"sister" poems
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.
If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.
If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.
If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?
If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass
Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps
Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying
Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”
That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of stupid-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress
Some images just stay with you, ya know?
July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
The State of My Tagalog:
Stuttering.
Guess that's what you can call it.
The insecure prose that curls downward
On my notebook.
It reeks of bit
And piece
And syllable.
Singular
Because language
After language
After language
Enter my mind
And slip it
Just as quickly,
Leaving only
Fragments.
Oh, the frustration
As I ask
For loose change
From
My sister cashier.
I can't even ask for
The right amount
In Tagalog nowadays.
"Singkwenta."
"Bente."
That adds up to 75, I think.
Passing score on my
Report card too.
My self-graded Filipino class.
Don't even know
How I managed
To spell "Ibarra,"
"Tanikala," "himagsikan,"
"Liwayway..."
I'd sing and not spell,
If they never caught
At the bottom of my throat.
-------------------------------------------
Ang Kalagayan ng Aking Tagalog:
Nauutal.
'Yan ang pwede **** sabihin sa ‘kin.
Walang tiwala sa sariling gawa,
Patunong pababa ang mga salita
Sa aking kwaderno.
Ito’y sumisingaw ng piraso
At bahagi
At pantig.
Nag-iisa
Dahil wika
Bawa’t wika
Bawa’t wika
Ay pumapasok sa aking kalooban
At umaalis
Ganun ding kabilis,
Naiiwan ang mga
Kaputol lamang nito.
O, kay inip
Habang ako’y humihingi
Ng barya
Kay Ateng Kahera.
‘Di ko nga kayang
Humingi ng tamang halaga
Sa wikang Pilipino ngayon.
“Singkwenta.”
“Bente.”
Ito ay pitompu’t lima, ata.
Pasang awa rin
Sa aking report kard
Sariling pagmamarka sa Filipino.
‘Di ko nga alam
Kung paano 'kong
Naisusulat ang “Ibarra.”
"Tanikala," "himagsikan,"
"Liwayway…"
Nais kong kantahin at huwag lang sulatin,
Kung ‘di lang man silang sumasabit
Sa ilalim ng aking lalamunan.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Grandpa sits in his favorite chair,
Spots his granddaughter and starts to stare,
Whips out his **** and starts to stroke,
He knows it’s his granddaughter he wants to poke,
Calls her over and says, “Pretty please.”
Come on granddaughter get on your knees,
She does as she’s told and ***** him with zest,
Because she knows ****** is best.
Uncle Roy decides to give it a whirl,
He likes to dress his nephew up as a girl,
Likes to see him in silk and lace,
Lipstick and makeup on his face,
Imagining him with heels on his feet,
As he sits there and starts to stroke his meat,
He’d love to put him to the test,
Because he knows ****** is best.
Mother decides to get in on the act,
Her and her son have a special pact,
While her husbands at work she gets in his bed,
Pulls down his pants and starts giving him head,
Son likes his mom dressed up in her lace,
As he shoots his load all over her face,
He knows his mom is better than the rest,
Because he knows ****** is best.
Sister and brother are a special pair,
It’s more than a last name these two share,
Brother Bill can’t believe his luck,
Having a sister that likes to ****
Says, “Hey Sis, come on over here.”
As he bends her over and takes her rear,
Going at it like animals it becomes a real fuckfest,
Because they both know ****** is best.
Father can’t believe his daughter is so kind,
She’s on her knees as he takes her behind,
She moans and screams and starts to cry,
Says, “Hey Daddy, you’re my kind of guy.”
Daddy tells her ****** is the better way,
It’s a game the whole family can play,
Daddy treats his daughter like an honored guest,
Because they both know ****** is best.
11-27-09b.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 1:20 AM UTC
I'd like to think that she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
As she sits on the corner of her bed,
Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.
I imagine her,
Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.
Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,
Then looking to her class ring,
Made entirely of imitation ingredients,
Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.
When she was still a friend of mine,
I never saw her wear make up,
I never saw her show off in tight jeans
or low-cut tees.
But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,
Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,
Next to the side door
that leads to his sister's side room.
The make up she wears
is from the night before.
It's skewed and shows evidence of running,
Like a wasted watercolor.
I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,
And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.
