew she was different
Deep inside him was an awareness of the inevitable
But he was hypnotized by her grace
Her majestic movement, fluid as the tide, drifting towards him

He remembers the first time his somber gaze strayed to her lips
And her euphoric laughter; a contagion
She was always high on the simple fact of existence
Never taking a moment for granted
And living each as if she expected it to be her last

He remembers her kisses, sweet as honey
Her lips a deep burgundy like red wine
The late star speckled nights that turned to lazy early mornings
Sunrises and sunsets
Magic and madness
She was his world
She was his sense of belonging

He remembers the day he found her
Curled in a corner
When he came home early from work
Tears streaming down her face
And the irreversible marks of a sharp edge
And fresh crimson on her wrists
Her cryptic mind always a mystery

He remembers her last breath
On that ordinary Saturday afternoon
While he grasped her in his arms
And begged her not to leave him

He remembers his heart shattering like a million glass shards
As he watched ever so quietly  
Her pale eyelids close
And her soul fade away
AuEcologica Apr 14
You just started to build an immortal throne,
Legacy,
Heirdom,
What’s been and what to come.  

Even if none remembers.

Your fame might be forgotten,
But the earth remembers the foot sole that touched it,
The print has been made,
With your soul as its name.

Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent
Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent
Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent.

On whatever made you survive till the end.

Tailored bricks by tailored bricks,
A start,
A home,
First love and hatred to come.

Even if you forget that custom made second.  

Your domain might be conquered,
A dragon takes a seat on your treasure heap,
Lungs filled with tar and sot,
Your dust is still a part of the earth as you rot.

Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent
Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent
Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent.

On whatever made you survive till the end.

The end,
Bitter but also sweet.

The end,
Your enemy and friend.

The end,
Not a punctuation but a semicolon.

The end,
Not a closed window but a new door.

Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent
Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent
Even if none remembers, your time wasn’t wasted it was just spent.

On whatever made you survive till the end.
Megan Hoagland Mar 2013
She stares past as her life flies by,
some memories sweet
while others dissatisfy.

She remembers she was 8
and her dad pushing the swing
with muscular ease
as her hair swayed
with the honey-suckle breeze.

She remembers her 15th summer
racing on through
bringing with it raging hormones
and ***** boys.

She remembers bitter tears
shed on mother's caring shoulder
when Robert said that they were over.

She remembers prom and
mistakes she made
and the boy who never again
glanced her way.

She remembers the agony
9 terrible months later brought
for a tiny, screaming baby
and she remembers the love that grew
in spite of the pain.

She sits on that bench and
quietly remembers her child’s firsts:
teeth, words, steps that grew into strides.
and her only regret: only the man
with his godawful pride.

She climbs on the bus
gently grasping the hand
of her bright eyed
and well-loved child.
And this child,
this child,
who is wealthier than most
for the child knows only of
love.
Kinda slapped together, but enjoy...
Hannah Elizabeth Jul 2013
The forest remembers many things.
Like that night we sat under the moon.
The forest remembers how we laughed,
and how you made me swoon.
It remembers all the kisses,
and the tears I shed that night.
It remembers all the blood and sweat,
it remembers that big fight.
The forest never forgets,
our memories are forever there.
So if you ever get lonely, love,
you can find me in the forest care.
Theresa M Rose May 2014
As of time remembers;
The beauty of a rose.

The lake holds still and quite
… until the ripples flow.

The fog of dawn still hovers
… stately morning glides on and on

Silence clings to memories
…  as of her scent avails upon.

The heart beats slow and weary;
A tear… reaches the cool still air

As of time remembers …
A rose and the dew now share.

As of time remembers
…  the water now dances rings;

Silence becomes of a melody;
The sounds of nature sings

Rocks and trees accompany
Foggy mist serenely glows

For as time remembers;
Thus…,

It is only for time to know.
Terry Collett Mar 2013
She remembers him well.
He was her mother’s best
Friend, the one she went to

When she was feeling low or
Out of some product he could
Go buy and bring to her that

And his brand of comfort. She
Remembers how he would make
That loud laugh and give her

Mother that hug he gave, that
Big hearted outward show,
Those blue eyes of his bright

As polished wood. She moves
Now out of the shadows, leaves
The dark just behind, sees where

Once her mother used to stand
And prepare lunch or wash dishes,
Where he’d come behind her and

Put his arms about her and squeeze
And kiss her mother’s neck. She
Remembers him well, she as that

Little girl, the one her mother never
Really knew, the one her mother
Gave birth to (a mistake grown up)

Her mother used to say when angry
Or wild. Never my lovely child. Yes,
She remembers him, the way he

Looked at her when her mother’s
Back was turned, the way he gave
Her thigh a squeeze on passing on

Through to do some job or some
Such thing to do. She recalls how
He crept into her room at night if

Mother let him stay and sat on the
Edge and stared at her lying pretending
Sleep. She sighs, moves through her

Mother’s old house now up for sale,
Soaks in the things that hold memories,
The chairs, the beds, the sofa by the wall,

The pillow where once she laid her head.
She stares out the window at the garden
And trees and hills beyond. She stood

Here once, when young and he came
Put his arms about her and squeezed
Her young girl ******* and laughed when

She squirmed away. Mother didn’t know
Of that or if she did she didn’t say. Not
Then not later, not even when she lay

Dying from disease and had only herself
To live or die for and no other to please.
What her mother didn’t know could fill a

Book, what her mother didn’t understand
Or seem to realize was that that man
She’d brought home had ***** her young
Daughter and spread like dark oil, his sea of lies.
When your heart remembers

When the heart remembers
What you want to forget
The pain felt inside
Is not over yet

You push it down
And say it's not there
It grows in your heart
And you say you don't care

But the hurt is still real
Not just in your head
The sorrow is seen
In tears that are shed

When your heart remembers
What you want to forget
The pain felt inside
Is not over yet


Carl Joseph Roberts
Teresa Magaña Apr 2012
I have a feeling we’ve done this more than once
Probably a few times because the energy we exchanged as we shook hands jolted me
I took a step back and looked into your eyes for just a moment
Immediately submerged
My soul is taken back to a much older time
Within a second, my heart, my soul, remembered past loves from centuries behind
And they were you
More than once
Trying to get something right each time

I have felt you
Felt this jolt of immediate passion
Drawn to you
Willing to submit

My soul remembers
Remembers your tenderness, mixed with bitterness
Love and anger tangled into a tight knot

My body remembers
Flesh, heat, embrace
It was glorious
A passion to be reckoned with

My mind, it tries so hard to remember
It scrapes at the remnants of what our bodies and souls created
Layers of a history I don’t deny is there
If only
If only I could chip away at that first layer and find out what went wrong so many times
Just to know
To have a chance to make it right in this lifetime

It’s a feeble attempt
But an attempt it was
We shook hands
Shared kisses
Embraced under stars
Traveled distances
Ending up farther away than our last encounter

We continue to breathe and live in the same lifetime
My soul content that it connected with the past
My mind left wondering how many more attempts we will be allowed
My heart happy with remembering, even if for a moment, what passionate love feels like
first step

when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic

2

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

3

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

4

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go

2

she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings

2

i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away

3

she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico

4

the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths

5

she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******

2

her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall

3

she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie

4

tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it

2

she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide
aria xero Nov 2012
She tried to remember when she first knew she was in love

but words on her lips were only false images

the truth was

she could not remember

love was spontaneous

like the pigments in the night sky

a rush emotion that enters her brain

as if a wave had crashed against a cliff side

they say that when you are in love

cupid shoots you with his arrows

and that poison molds into your being

as if it were the oxygen you breathe

it begins to tingle from the points

of your finger tips down to the edges

of your toes



she did not remember an exact time

or day

or month

or year

what she remembered was how she felt

how she still feels

and how she will continue to feel

she remembers his face when she told him

it was sad

a longing that stretched from his eyes to hers

he looked pained

but smiled curtly anyway



she remembers her tears

they bled from her eyes

as he stayed silent

they felt like hot rain against her cheeks

her love was being poured out

she remembers his eyes

as he kneeled in front of her

to gently press his lips against her fingers

she remembers his empty response

and the look of hurt as he

left her sitting there

alone



she tried to remember when she first knew she was in love

but all she can remember is the mark that arrow made

when it struck her to the chest

she knows her heart isn't empty anymore

in fact it is absent

she knows she will fight for the love

she remembers

and that one day she will remember

when she first knew she was in love
.
Towela Kams Oct 2014
I've never really liked the idea of culture
How it supports the African man
For the sins he commits
In closed doors

He calls his father and uncles
And reports his wife from youth
Says she doesn't do anything right
Says she doesn't respect him

Almost immediately,
His Uncle grins
He is reminded that
He once had the same problem

Recites the same words
That he was moulded into
As a young groom
To his wife from youth,

"It's true, they never do anything right.
They don't respect. They don't respect!"

His wife's mother is listening
She has flashbacks as well
From back in her day
She tells her, what her mom told her,

"Don't answer back, Mo. Don't defend yourself. When you're wrong, you shut up. Even when you're right, you shut up!"

She's astonished, but she accepts.
She goes with her husband
To their matrimonial land
As he continues to mock her

On arrival, they meet a lady
The African body, with braids hanging from her head
Beads on her hair, waist and feet
Standing all so proud

"Esther!" He cries. "What--are--you--doing--here?"
"I'm pregnant for you baby!"
"What?!" "Really?!"
"Yes love!"

Mo is about to scream now
Esther has always been a threat to her marriage
But when she tried telling Wanjala, he would lay his hands on her each time
So she keeps quite about the events she witnessed, a month ago, with Wanjala's brother, Sam, and Esther in bed together.

Sam was a good lad. He respected women.
He loved Esther very much. But so did Wanjala.
Wanjala stole her heart recently, simply through a flash of a few coins to her.
Sam was not wealthy as Wanjala.

Esther's baby could belong to Sam.
She can't tell Sam because he never knew about Wanjala's affair with his girlfriend.
She heeds to her mother's advice.
She keeps her mouth shut, like the African woman she is.

She remembers what happened earlier
When she overheard what her uncles said
Her husband had falsely accused her of adultery
And yet, here he is today, receiving the fruits of it.

* The END
The African culture supports men with everything. The African man is arrogant and proud. He is influenced by the crowd which always agrees with him depending on his financial position. The African man can't be told what's wrong and what's right. He is always praised and adored by his fellow men. He has no regard for his wife from youth. The traits of the African man are found in each and every male born and brewed in Africa. I don't want my children to live in such a world with traditions from 100 years ago!

Women, respect your husbands. Esteem him and he'll exalt you. Embrace him and he'll honour you.
Men, respect your wives. Esteem her and she'll exalt you. Embrace her and she'll honour you.
Do not be afraid
She heard him say
“I am here to hold you dear”
Her stillness became acquiescence to her still
It’s nice to have you home for Christmas they may say
But her heart knows the better
The disgrace was still the footnote.
The night wind made a faint whisper
Telling her over and over
The time has come and gone
Forget the pain of evermore.
Dancing took her to a time
Her feet would fly and fly
Sweeping steps of every beat
To see those days that would go by;
Just to remember his words so dear
To clear her mind of pain
The slightest motion of his hand
To kiss the smiles she must be;
The sound reverberated through the crisp autumn air
Klung, klung, klung of the wood
Reminding her he was there.
She remembers his words.
As the faint breeze lifted her veil
But the face she saw was the one captured of long ago;
With black skirts and pine needles that she wrote
The songs were sung to her heart
Etched forever more this day
With colored hair ribbons all so new
Ponytails askew;
He took her hand to strange places that were so few
On Saturday nights to kiss the kiss
She remembers the words he spoke
The bell tolled once and then twice she heard
Sound exploded and glass flew.
As her life fell around her like needles ever so slightly,
The pain of it all so gone
Just to remember the words he spoke;
The farther and farther he tolled
The longer and longer she was gone
So now the years have passed
The pain is as she remembers
And the WORDS HE SPOKE
Was so light
That it still tore her heart.

AS SHE REMEMBER HIS WORDS THIS NIGHT.

BY: POETESS Debbie Brooks
Free verse is a literary device that can be defined as poetry that is free from limitations of regular meter or rhythm and does not rhyme with fixed forms. Such poems are without rhythms and rhyme schemes; do not follow regular rhyme scheme rules and still provide artistic expression.
Morgan May 2013
One!
This kid was an airhead. Curly brown hair & piercing blue eyes. Big, toned arms. Bulky thighs. He was clumsy falling all over me. I could feel his saliva collecting into a pool on my tongue & eventually draining down my throat. Dime sized bruises coated his knuckles. He put them there. I kissed each one. But that was years ago... he barely remembers me now.