I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,
He's in grey sweatpants,
He's wearing a black tank top,
With a Confederate flag backdrop,
With two barely dressed babes looking ******
in the foreground.
His hair, unwashed and greasy.
He rubs his belly,
And bears an idiot grin
on his face.
Looking like he just learned how to smile
at this pace.
"Did it feel good?"
feel good.
After he asks, he scans her body,
Beginning at those crimson toes,
And Ending at that clumsy hair.
Every second he scans,
He still wears that drawn-on
Idiot grin.
I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.
Of my warnings and prophesy.
Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,
Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.
And finally reach the only thing she has on,
A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.
A t-shirt, when given by him,
It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".
Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,
During last night's expedition.
He still paid her back with a morning
one-sided session.
"It felt good" she says.
In reference to the ten minute **********
When her body was strummed and plucked,
Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.
As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,
On a bed that is six days *****
While he is grinning,
Being everything but wordy.
I'd like to think she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Dearest friend, parent, lover
Whoever might be reading this
I'm sorry i couldn't stay strong.
I'm sorry i couldn't stand it anymore
It's not anyones fault, i just wasn't meant to be here.
Just like those flowers that never bloom. They just grow and starts hanging a bit, then dies.
Dear younger siblings.
Don't look up to me, look up to people like daddy or momma, they're happy, i weren't. One life lesson i've learnt is that happiness doesn't come without courage, but with too much courage you'll get tired and let go when you finally get there, and you'll end back where you started.
Dear older "sister"
You know who you are and you're probably reading this right now, smiling at how i mention you as my sister. You're the best person to ever be in my life, and even though you told me a couple of years ago that you were lesbian i never rethought the meaning of your hugs, cause i know we're sisters.
If it wasn't for you i would have done this a lot earlier so thank you.
Dear parents.
Don't cry, i'm not worth your beautiful tears.. I have nothing more to say than i know you lost me, but don't lose courage.
Dear best friend.
Thank you for always being there.
Thank you for telling me that everything will be alright.. It just hurts me to say that you were wrong.. And i'm sorry cause i know this will bring you pain.. But i know you have some other. Nice friends who'd support you.
Dear stranger.
I'm sorry if i was goind to know you in my no longer exisisting future.. You're better off without me anyways..
Dear myself.
I'm sorry i can't hold on anymore, i know that you had your happy times, and that a lot of people longed for your life, but i couldn't stand it anymore..
Dear person
I'm sorry the voices became too much.
I'm sorry i ran out of place to make scars.. I'm sorry i couldn't stand this inner pain anymore.. Dear person.. I'm sorry.. Goodbye..
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
I never thought that i will fall for you.
But, here i am.
Every day, every second,
falling for you over and over again.
I told God
my struggle on finding the right man to date.
because, i'm tired of wasting my time on someone who don't
deserve me.
But i guess, He just sent me one person
who deserve me and i deserve him,
it's you.
He knows that i need someone that could change me to be a better person.
You are that "someone".
You are the one that i never thought would come.
but, i'm so lucky and thankful that you here.
How i'm so in love with every wise words that you said.
the way you take responsibility of everything you do,
and the way you take care of me like brother take care of his sister.
There are so much more about you that makes me fall deeply in love with you,
but i don't wanna share it to everyone,
or else they will fall for you too.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
I am a miserable ****
Traffic jam thoughts.
Aimless speech.
Fever dreams,
coffee with no cream,
love with no pulse,
alone at restaurants,
at grocery stores,
at parties.
I have no identity.
Shifting shape, black to blue,
trading girls, red hair for Persian skin,
parents and gods,
politicians and lost purpose mobs,
all asking me to be sacred,
to be loving,
to be trusting,
to be active,
to have no spine.
All I want is a bit of my own time.
A grenade of change,
to end the coagulation of my brain,
to leave me hungry for anything
other than me,
didn't somebody say I was promised something?
I was going somewhere?
I was unique?
I am the same miserable ****
As every other miserable ****
The ******* that cut you off on Highway 62,
The person that complained about too many pickles,
on his precious fast food,
The boy yelling at his baby sister for getting too much attention,
The girl sexting your boyfriend,
The boy sexing your girlfriend,
The generation divorcing everyone it knows so it can fall in love with
itself.
All different,
in exactly the same way.
Traffic jam thoughts. Traffic jam thoughts.
Traffic jam thoughts. Traffic jam thoughts.
trafficjamthoughts. traffic. Traffic Jam Thoughts. Thoughts.
Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Jam.
thoughts. traffic. trafficjam. trafficjam. traffic jam thoughts.traffic.
traffic jam. traffic, traffic, traffic. I am a miserable **** Traffic jam.
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 9:28 AM UTC
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
and thats what it was all about
his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts.
that was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and he let them sing on the bus
and his little sister was born
with tiny nails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
and his father always tucked him in bed at night
and was always there to do it
once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of the new paint
and the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometime they would burn holes
that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see santaclaus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in bed at night
and his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it
once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
and he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
and thats what it was all about
and his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
that was the year Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of the Apostles's Creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much make up
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because it was the thing to do
and at 3 am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
because that's what it was really all about
and he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen----
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
What is beauty?
To some it is flowers
or
Sleeping puppies
or
A babies laugh
or even
the perfectly warped present
To me it is the crackling fire in the winter
The sound of pen on paper
My big dog barking at passing pedestrians
The sight of my little brother and sister's face
When they see Santa has been
When the word beauty means something different to everyone
I mean look at the beast but beauty loved him
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.
He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.
My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.
My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.
My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
I think sometimes, about what it means to be transgender. I probe and probe for answers, because as the possibility for a new age of enlightenment and safety increases, the others want to know. I’ve come up with many answers, but I can hold to none. I don’t deserve to paint the definition of a culture with the limited experiences I’ve had. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people allowed on television. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people making news feeds and giving high profile interviews. And as my nation’s exposure to our culture increases, likely will their curiosity. Am I transgender? Do I have the right? I’ve heard doctors, psychiatrists, may refuse transgender patients access to hormone therapy based on how dedicated or convincing their portrayal of their identified gender. If you want to be a man or woman, you’ll have to look like the women and men on TV. If you want to be transgender, you’ll have to look like the trans identified people on TV. Every single one of us who has an active role as either participant or observer in our society is prey to the crisis of validity. Am I pretty enough? Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough? Mom enough? Dad enough? Competitive enough? Successful enough? Rich enough? **** enough? Pious enough? It never ends. We’re, as a nation of people, being crushed and compartmentalized by this ever present lens, looming over us, exploiting our weaknesses and fears so it may grow wider, and support itself as it follows us, seemingly forever into the future. And one of the worst fears this camera of existential torment exploits, in most of us every day, is, “Do I have a reflection?” “What does it look like?” “Do I look like me?” What does it mean to be transgender? I can’t get away from that question. But I don’t have an answer. There are varying degrees of anguish, depression, panic, anxiety, and other wonderful emotional states that creep up on you and breathe down your neck nearly every waking day. Absolute contempt for the lie of a life you’ve lived till now, and contempt for the fragments still stuck to you, in memories, attached to your body and mind. Fear of those in your own community who would purposefully humiliate, invalidate, or attack you, choosing their own universal moral code over the innate urge and capacity to support the health and continued well being of another human. A ******* neighbor. A ******* pupil. A ******* employee. A ******* sister, brother, son, daughter, mother, father, cousin, ******* blood. What is being transgender like? By my experiences, it’s just like being anyone else in the country. But with a lot more fear, death, exclusion and medication.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.
She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.
Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.
Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.
There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.
Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.
They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******
29.1k
She comes over for the night,
She seems to be alright.
I'm not sure if I like her yet,
But that doesn't seem to matter,
She's just that close to my sister.
She started to stay over on school nights,
Something just wasn't right.
Soon enough she never left,
I began to feel like I was being replaced.
I'm not trying to sound selfish,
And no I'm not jealous.
But I am confused,
Why are you telling me this unfortunate news?
She hasn't left for weeks.
I'm sick of being the subject of greed.
I want my family back.
Just tell me that she'll eventually leave.
I'm now starting to feel neglected.
I've been replaced in every way I had imagined.
But you don't seem to see it that way.
I don't think the girl is leaving any time soon.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
The upbringing of a person could lead to a frivolous publican.