Two!
His hair was screaming for us to look from across the room when we first saw him. Deep blue & shoe polish black hues stemming from his scalp. But his voice shook on its way out and then trailed away before it hit our ears. When his shirt came up over his head he was nervous. And when it hit the floor, he was scared.  A single file line of seven deep red gashes on his shoulder. He put them there. I kissed each one. But that was years ago... he barely remembers me now.

Three!
He was always laughing. He found comedy in tragedy and humor in hatred. His Mohawk, awkwardly tall. A pretty face underneath it all. Tired eyes when the smile fell & sadness behind the veil. Red and white blisters all over the tips of his fingers. He put them there. I kissed each one. But that was years ago... he barely remembers me now.

Four!
He was too old for me. Bored lips, creamy skin. Cold and drunk when I walked in. Well-read and unknown. He slipped under my sheets and wrapped his arms over my ribs. Two black & blue eyes staring into mine. He put them there. I kissed each one. But that was years ago... He barely remembers me now.

Five!
Vacant eyes. ***** hair. Strong arms. All dope-sick and wired. I heard him sigh into my neck like he was starting to think. Holes in his veins from the insides of his elbows, on down to his wrists. He put them there.  I kissed each one. But that was years ago... He barely remembers me now.

Six!
Violent green eyes. Bloodshot, attentive and forgiving. He lifted me onto the sink. I've been here before. Between his warm arms and versed hands, the world was shutting out in the background. I had scars all over me. From my whining eyes to my breaking toes. I put them there. He kissed each one. He slipped inside, quietly. His lips begging me. He held his confusion at bay. He never let it show its face. But I crept into the rooms he shut doors in front of & found all of his loathing there. That was years ago & I wish I could forget him now.
He lies awake,
Unfeeling, yet hurting,
Unseeing, but staring into the nothingness that surrounds him.
He remembers his mistakes,
He remembers his regrets,
And asks the dark to remain.

He lies awake,
Free and safe,
A smile on his lips, beaming through the nothingness around him.
He remembers his success,
He forgets what others said,
And forces the dark away.

He lies awake,
Trembling, but still,
Afraid, but reaching for the nothingness that’s bound him.
He awaits his demise,
He relives his loss,
And pleads the dark to let him stay.

He lies awake,
Relieved, but untrusting,
Abandoned by the nothingness that found him.
He remembers his mistakes,
He remembers his regrets,
And asks the dark for one last dance.
Legion Apr 2014
When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
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means   mountain   boys   true   stars   learn   sliced   naive   decided   player   actually   reality   ease   music   hood   desperate   promise   wishing   begin   miss   caressing   moan   thighs   heard   pretty   emotion   figure   floor   exotic   sand   hits   angel   awake   dreaming   probably   wins   seek   stretch   loved   tears   heartbreak   punk   walking   piece   furniture   unreachable   roots   near   deserve   simple   cats   tail   precious   lovers   loves   mother   tongues   clueless   share   taken   yesterday   faith   freedom   ripe   cursed   running   yes   unknown   feeling   going   stairs   opposite   wonder   afloat   packed   bones   acting   playing   wind   passions   dismissed   hourglass   reached   stares   mouths   singing   shaped   trapped   toll   dies   rock   trunk   discovered   especially   dull   choice   awful   patient   great   indoors   attached   thread   shoulders   warms   bright   bring   ending   drowning   sadness   winter   baby   looked   cute   beating   tight   kids   crying   ran   intoxicating   growing   saying   opposites   melancholy   gives   follow   clearly   dove   tu   soon   entwined   juicy   drown   laid   took   moved   bear   anyways   shirt   negative   clean   guide   sore   location   faux   nodded   glance   caught   chances   week   started   today   obvious   sweat   ***   quiet   laughed   worry   round   ladies   mama   smack   goodbye   rising   sides   wished   beds   infinite   positive   scared   admittedly   mistakes   meal   common   rises   toes   bullets   bound   suited   birth   clothes   belt   pounds   ground   barren   sitting   table   woe   swimming   stick   deepest   motion   cleared   sing   angry   action   sons   smiled   bedroom   wall   wiped   grins   mad   july   store   road   snow   pulse   important   adventure   exactly   foundation   trap   colors   floors   neon   outside   language   summer   north   fifty   served   wavy   kick   raw   thirty   row   changed   hanging   lied   drenched   companion   begins   strength   flies   direction   okay   stories   inky   stubborn   cloud   track   described   lover   replaced   pit   packs   circling   honest   wage   dinner   slave   paradox   faking   screamed   lightning   exterior   stopping   complete   deal   rifle   dependent   gifts   dancer   vision   students   horror   punch   anymore   pack   sagging   folk   honestly   tearing   prepared   creatures   listening   rhythm   unique   roar   card   glass   stage   desert   offered   fought   suffer   awoke   master   eating   furnace   glad   choir   graceful   *****   treasure   ships   bark   musical   strand   bee   finished   pink   slink   stronger   disclose   gravity   schedule   march   medicine   hates   weird   brush   laughs   helped   june   pitched   dumped   tense   sin   withdrawn   stem   proved   whispered   anew   amazing   louder   english   knocked   chilly   boots   false   mistake   toffee   whistle   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shells   playful   luckily   area   upwards   flail   largest   sappy   freckles   biology   fruition   cases   overtook   pinks   instruments   brownies   birthmark   reinforce   laptop   pirates   blinks   frontier   forwards   resonate   capacity   mumbled   marched   scraping   prompts   multiply   haiku   football   como   function   unfeeling   eighty   backsides   prompt   raced   blare   likewise   pro   chrome   gran   pears   puede   corazon   elated   indecisive   basketball   burgundy   synonyms   braced   effeminate   mutually   duties   companies   honeymoon   flailing   patted   mayo   headon   pero   misma   marveled   aforementioned   abhors   forefront   hesitating   identical   creepy   possessive   screeched   gotcha   infidelity   friction   barrage   nonetheless   disparate   itchy   apex   gettysburg   lunchtime   pickup   muchas   then   and   trading   distinguishable   pitches   bunk   ven   ladylike   encompasses   diagrams   underlying   spaghetti   soccer   trashcan   papa   disarming   finalmente   clashed   rosie   smirks   snapshot   pug   songbird   spitfire   yanks   thankfully   mesa   flexing   virginia   effectively   variations   eclipses   tambien   outrun   incident   vitamin   willpower   underdog   hardboiled   miniscule   checkerboard   entrust   siento   heavyweight   davis   thyroid   foreshadowing   frances   heresy   starburst   deficiency   sawing   peruvian   leche   antithesis   villanelle   alliteration   hora   vivir   clacking   droopy   whizzed   britney   futbol   parameters   disney   mangos   disproportionate   orbiting   tanka   stubby   intro   listo   goldilocks   teamwork   pbj   exemplifies   rey   retainer   tenia   triples   espanol   estuvo   castillo   ferrying   suficiente   racecar   dorky   garganta   veo   julio   peripherals   labios   rojos   foreseeable   frito   groggily   venn   macbook   inanely   hubo   goofball   you've   she's   weren't   wasn't   we're   others'   you'll   should've   haven't   what's   you'd   they'd   man's   boys'   god's   woman's   fruit's   orion's   newton's   lincoln's   adam's   momma's   ******   jackson's   audis   dulces   disproportionately   charon's   deseos   avocadoes   hailey   eran   beatles'   ingles   he   she   it   rackets   --   hashtag   sixty-three   duct-tape   joysticks   sherman's   15   6th   32   500   7th   2013   extraño   barenaked   tamales   6-year-old   tierras   derpy   ewell   rom-com   themit's   adan   mudpits   puddlepits   war--hell   culp's   shitpits   completaron   chocolatada   levantanse   duraznos   n'sync   huevo   cholitos   levantaron   manzanas   endurece   wozniak's   dispara   nuez   open-endedness   innies   cankles   dunder-mifflin   tunks   buck-toothed   outies   grief-blown   a-gawking
I uploaded all of my past work onto the site already, so everything from here on out will be new and original. This is sort of an experimental idea of mine: take all the words hellopoetry has tracked for me, put it down as if it were a poem, and see how it flows. It actually kind of works sometimes, but I'm not sure. I'm sure it's mostly terrible, but I wanted to try it. Let me know what you think in the comments below!
aviisevil May 2015
an ahsen'd sea
falling down the ceiling like rain
in cold I can't sleep
and tears have been bled again

i wish I could see
all the faces that change
pick one for me
so I can hide my pain

hope i can still feel
if ever things go back the same
these wounds must heal
or I will drive myself insane

in the moments that were killed
by the memories I once had
an abyss slowly and calmly filled
until even the sunlight growed black

i see an Apocalyptic
tale weaved in my dreams
a cryptic voice
that now and then screams

while I sit so naked
in the dark so alone
all this time I've waited
for someone to find home

ashes falling on my skin
hiding me somewhere in this room
as when the lights go dim
you can almost see my gloom

you can touch them scars
and you can find it in my eyes
in there you'll find no heart
it has been eaten by them lies

I have a pen to speak my curse
but no one here to hear my song
for all that I say in my every word
so much silence has come and gone

I must not let myself disappear
in the hollow of my own cage
be consumed by my fear
and burnt alive by my rage

but these chains won't leave
until I become who I have to be
all these other faces I keep
someday I've to set them free

chanting those names
I think I'm finally falling asleep
I'm not here to play no games
a point end can cut deep

i will spill this rain on them
and feed them the burnt embers
only one way this will end
'cause the north always remembers
Got !
Laura Jane Mar 2015
The body remembers, though it has been
four years since the summer you shattered your
knee but still limped out across the continent
to Boston to see him you idiot and
this is the fourth summer you've placed between
yourself and the last pin and the last *****
your body remembers, though in the
torturous lengthening of fused and toughened tissues
the bad leg is finally catching up,
and the scar with its ten numb inches of
puckered track has come to fade bone white
against your skin
but it’s still stored somewhere
in your sockets or cells and when you fall off your bike you still cry
Though you’re not really hurt your body remembers
So that when you’re confronted with their engagement photo
(you didn’t even know he was seeing anyone)
the darkened garden at the Plymouth Plantation
begins to bloom up around you before you can stop it
like a seizure or a vision, and you’re there again
trespassing after him through shadowy pines
and night-damp atlantic air
to where the white chairs encircle the altar.
Maria Keisoglou Nov 2014
Our  own meeting has no end , no outer shell, it does not float.
It only searches within its depths to find a bottom to pitch its anchor
and looses itself within the  colours of an ever changing earth.
Without air it gets carried away and shines like a fire,
unquenched and remote from evil tongues and envious eyes.
Ostracizing dark thoughts and delighting within its womb.
It remembers from always and lives on  forever
and within the moonlit dust it travels upon wings.
An aura which is immaterial and wonders intoxicated
it sings you an icy lullaby..
cassandra garate Apr 2014
he cries when she stood before him, breaking his heart,
he cries when she says she hated him from the start.
he cries when she tries to leave,
he cries when she threw her engagement ring in the grass and leaves.
he cries when he stared her in the eyes,
he cries when she said that everything was lies.
he cries when she made him crawl in the grass to look for the ring,
he cries when he hears her softly and happily sing.
he cries when she stared at him with no emotion,
he cries when he looks for the ring with a lot of devotion.
he cries when he brings forth the ring only to be rejected,
he cries when she seems to be unaffected.
he cries when she tells him a story,
he cries when he says im sorry.
he cries, she remembers,
he cries, she dismembers.
she cries, everything she held in for years leaking out,
she cries from her heart, everything pouring out.
she cries when she remembers the time he pushed her away,
she cries when promises are made but never get fulfilled the next day.
she cries when she remembers when he doesnt talk to her,
she cries when she remembers when he did nothing when the bullys bullied her.
she cries when he would abandon her for others,
she cries when she remembers plans getting cancelled for one reason or another.
she cries when he used to toy with her emotions,
she cries when she remember all those tears she shed in every pillow and couch cushion.
she cries when they had all those fights,
she cried when her heart died.
she cried when he smiled,
now he cries when she insanely smiled.
he cries when she reached out to him,
he cries when she forgave him.
he cries when she kissed him with no thought whatsoever,
he cries when he realizes that he's her slave forever.
meh could be better but what do you guys think?
Joe Wilson Jan 2014
He remembers
back to a time
when the black dog
hung around his neck
like a heavy yoke, he
could never be rid of
the terror that the pain
would not someday return
to seek him out and strike
him down again, and the knowing
how close he had come to succumbing
to the excruciating pain of the blood
pouring out of his brain and down his
spine only to lodge in his vertebrae.

He remembers edging closer to the crowded
platform’s edge too filled with fear to realise
the probable selfishness of what he was about to
do, only vaguely aware of where he actually was but
just able to register that touch on his right arm
and the voice that quietly whispered to him “I don’t
really think you want to do that.” He remembers turning
round to see who had said it and seeing that there was just
a crowd of commuters all going about their business, of the
owner of the voice there was no sign, but it had been enough, it
had been enough to make him realise where he was for the moment
passed and he made his way back, back to the arms of the woman who
had always loved him, and who had carefully, lovingly nursed him back to
health over such a long time, and he wept, he put his head on her gentle
shoulder and he wept as he had never wept before, he wept for all pain
he still felt and he wept for all the selfish pain he would have caused this
woman had he let himself fall, for that surely had been his intention.

©JRW2014
axr Jul 2017
They hailed Robb of Houses Stark and Tully as the King in the North,
he marched to **** his father's killers
he marched to save his sisters
The Young Wolf,they called him
he'd never lost a battle
his howls echoed all over the North

aye,her son fought valiantly
but he lost
a sword pierced through his heart,
her name on his lips
'Mother.'
his first and last words
she screamed in agony
they took her husband's head,
her daughters' innocence,
her sons' hearts.
they made her watch the executioner take her son's head
they made her watch her daughter-in-law beg for help as the men took turns ****** her
when the lion's banners were hanged
and the wolves killed
they pulled her hair,
slit her throat,
threw her naked in the river
and no one forgot,
the Starks of Winterfell.
The North Remembers
The North Remembers
i wrote this last year nut since it's GoT season so i thought of uploading it :D
this one's about catelyn stark
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.ludo savis... play nice... ludo savis... play nice:

i knew the relationship was over when i encountered her ex-boyfriend sitting in her st. petersburg flat drinking ***** with me, no, wait, it was when she started questionning me using cosmopolitan magazine quiz about perfect girlfriends on our way from st. petersburg to moscow to see metallica, while all i wanted was to listen to bob dylan and appreciate whatever rural russia had to offer... beside that? it took me quiet a time to fiddle through and find the glagolitic alphabet, the slavic alphabet before the learned greek came across "my" people, given the romans never venture that far... good luck finding an african phonetic encoding system, beside the hieroglyphs... i won't bother looking right now... not to insult, though: so much for a large phallus megalomania contra envy... Ⰶ: życie (life) is not the half of the caron ž in the form of: the acute... (ź): ździra (don't ask, seriously, the word implies worse than ***** / szmata)... źródło (source)... eh... the one-armed caron (ž)... ź... i can't explain it any further: you need to speak the lingo to keep the "nuance" alive... southern slavs treat the caron akin to ž = ż... how beautiful... given the english language has no diacritical marker application: can't exactly claim diacritical markers using only the automated hovering decapitated heads above ι & ȷ... i'm not english i'm tired of looking up h'america's *******! i don't need not fancy pants to debrief the people i'm concerned with to mind, not giving a **** about them... thanks for your jeans: subtitle made in canada... beside the whole mao shitshow of: made in china.... back in the 1990s! *******... even in terms of music h'america isn't really relevant.. it just is... and "whatever" this "is" is to be, will remain... but only as an r.e.m. ref. pointer, that requires the physical translation of the lyrics: the one i love... a simple prop: to occupy my mind.... fire! the silesian vampire... because... said so... learning about monsters is what i could only fathom, which included me... but, sorry... the glagolithic script... ⰄⰀⰏ: dam... i.e. i will give... fun fact: r.e.m. didn't sell their: it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) to microsoft for a commercial break.. glagolitic script... where are the africans? oh, right, nowhere when phonetic encoding is turning heads... **** me... even the blind are onto the affair...  i went as far back as the glagolithic script: pre cyrillic, about the same time that the latins incorporated the northern "savages" with applying the chisel to the ᚱ / R... ᚠ / F... copernican "up-side down": why do all tree (beside the pines) resemble a Y shape, a gamma? why did god compensate his existence with opiates?! refresh my memory, though, why am i drawing blanks at african phonetic encoding? **** me, the blind drew something, the deaf too... if you played the guitar, forget about reading braille... you need tender, french, fingertips.... you can't play the guitasr and read braille... mind you... encoding morse overshadows braille... but even the european blindman overcomes the fully ****-naked butter-cup sprinting *** of a black man every day of the week: i'm not here to compensate for a leprechaun's sized *****: mind you... in the hands of a porcelain ***- beauty? everything looks like a hiroshima... i just started to entertain an asian fetish... 4th knuckle mizzing... missing... the most ****** aspect of a female aesthetic? her hand... when *** & the city cited trimming ***** hair (no circumsion, really?), so no asian porcelain hands, no 4th knuckle missing?! i hate what the anglo-speaking world has become, it's this, this, this quasi-Islam.... at least i respect the Quran... but 1984, by the secular prophet of the western world? why do people still calling it: silicon vallyey... it's a ******* curtain, smart-you not seeing the replacement mechanisms of the silicon curtain: now wow... ******, where you're getting-to-go get from? any ideas?! a tehran baza?! ******. 1960s homosexuals fiddling their way past the tunis police, happy? loitering sucker-****** pansie? again... entertain me... where is the african phonetic encoding system... this is my "i.q." avenue masterpiece... i don't care about i.q. but a ******* blind man beat the african at phonetic encoding... personally?


one just simply falls, tired of the right-wing momentum regarding beauty, it's such a bothersome crtique of its generic foundation if beauty..... i hate it, this objective classicism: back to the future take no, 4; *******...

             again, where were the africans sorting
out their invetement in the slave trade...
ONLY WHITE PEOPLE
WERE BAD, CONCERNING BLACK PEOPLE...
Idi Amin... Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin
Idi Amin... Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin ....
******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
   ******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
i said: ******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
i'd love to see an african-h'american
in africa... mouthin-off their stature...

                   african phonetic encoding....

debussy                                       chopin




satie                                              schumannn...

­and?
              there's too much of loon'don....
                   had enough of it, ****'s....
too much ***-kissing,
too much of the h'american swindle...
carelesss buggers; these brits...
******* ****** jolly-tribe
               ****-ups....
  
i drink and relax solving a sudoku -
i'm not doing it to compete -
   just having a conversation with
my neighbor about the difference
between Alzheimer's
and dementia brought back memories
of what i negated for some time...

it's only when someone else tells
you of their elder relative's dementia
you muster the courage to
spot the same symptoms in
your relative...

         my grandfather has dementia...
my early teenage years,
every summer visiting him,
traveling to Krakow,
     going fishing,
riding our bicycles in the afternoon...
he feeding my what books
i should read...
      i still visit,
  spend about a month,
say, keep him company,
   fix up the kitchen...

  but it's such an exhausting disease...
not so much for the sufferer -
this mild form of Alzheimer -
no killer proteins eating away at
the brain cells -
   dementia?
the ontological nadir of old age...
then again, perhaps the zenith...

a closure...
   the long term memory opens,
while the short term memory
closes -
   he still can solve a crossword
puzzle like a mad genius...
but he lapses into what is
the cinema of mortality...
                 he remembers things
like the two SS-men
   posted in my home town,
running up to them
and saying -
herr bitte bon-bon!...
  the raven black of the uniform
and the glaring *******...

    i blocked the fact that it was
dementia, when my grandmother
thought it was wise to scare all
of us, uncle, mother and father
into thinking it could degenerate
into Alzheimer's...
        he still recognizes me!
Alzheimer's sufferers can't
even muster that!

   at best... dementia couples itself up
with melancholia,
  the natural melancholia
akin to the sadness expressed by
Nietzsche: only when the house
has been completed,
but never during the construction...

dementia is just an endless memory
loop...
   when man is allowed to finally
put down the hammer, the sickle...
and retire?
  he's standing on the precipices of mortality...
on a dam about to crack open,
and release a surge of the sea
of memory...
   why wouldn't he take the time
to remember?
  to remember himself?
        
the tedium comes when the same
persons implores others to listen to them...
when memories become less
of the old man's cinema and more
affairs of an oral culture -
our culture has lost the point
of oral transmission -
  hence dementia sufferers have
to evolve -
                  into not talking so much...
not as a mean spirited conviction -
why? i do the same -
   i have about 10 focal memories
that constant revive me -
               and i'm only 32...
          but i don't talk about them...
hell, i won't write them...
   it's my own, private cinema -
but my grandfather comes from
a time before the optical explosion
of television...

         i don't need to hear what he saw -
all i need is to tattoo his mannerisms
and face onto my psyche...

   but dementia, thank god,
is a listening tedium...
                     point being...
a life opens up,
   but any immediacy of life disappears...
hence his persistent ability
to solve crossword puzzles,
enjoy reading the newspaper -
but the significance of remembering
yesterday is missing...
    
he's an old man...
   he has no obligations in terms of
duty in a professional arena of
the metalwork factory...
why wouldn't he attempt to push death
aside and not linger on
the memory of his, magnum opus -
his life sigma oeuvre?

     me?
  some would call this music neo-**** skinhead
****...
   wumpscut, two songs...
   thorns & wreath of barbs,
     bunkertor sieben (reprise)...
but it relaxes me when sitting on a sudoku,
drinking Bacardi cola and lime...
      enjoying the cool August air
after just enough rain
that manages to exfoliates the flowers
with refreshed sensuality...

  sudoku no. 10101...
    after enough numbers pop up,
the tactic is to hone in on one number
in each of the 9 squares and 9 vertical
and 9 linear line...
for sudoku no. 10101 in the Friday's
edition of the times?

   it went something akin to this

[8, 5] - [3] - [1] - [9] - [7] - [2, 6] - [4]

that's the closest schematic
i'll have for you,
   with regards to how the grid is filled.

i drink and relax solving a sudoku -
i'm not doing it to compete -
   just having a conversation with
my neighbor about the difference
between Alzheimer's
and dementia brought back memories
of what i negated for some time...

it's only when someone else tells
you of their elder relative's dementia
you muster the courage to
spot the same symptoms in
your relative...

         my grandfather has dementia...
my early teenage years,
every summer visiting him,
traveling to Krakow,
     going fishing,
riding our bicycles in the afternoon...
he feeding my what books
i should read...
      i still visit,
  spend about a month,
say, keep him company,
   fix up the kitchen...

  but it's such an exhausting disease...
not so much for the sufferer -
this mild form of Alzheimer -
no killer proteins eating away at
the brain cells -
   dementia?
the ontological nadir of old age...
then again, perhaps the zenith...

a closure...
   the long term memory opens,
while the short term memory
closes -
   he still can solve a crossword
puzzle like a mad genius...
but he lapses into what is
the cinema of mortality...
                 he remembers things
like the two SS-men
   posted in my home town,
running up to them
and saying -
herr bitte bon-bon!...
  the raven black of the uniform
and the glaring *******...

    i blocked the fact that it was
dementia, when my grandmother
thought it was wise to scare all
of us, uncle, mother and father
into thinking it could degenerate
into Alzheimer's...
        he still recognizes me!
Alzheimer's sufferers can't
even muster that!

   at best... dementia couples itself up
with melancholia,
  the natural melancholia
akin to the sadness expressed by
Nietzsche: only when the house
has been completed,
but never during the construction...

dementia is just an endless memory
loop...
   when man is allowed to finally
put down the hammer, the sickle...
and retire?
  he's standing on the precipices of mortality...
on a dam about to crack open,
and release a surge of the sea
of memory...
   why wouldn't he take the time
to remember?
  to remember himself?
        
the tedium comes when the same
persons implores others to listen to them...
when memories become less
of the old man's cinema and more
affairs of an oral culture -
our culture has lost the point
of oral transmission -
  hence dementia sufferers have
to evolve -
                  into not talking so much...
not as a mean spirited conviction -
why? i do the same -
   i have about 10 focal memories
that constant revive me -
               and i'm only 32...
          but i don't talk about them...
hell, i won't write them...
   it's my own, private cinema -
but my grandfather comes from
a time before the optical explosion
of television...

         i don't need to hear what he saw -
all i need is to tattoo his mannerisms
and face onto my psyche...

   but dementia, thank god,
is a listening tedium...
                     point being...
a life opens up,
   but any immediacy of life disappears...
hence his persistent ability
to solve crossword puzzles,
enjoy reading the newspaper -
but the significance of remembering
yesterday is missing...
    
he's an old man...
   he has no obligations in terms of
duty in a professional arena of
the metalwork factory...
why wouldn't he attempt to push death
aside and not linger on
the memory of his, magnum opus -
his life sigma oeuvre?

     me?
  some would call this music neo-**** skinhead
****...
   wumpscut, two songs...
   thorns & wreath of barbs,
     bunkertor sieben (reprise)...
but it relaxes me when sitting on a sudoku,
drinking Bacardi cola and lime...
      enjoying the cool August air
after just enough rain
that manages to exfoliates the flowers
with refreshed sensuality...

  sudoku no. 10101...
    after enough numbers pop up,
the tactic is to hone in on one number
in each of the 9 squares and 9 vertical
and 9 linear line...
for sudoku no. 10101 in the Friday's
edition of the times?

   it went something akin to this

[8, 5] - [3] - [1] - [9] - [7] - [2, 6] - [4]

that's the closest schematic
i'll have for you,
   with regards to how the grid is filled.

oh sure sure, the uncircumcised man,
crucified when all the orthodox were
drunk,
                   פור day,
       drunk cruxion?!
                 lovey purin "misgivings";
what's next?

   oh sure sure, the jews would hav e crucified
me on the hill of: tel megiddo
****-heads throwing up their kippahs
into the air in some skewed form
of celebration...
       like bacchus entering
Valhalla asking: where's the mead?
    i've had too much wine...
where'y the whiskey?

   i'll keep repeating...
              talk about jews among the polonaiase?
hush hush: ****, dont want to bring
bad luck... jews in poland are very much akin
to roma gypsies: lucky charms...
but... do you see any ******* leprechauns
around? look at me: i see none...
  let's tell the joke in verse,
not the stadard: a priest a rabbi and an imam
walk into a bar...
****... is that even a joke?! muslims don't drink!
what's the imam having; cranberry juice?!

and englishman a scot and an irish walk
into a bar... the three of them walk
out on stag-duty with inflanted sheep and
speaking cymcru... terrible joke...
as all my jokes were to begin with...

         i am currently navigating,
my uncle's ex girlfriend is sleeping downstairs
on the couch,
blah blah Tuscany... blah blah prosecco...
i'm becoming suspect: she's a gemini,
isn't she? all the geminis i ever met where
extroverted self-absorbed louis XIV types...
they need to, they need to self-absorb themselves
in order to extract the sort of energy
associate with rhetoric,
   and how they constantly digress,
there's always a sub-plot to the plot... nay,
there are always sub-plots...
          great company, i mean...
when a person speaks all the time there are
no awkward moments of silence,
until the said person tells the "eager" listener...
play some music...
she's a warsaw girl, so she's a pretty learned
in the ways of the world,
i'm just an ostrowiec commoner...

    oy vey! oy vey: she'***** 40 and lamenting...
i too complain about my uncle...
she had an abortion with him...
i once talked with my uncle about music
while he surfaced at mrs. roshandler's back garabe...
we ate sri lankan fried chicken wings and
chips and listened to californication
for the very first time...

   abundance of hope in Tuscany...
"apparently"... but if you have ever watched
a woman, borderline on asylum incarceration?
i was looking at one just example...
  it's not a pretty sight...
even when she asked: how's *** and business?
i'm a monk...
          or at least i tend to...
even if she came from a stock of
failed relationships: fine fine...
            now?

i served up decent food,
a malvani and a tikka masala curry...
          naan bread,
     turmeric infused rice,
vanilla cheese cake with strawberries...
she enjoyed it,
i like to please people...
    mind you: ever see a slim chef?
i wouldn't trust a slim chef,
i never have, i never will,
you need some chubby chub chub rounding-offs...
mind you: i much prefer cooking
food than eating it,
but i would never trust a chef associated
with a c.o.d. associated with counting calories...
never have, never will...
two noteworthy proverbs:
1. too many cooks in one kitchen =
no decent meal is being made...
  one cook, one couldron, that's your best bet...
2. never trust a slim, athletic cook...
those ******* can shove their kale
       smoothies....
they can slurp up those smoothies
turning their ***** in straw ******* vortexes!
i'll cook on lard trimmings,

em....
  [9] - [2] - [6] - [3] - [8] - [1] - [4] - [5, 7]?
that's when the sudoku puzzle was filled...
all the nines... all the twos... etc. became filled
in the 9 grids...

well...
     "apart" from: my uncle's girlfriend:
i've been living in englamd
for nearly 30 yeasrs...
i've dated a french girl,
an australian, a russian....
but u've never dated an english
girl: i guess they much prefer
aged pakistani grooming gang
members....
            i guess:
**** gasoline on them,
they're all readied and geared up!

braille contra morse?
if you want to play the guitar?
forget the braille....
you need tender fingertips
to read braille...
morse? nit so much...
here's a comparison...
i see!

    a.:   ⠓⠑   ⠺⠓⠕
                       ⠎⠑⠑⠎
    ⠊⠎       ⠁⠃⠇⠑
                   ⠞⠕
                                     ­   ⠗⠑⠁⠙

b. play the guitar and learn to....
read finger tip braille, ******....

· · · ·  ·         
· − −  · · · ·  − − − 
· · ·  ·  ·  · · · :
                  · ·  · · · 
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ · − · ·  ·  (a / b)
      −  − − − 
                   · − ·  · ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ − · ·  (a)

(he who sees: is able to read)...

           i can attest...
             i would find myself readily reading
morse in braille,
than braille by itself...
                far more easier.

finger-tips... i'd sooner read your morse
as braille, than braille as morse..
JK Cabresos May 2012
I remember,
every corner of the streets
we used to walk together
holding hands,
where the loveliest colors
are ever painted
within your smiles.

I remember,
the rain which elucidates
the resemblance of truth
and of love,
and all of my attention
is drawn to wondering,
how long will you stay
by my side.

I remember,
how your sweet lips invite;
our first kiss defines
every moment for which
I always realize that I am safe
whenever you are
close to me.

I remember,
those romantic nights
when your body lay
next to mine,
and the moon captivated
our souls, to descry
every beautiful scenery
of a once paradise;
then we talked
about the future.

But a night for which
my heart still remembers,
is when you looked me
in the eyes,
and said the first...

'I LOVE YOU'
You may also visit my blog: http://penned-words.blogspot.com/
© 2012
Vivian Sep 2013
You
are stretched out,
lithe and feline,
in a patch of sunlight on the taupe carpet
in a sweater and jeans,
the sweater fraying and courtesy of your
grandmother in Maine.
she doesn't remember you.
the jeans tight and courtesy of the
salesgirl in Savannah.
she doesn't forget you and
she doesn't think she could.
she still remembers
the shape of your hips
in your denim cutoffs
when she lies in her bed.
she still remembers
the contours of your bare midriff
salaciously exposed by your crop top
when she squeezes her
*******.
she still remembers:
shoulderseyeslips freckles voice tone pitch legs toes.
she still remembers.
Stefanie Meade Jul 2014
The soil remembers
each flower that bloomed
and died upon it,
each drop of blood,
each insect,
each fruit,
and carries these beloved ghosts
within it,
waiting for new life.
labyrinths Nov 2013
i.
your teeth chatter and the wind hits your face.
you can no longer feel your hands or legs.
something about frostbite floats around your mind.
and while your head is screaming, go home
your legs are screaming, left, right, left, right.

you remember walking this way from school.
when your sister would pick you up and walk with you.
or when your "best friend" would make you take the long way
so you could walk her home.

you remember trying to climb that tree
to impress a couple of kids
in hopes that you would become friends.
you remember falling
and the shrill laughter of "never never friends"

you remember sitting in that field
and writing poetry
about the dogs that passed.

you remember playing in that park
with a girl you thought
you'd be friends with forever.
you remember sitting on the swings
while your mom talked to other moms
about what it was like to be a mother.
you remember sliding down the slide,
playing in the sand,
and the reluctance to go home.

ii.
you find yourself in His neighborhood.
you still remember the exact way to His house.
how could you not?
you are still smoking.
you imagine the smoke hitting His face.
He would be shocked, if only He could see you now.
what He made you.

you stop by His house.
you remember the path across His house that would lead you to school if you followed it.
you remember the tree next to His house where He poked a wasp's nest.
you remember His backyard, how you would build forts and He would always win.
you remember His living room, blanket forts where you would tease you until you cried.
you remember His mother and her patronizing smile.

there are christmas lights.
you wonder which room is His.
you wonder if His house still looks the same.
you wonder if He remembers what He did to you.

how He touched you
even though you said no.
how He told you that you wanted it
even though you said you didn't.
how He told you that you needed him
even though you knew you didn't.

He is a ghost now, just like the rest of this neighborhood.
and you know if you stay long enough
the ghosts will take it as an open invitation
and come out to play.

iii.
you keep walking.
you put the cigarette out.
you think you're lost until you find a familiar looking building.
you walk towards it.
you realize it's the church across from your elementary school.

ah, elementary school.
remember how they broke you?
remember how they called you names?
remember how you tried to **** yourself?
remember all the friends you didn't have?

you can see the ghosts, now.
the school is filled.
your legs are moving towards it.
you remember the nightmares you had about this exact place last week.
you take pictures.
you try to catch a demon on film.

you have lost all control of your legs.

this is where you told ghost stories about the old lady that lived in the forest behind the school.
this is where you made a pact that you would be friends for life.
this is where that kid told that teacher he was death when he meant to say deaf.
this is where you sat under the playground and laughed so hard you peed.
this is where you showed them the scars on your wrist.
this is where they rolled their eyes and called you "attention seeking".
this is where she told you every lie they'd ever said about you.
this is where you sat when you told them you were going to **** yourself tonight.
this is where you bled and everyone saw.
this is where you broke.

this is where you became who you are today.

iv.
the anxiety is killing you.
you light another cigarette.
you hear voices and a bark.
you make a left.

down the road is the fence you kicked your show over in the second grade.
you wonder if you should thank them for returning your shoe or not.
you don't.

you walk towards her house.
the last time you were here was halloween in grade nine.
you were dressed as the mad hatter.
being chased by some guy dressed as michael myers.
trying to figure out who you really are.

she became someone completely different less than a year later.
she had been telling people she wished your best friend would **** herself.
she got into drugs.
she was always too good for you, anyways.

you want to knock on her door and ask how she's doing.
you wonder if she remembers you.
you don't.

v.
you walk past His best friend's house.
he has bright, shining lights, too.
christmas spirit.

you wonder if he still lives there or not.
you remember the way you went to daycare together.
the three of you.

you were never close with him.
he was into hockey and more attractive girls.
by the time He transferred out of your school, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.
he forgot all about you.

he started dating girls in grade one.
he started cursing in grade five.
he had kissed a girl by grade eight.
she thought she was in love with him.
he had no idea what love meant.

he still plays lacrosse with Him.
he talked to you about Him, sometimes.
he told you how He was doing, how much he hated Him.

at least the two of you had that to talk about.

vi.
you are almost home.
you check your phone.
four missed calls.
three unanswered texts.
where r u?
you turn off your phone and put your hands in your pockets.

you're walking down the same path you would during school.
you remember the way the boy you had a crush on would tease you as you walked home.
he lived on your street.
he would call you names.
you told yourself it was only because he liked you.
he didn't.

the two of you used to be best friends.
you played in the park together.
you had matching walkie talkies.
he came to all your birthday parties
and you went to all of his.

until you weren't cool enough.
and that was that.

you still see him sometimes.
you don't exchange a hello or even a smile.
you act like he doesn't exist.
he does the same for you.

you wonder if he feels as guilty as you do.

vii.
you are home, but you are not alone.
you've returned with your own ghost.
she is whispering in your ear how you have become
everything she would be ashamed of.

she wanted to be a veterinarian.
she wanted to be thin.
she wanted to be pretty.
she wanted to be smart.
she wanted a boyfriend.

you are unemployed.
you are overweight.
you are ugly.
you are dumb.
you have a girlfriend.

she is dead and you are the only one to blame.
because you killed her.

— The End —