A brother and sister are both witnessing the featherbrained fool.
This world we live in is a bit bamboozle
Escaping to a state of ecstasy with your purple kaleidoscope why don't we shape the future and use cinnamon soap.
With your undercoats it's an antidote for a hurtful situation
It's like we are burning in ice.
Your a magician but you can't stop stupid.
Adolescents knowing the need to finish yet they are taking over to much to cope.
So now they are discovering, considering, cinnamon soap.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
‘To bed! To bed!’
Said Sleepy-head;
‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow;
‘Put on the pan,’
Said Greedy Nan;
‘We'll sup before we go.’
(from Mother Goose)
They sat at the kitchen table as
The candle flickered low,
And Greedy Nan put on the pan
To indulge her sister, Slow,
While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle
Blotted her book with tears,
And thought of her Beau from long ago
Who she hadn’t seen for years.
‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me,
Why doesn’t Alan Dell?
I’m wearing the dress cut low for me
And I’ve hitched my skirt as well.
I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so
You’d think it would drive them wild.’
‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow,
‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’
While over the pan stood Greedy Nan,
Was cracking a turkey’s egg,
A lump of yeast and a slice of beast
And a single spider’s leg.
With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat
And a toe of frog for the spell,
She needed to turn her sister off
From her crush on Alan Dell.
For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl
And would have to marry first,
The other two would wait in the queue
Or their fortunes be reversed,
The omelette sizzled, and in the pan
She added before they saw,
A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant
For the mating game meant war.
She sliced the omelette into half
And she served them up a piece,
‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle
But Slow enjoyed the feast.
‘I’m not that terribly hungry now
I’ve cooked it up in the pan,
I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’
Said the scheming Greedy Nan.
They finished up and they sat awhile,
And they mused about their fate,
‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon,
For us it will be too late.’
‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’
Said Nan, without a blink,
Lured them away from her secret fire
To confuse what they might think.
‘The room is woozy, spinning around,
I’d better get me to bed,’
Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown
Saw Dwarves dancing in her head.
But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan
To clear all signs of the spell,
Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned
For the sake of Alan Dell.
And when he came in the morning
Greedy Nan was sat by the door,
While Annabelle and her sister Slow
Were lying dead on the floor,
‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al,
It was only a simple spell,’
But as he cuffed and led her away
He frowned, did Alan Dell.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
My little sister, is bright.
My little sister is unique.
My little sister is confident.
My little sister is funny,
But she's a bully.
My little sister is a bully,
I can hear it in her words.
She's someone I would hide from,
If I were in the same school as her.
My little sister is a bully,
But she's still changing.
I think the reason she's so blunt,
Is because she's afraid of being like me.
My little sister is afraid,
She saw me crying everyday.
So she shields herself with words.
It makes me feel like I've ruined her.
My little sister is a fighter,
She is thin but strong.
She's someone I want to be.
Hopefully she's still smiling.
My little sister is depressed.
But her smile is still wide.
She knows not to hide.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
Trying my best
To progress
There is only do
Or do not
Yoda thought
So most of the time
We fought
I’ve got anger
Issues
Many birthdays
I’ve wished you
In all my hearts pain
I miss you
You’re not quite
Who I knew
We used to
Chill with brew
Remember the time
We flew?
We argued then too
Across the country
And it’s all we could do
Here I go again
Trying to scrape this
**** off my shoe
My heat is turning
For flight I’m yearning
The sun is hot
My wings are burning
I’ve got warrior feet
At the road ahead
I’ll be turning
Run or fly
I’ll chase the sky
Metaphorically
Astrophysically
My physical being
seems to limit me
This fool in my bed won’t
Give me matrimony
If this was Salem
I’d burn at the stake
No matter what era
You take pride
In the hearts you break
The years you take
The lies you make
The least you can do
Is own your ****
2 woman gone mad
there’s a pattern here
You’ve got to admit
Wait where did the charm go
Where’s that wit?
Even Letty said
She couldn’t trust your *** for ****
Apparently you ****** her sister
And ****** some old lady’s ****
Even when he’s got it made
Angel turned demon throws his shade
Should you call you the devil
From hell you came
I’ve stooped to your level
And only I’m to blame
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
I am she
Who compliments & completes
The dream-lover and wishes
Made when he is asleep.
I am she
Who suffers the most,
Giving birth, cradling ghosts,
As the crone or maid,
(Once and always)
Sister, mother, daughter, wife.
I am she
Who waits through the night.
I am she
Who equals the strength
Of his light.
"See me with your loving eyes,
See me more than the tears I've cried!"
I am she
Who is willing
To go with him to war,
Not a man but as an equal,
(I'm both soft yet hard)
I am she
To whom he'll give his heart
I am the tunnel's bright end
I am where
The family starts,
The breast which nurse small men.
I am she
The twin,
The Juliet,
The Goddess divine!
I am she
Who deserves the same
in life, and for all time.
(Peace be…)
I am she
I am you
I am her
I am the one besides
And inside
She is I…
The romance in the dress,
Patient Partner to the ends,
Tiny dancer on the floor
I am
The one that loves you
Forever &
Evermore.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 10:20 AM UTC
there was a slice of chocolate cake in the fridge
and my sister asked me if i wanted it.
i didn't respond, stared off into space
and continued to smoke my cigarette
in the kitchen because mom was
asleep already and it was 1 am
on a saturday in july
and it was hot and we were both braless and hoping
the single fan on the counter would circulate the air enough
to make us comfortable in the cottage that we called home
that didn't have air conditioning in the middle of the woods.
the three of us hadn't moved for three more hours,
instead spent all of that time talking about nothing
and everything the way sisters do
because sisters eventually end up saying all the words that have
to be said
but each time it sounds new even though it never is.
we're all different but the thing about sisters is
that other people always see you as the same.
we all eventually grew into having brown hair
even though i had been born a redhead
and she had been born blond
and she had been born the same shade of brunette
that still graced her scalp but was thinner than the rest of ours
and fit in an elastic pony tail comfortably
unlike mine, which broke those things immediately
and she, who cut hers all off in hopes
to cleanse herself and
keep herself from being weighed down.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
1331
Wonder—is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not—
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt—
Suspense—is his maturer Sister—
Whether Adult Delight is Pain
Or of itself a new misgiving—
This is the Gnat that mangles men—
24k
Every day we pass thousands of people on the street, and barely even a hello is exchanged, maybe a smile if your lucky.
It might be a little funny to think that each of these people are going wherever they are going, they are living their lives and you have the opportunity to be apart of it even if it's just five seconds.
You can do a lot with five seconds, for all you know a quick smile to someone passing by might change their life.
Despite someone's appearance, they could be a completely different person that you might expect, breaking the stereotype.
The sweet old women sitting next to you on the train, smiling and talking as if the world was heaven, is counting her numbered days. The coloured man across from you with the bloodied knuckles and bruised face saved a teenage girl from being ***** last night.
The 18-year-old girl on the other side of the train, showing more skin than clothing in a ******
And the boy in the corner covered in tattoos and piercings and is wearing only black is on his way to the hospital to read to the children in the cancer wing like he does every afternoon ever since he lost his little sister.
My point is simple, nothing is rarely as it seems. Each stranger you pass has there own story. Don't judge based off what you see because your vision is a misconception.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
I wake up
Check my phone
There are no texts/calls/notifications
My sister wakes up
Checks her phone
She has to scroll down to see
All her messages
It is lunch break
I check my phone
There are no texts/calls/notifications
Sometimes my phone
Made for social acceptance
And interaction
Makes me more lonely
And it shows me that I am alone
I go to bed
I check my phone
I am alone
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
I considered you
As my sister.
I knew love
Through our friendship
I laughed with you
Cried with you
Stayed awake all night with you.
Your addictions died hard
I was there when you needed me
I made sure you got help
And we got through it together.
You called yourself my twin
But can you tell me,
Does one twin,
Betray the other?
I told you everything
Let you climb the solid wall
I'd built so high.
I thought you could never hurt me
I thought you'd never betray me.
I thought I could trust you
Coz of every sweet word you said to me.
Now I know,
Where your loyalties lie.
You pushed me aside,
A huge part of me died.
But that's just fine,
You carry on saying things
Saying I'm a ****
Behind my back.
You can carry on calling me
All the names under the sun.
To hell with your friendship.
I'm done!
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC