"tearstained" poems
I sleep on white bed sheets
with the windows open
so the breeze can brush my face
and the rain can fall on my lips.
I sleep in the gray half-light that
washes the color from my walls.
My skin is bare, fingers tangled in
the blankets, hair drying in the
same air that dries the dew
off of the leaves.
Get drunk on dreams
crumple the sheets
ice packs and underwear
poetry, bracelets, books.
I sleep with tearstained cheeks
swollen eyes and a runny nose
and bite marks in my mouth.
I sleep with a heavy heart
and fingertips on fire.
Dizzy, fuzzy eyesight
and fantastic scenarios
played out like film in my head.
I sleep in the warmest
and coldest room of my house.
I sleep under quilts and blankets
curled up against the cold,
and I sleep naked
with the air warm against my skin.
I always sleep with a book
at my bedside
and the drapes opened
so I can see the stars.
I sleep through sunsets and sunrises
and lightning that cracks open the sky.
I sleep through delicate snowstorms
and hazy summer smoke.
I sleep by myself
and I seize the quiet
as a moment of my own,
not shared
not secret.
I sleep for life and rebirth
and tranquility,
for peace and second chances.
I sleep for mornings.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
Dear *******
How dare you call me an attention *****
How dare you tell me you understand?
Tell me,
Do you know what it’s like to look at your reflection,
And turn the other way, ashamed?
Do you know what it’s like,
To know you’re you,
Down to the last hair,
And hate yourself for it?
To stare at yourself, to look into your own eyes, to try to convince yourself that it’s fine, but in actuality it’s a cover that you’ve learned to wear everywhere, that you’ve learned to love, because when you’re in it nobody knows?
Do you know what it’s like to walk everywhere, terrified, because you feel people looking at you like you have a giant sign that reads “DEPRESSED ANXIETY FAT UGLY NEVER ENOUGH SO KEEP WALKING”?
Tell me, do you know what it’s like to look in the mirror, force upon your face a smile, knowing it’s a mask that’s been permanently glued to you by your own tears that could never show?
No, you don’t know what it’s like to wipe away your smudged makeup that you’ve worked so hard on to cover up your tearstained eyes, your cuts.
To apply a new coat, to paint on a smile that’s only real in dreams.
*You know, they say dreams come true but forget that nightmares are dreams too.
They tell you the monsters are under your bed when they actually scream in your head.*
You don’t know what it’s like to feel lonely in a crowd, to know you’re not wanted.
To hold and rock yourself because there’s no one else to.
To realize that you’re all you have and doing your best to hide anyway,
Do you know what it’s like to want to die?
No.
You don’t and you never will.
But I do.
You don’t know me, or what I’ve been through.
So don’t ******* judge me for it.
Sincerely,
Me
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
I think I started writing you away before you were gone
I wanted to make sure I could let you go before I did
I wanted to feel numb when I pushed you away
so I wrote
I put you on pages,
typed chapter titles for every single time you looked at me
I wrote until you were a novel,
read you until you were no longer novel,
and put you on a shelf so I could start waiting to forget about you,
a memory trapped in unused synapses
and after I shut your final chapter
but before your pages had started to collect dust,
I realized what I had done
See, I had taken each word from within me,
harvested my heartstrings, plucking them and mixing them to make ink,
The pieces of you I kept in my heart
sat as words on a page, aging
while my heart, once strong, felt too empty
and cavernous to beat under the weight of the sigh pinning down my chest
In all of my preparing
I had forgotten that I am human
I forgot feelings aren't like a fountain
there's no faucet you can turn off to keep them from
running through your mind
no way to stop them from flowing
back through your mouth when you try to
swallow them, mixed with *** in your best friend's basement,
days after you forgot that you can't turn off a rainstorm
you can try to catch the raindrops in a bucket
but the bucket you'll need is big enough to drown in
you can try to hold out an umbrella
but if the wind is hard enough
you're still going to end up cold and dripping,
tearstained and shivering
waiting until the sun comes out
I forgot that I can't control the weather,
or anything other than myself for that matter
The end of a storm doesn't equate to the appearance of a rainbow
I realized that just because my fingers twisted around yours until
they melted together doesn't mean you'll forgive me
and that you left tattoos on me that only time will fade
and we're both going to be mad
I found out that
every song that ever reminded me of you doesn't cease to exist
I have to re-watch movies because they're different now, somehow,
and just because my hair is probably still all over your clothes
and I talked to you every day
and you gave me months of memories
and thinking about you is gut-wrenching
doesn't mean that I won't spend days praying for patience
and hoping for healing because
**** it, letting you go doesn't mean I don't miss you*
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Little child, be not afraid
The rain pounds harsh against the glass
Like an unwanted stranger
There is no danger
I am here tonight
Little child
Be not afraid
Though thunder explodes
And lightning flash
Illuminates your tearstained face
I am here tonight
And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forests and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning
Little child
Be not afraid
The storm clouds mask your beloved moon
And its candlelight beams
Still keep pleasant dreams
I am here tonight
Little child
Be not afraid
The wind makes creatures of our trees
And the branches to hands
They're not real, understand
And I am here tonight
And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forest and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning
For you know, once even I
Was a little child
And I was afraid
But a gentle someone always came
To dry all my tears
Trade sweet sleep the fears
And to give a kiss goodnight
Well, now I am grown
And these years have shown
Rain's a part of how life goes
But it's dark and it's late
So I'll hold you and wait
'til your frightened eyes do close
And I hope that you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forests and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning
Everything's fine in the morning
The rain will be gone in the morning
But I'll still be here in the morning
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Down through the tomb's inward arch
He has shouldered out into Limbo
to gather them, dazed, from dreamless slumber:
the merciful dead, the prophets,
the innocents just His own age and those
unnumbered others waiting here
unaware, in an endless void He is ending
now, stooping to tug at their hands,
to pull them from their sarcophagi,
dazzled, almost unwilling. Didmas,
neighbor in death, Golgotha dust
still streaked on the dried sweat of his body
no one had washed and anointed, is here,
for sequence is not known in Limbo;
the promise, given from cross to cross
at noon, arches beyond sunset and dawn.
All these He will swiftly lead
to the Paradise road: they are safe.
That done, there must take place that struggle
no human presumes to picture:
living, dying, descending to rescue the just
from shadow, were lesser travails
than this: to break
through earth and stone of the faithless world
back to the cold sepulchre, tearstained
stifling shroud; to break from them
back into breath and heartbeat, and walk
the world again, closed into days and weeks again,
wounds of His anguish open, and Spirit
streaming through every cell of flesh
so that if mortal sight could bear
to perceive it, it would be seen
His mortal flesh was lit from within, now,
and aching for home. He must return,
first, in Divine patience, and know
hunger again, and give
to humble friends the joy
of giving Him food--fish and a honeycomb.
2.5k
If she asks you
If she asks you who I am, tell her. Tell her
because she is not starting a fire for an explanation but a confession.
If you tell her I was just a girl you dated
for a couple of years, she will only give you a hard time.
The hundreds of photos tagged in your outdated profile and the stack
of books with our names written will be her allies.
If you tell her I was an old friend, she will only hear
half of what you say. She will recall how you looked at places
with a tinge of regret and a shade of nostalgia. She will remember
how you skipped a certain song ― a reminder of something you’ll find an excuse
not to tell her every time the car radio is on.
If she asks you who I was, lie a little,
because she is not crossing the line for answers but for assurances.
Don’t tell her how our lips played with poetry and how we dared
to dream under the light of the taciturn satellite. Skip the part where we
fought dragons together and how we named each other’s scars.
Reserve the fact that you still keep the letters, notes, old restaurant receipts under
your drawers and some tearstained thoughts at the back of your pillow. She doesn’t need to know
why you reread past conversations or why your mother mentioned me at the family dining table
just to ask you what I have been up to.
Finally, if she asks you who I was to you, tell her you love her. Put her in the limelight
because she is testing you to pull the trigger pointed at her
But you won’t. Instead, you will tell her she’s beautiful to compensate
for the words you never had the guts to tell me. You will tell her she’s a keeper, for the hell of it.
You will tell her a poor research about human cells being replaced after seven years so that one day,
I will leave no trace on your body.
She will then forget that you mentioned my name while sleeping. She will wash the lipstick stains
on your bedsheets and remove the extra toothbrush in the shower. She will ignore the way you twitch
every time you hear a familiar author or my favorite curse word. She will fill the spaces
of your fingers and plaster kisses at the holes of your chest. She will replace every scent of me
with her own promises, insecurities, and mistakes.
She will do this. She will, because when she asked you about me,
she knew I was the ghost of the house. And at the back of your head, you wanted to tell her
that the ****** no longer need saving. But by all means,
darling, she can try.
—
A. A. Dizon
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
Life is like a random array of perfectly sculpted moments.
I stood in a moment of silence reminiscing to the tune of the wind, in the glimmer of the lights in the distance.
My life, is like a photo album of assorted moments :
The first time I met my best friend ; the half afraid,lost baby gazelle look she gave me.
The first time she cried, that big eyed girl.... Tear and kohl stained cheeks, embarrassed eyes and my hushed tone : this too shall pass.
The unexpected confession of a shy person in a soft voice : I had to stalk you a bit for this, she sketched a portrait of me for my birthday.
The awkward hug and we will see you soon, I can still remember my grandpas face red and holding back tears.
The bear-like side hug and a kiss on my forehead, it was an understanding from the older brother that I never had, thank you for meeting me.
The drunken slurry "you know more than most do" from the friend who isn't a friend anymore.
The feeble hug, lingering soft fingers and a goodbye promise to meet soon, from the grandmother I miss a lot.
Those wide eyes,the feeling of respect from the sister who means the world to me.
The all-too-soft goodnight kiss from a mother on a particularly bad night, she stroked my hair an said that she loved me.
And the pat on the back and a tearstained hug , the words "I am proud of you" from the father who is the centre of my world.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
People have aesthetic childhoods.
With parents that understand and cuddle them when lightning strikes.
I remember the teddy bears in my bed,
and how they smelt of mum and dad,
how I would hold Odettes ear with my finger and thumb,
my head ducked under cover in fear of an alien tickling my toes.
But now the teddies are placed high up on a shelf
away from me, out of reach.
When I realise the ear isn't in my hands,
I look around and see the dust at my feet,l like I'm down at the bottom,
I look up,
my family are at the top
and the red cord of family love bounding us together is thin, and I fear we are soon to have a disconnect again,
When I make it to the third or fourth level
I see their faces grinning with pride
at their daughter succeeding and waking up before noon,
and I say something funny to lighten the mood,
but I tumble lower by one or two
depending on how fake the laugh I hear was.
I sit in the gravel and wonder.
I don't understand why I can't touch them anymore because I'm like my mum,
we're both alike,
and I'm like my dad,
we're also alike,
but I feel lost on a planet when I meet their eyes,
like I'm somewhere I shouldn't be,
I wallow in the dust for days, until I feel
them prodding me with a stick from the top shelf,
asking me when I'll finally reach the top.
Telling me that I'm seventeen now and that I used to be on the sixth shelf when I was sixteen.
How I used to do so well with my homework,
and I would get great grades,
but now I get dark stains around my eyes,
and a tearstained face,
but from their great height, they can't see my shoulders shaking,
they just see me carrying my baggage,
too heavy for my small frame to handle.
I force my way up the mountain,
until I see their faces,
they smile and I tumble right back down.
I feel like screaming;
LOOK AT ME!
I AM HERE!
I EXIST!
I AM ON MY PLANE,
AND YOU ARE ON YOURS!
but however hard I do scream,
the wind picks it up and carries it away,
and all they hear is;
'Look at me, I'm on your plane!"
They smile.
I tumble three.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 10:05 PM UTC
Feeling her heart pound with the quickness of her breath she knows that she has found her long lost brother. Her eyes shining with excitement, not knowing what to expect from him, scared that he will turn away and leave her again. Holding her breath and quietly walking over to him, tapping him on the shoulder with her index finger, slightly shaking with fear. Her brother turns around and smiles. The reconization dawns on him and his face burns with fury of being discovered, by his own sister nonetheless!!
How could she, he wonders furiously! He had left home for a reason and now she has come to take him home he is sure. Well, not this time, she
won't. In his heart he knows she means well, but he can't go back. If only she knew why he couldn't. Gritting his teeth he tears out of the bar, leaving his sister looking after him with tears streaming down her face and calling his name. He couldn't stop; he had to get out of there so he wouldn't have to hear her crying.
She slumps down onto the stool that he was sitting on before he decided to leave. She had traveled so far to bring him home safely and he wasn't about to let her! She knows in her head that she should leave him alone; yet in her heart she couldn't just let him go on living without knowing that his family was there for him no matter what kind of trouble was, but she was going to find out, whether he wants her to or not!!
Shivering from cold and anger, he walks through the streets hoping that she won't come after him. He loves his sister, but if she ever found out about him she would never love him the same way again. Feeling wetness on his cheeks, he furiously wipes the tears away, cursing at her under his breath. Feeling hands on his shoulders he whirls around ready to fight his attacker but stops short when he realizes whom it is. He was looking straight into his twin sister's deep blue eyes. He saw only love and affection, not anger or
hatred. How could he have ever thought that she would desert him? She was his twin and she would stand by him through think and thin.
As she stares into her brothers eyes, only feeling love for him hoping that he will say something or do something to let her know that he wasn't going to run from her again. With her tearstained cheeks and teeth trembling from the cold, she gently takes his hand and caresses it with her fingers looking into his eyes pleading to him to let her back into his life. His hand trembles with cold or anger, she can't quite figure it out.
He catches his breath as she takes his hands while they shake with the confusion of not knowing what to do. He draws in shaky breaths and extends his other hand and strokes her cheek wiping the tears away from her eyes pleading with an emotion choked voice to stop crying. She nods and says that she will try only if he stops, making him smile, for he had wiped his tears away and her still knowing that he was crying on the inside.
She slowly offers him a smile hoping that he will open up to her. When he gently strokes her cheek, she feels his fingers shaking, now knowing
not from anger, but from love........
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 3:49 AM UTC
I fell in love
with you for a minute
on a stranger's couch
funny
whip its
with a derby girl
a shameless makeout
sesh
in front of another
lesbian and a couple
strange bodies
disconnected
poetry
and some ***** in
a plastic cup
stolen metal chairs
in various colors
her braids
her shaved head
a symphony
to my defeat
I'm half-way out the door
but I can't get up off
this couch
she's taking my key
and pretty soon my car is gone
my so-called girlfriend
leaves me tearstained
voicemails
but while you're
here your lips
make me forget
every promise
I made this girl
she said
where you go I go
how quickly we forget
when we find ourselves
in the arms of another
and just like everything
else the promise disappears
an evaporated drop of
rain from the side window
of my re-poed car
I need to get that ink off
I need to get inked
to sober up before A.A.
to eat before this adderall
eats my insides
I want to feel a
lot more full
a lot more *******
full
say goodbye
you never knew me
a $2 bus ride
takes me where
I need to be
freezing hands
and the itchy
scars I sliced
into my arm
in the wrong
place the wrong
direction
I was never right to
begin with
a text message at
2AM "stay safe"
that's the extent
to which I'm cared
for
and that's good
enough for me
just so long as I
can afford smokes
and the key to
my car is safely
under the mat
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
An arm hung across the rubble,
draped like a broken swan neck,
decorated by intricate patterns of blood and dust.
I couldn't have known who the arm belonged to, but in that moment
I was sick
to my stomach
with devastating surety.
Those were the fingers that had twined through mine in gestures of
love and
desperation,
painted my arms
in strokes of comfort, and of loneliness.
The palm that had confidently gripped a weapon,
and had carried groceries
into the house.
Palms that had pressed hopelessly against rain-washed glass and
gently
against tearstained cheeks.
Those palms that willingly cradled my uneasy heart.
And the arm.
The arms that stretched into
the sparkling star-strewn sky,
the grey and
pouring rain,
the sun-baked air rippling in waves across that embrace.
Arms that had wrapped around a struggling body
with grim purpose and
aching heart,
softly beneath a wiggling puppy and its
pink kisses,
easily against the warmth of my breakable ribs.
I saw the broken swan and I felt something heavy,
maybe my heart,
slip from limp fingers and
break
into glittering shards
decorated by intricate patterns of blood and dust.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
She fears that she'll drown in her tearstained diamonds,
or expose her rough skin to find no more vermilion rubies.
She becomes a ruined landscape as she
brushes the black jewels out of her matted hair,
even if her emerald eyes aren't tough enough to withstand that pain.
She dreads for the moment when the world
will not accept her own beauty.
Why can't she understand? Why can't she realise?
Though she holds the rare jewels of a king,
no one shall buy those cursed gems.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
Drip. Drop. Drop. Drip.
Drops fall like rain from my tearstained eye.
I cannot hide.
There is not a soul in sight, but I dread the coming ghosts that hide in the night.
I run not from the ghosts themselves, but my past, that so haunts me like a parasite that infest in ones soul relishing on crazed minds!
I dread the waking dead.
The cells that captivate the soul into dread.
No guards stand watch over my cell of dread, but they aren’t needed!
I have no way of escaping my captors that rage the wars that festers inside my head!
Where can I run?! Where can I escape the waking dead!?
Tricky is the mind.
My perplexed mind plays tricks on even the sliest of people.
“Dread. Dread. Dread,” Echoes through my mind - perplexing me to dread even farther!
Until… Silence...
My tearstained eyes drip, drop, drop, drip no more.
My mind ceases to implement dreadful parasites that fester in my mind.
My mind ceases to work. The waking dead has caught up with me.
They had driven my crazed soul unto death.
No air filled my lungs.
Just... Silence.
I warn you -
When the dreadful night no longer wakes,
When thy sleep comes shy,
when terror turns to horror,
When thy tears fall while you dread the dead
Shackles will come to bind you in your parasite infested mind.
The parasites then will fester in your crazed mind.
Until… Silence reaches across your tearstained mind.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
i don't even know what i want anymore
my hopes, my dreams, my life,
it's splashes of color and splashes of blood
moments of i can do this forever and moments of break down because i just can't any more
moments of i believe in magic and moments of the world is too dark of a place
a handful of tearstained faces and just as much laughing too hard
a few good friends and a few killed friendships and questioning and being sure
moments where it's too hard, where i can't put one front in front of the other for even one more step
and moments of running full speed ahead into whatever is out there
but always wondering what the point is, what i'm going through all of this for because all of the bits and pieces that make up my life don't add up any more. a million doesn't equal zero, no matter how you do the math.
and i don't know what my objective is because i'm afraid to know what i want because how will i get it?
because isn't that everyone's objective? to get what they want?
so i spin around on this giant ball of rock because even this earth knows its place (to go around the sun) and i let days go by in the cycle of moments and splashes and pieces and i watch and notice and count and wonder when i'll know what i want
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
if he asks who i was to you
glance sideways & lie a little
exaggerate my mistakes &
laugh with him about my shortcomings
then feign bewilderment at the question
if he asks why you skip that song every time
lie a little & say it doesn't play all the way
through anyway but don't
tell him it was our lullaby for the rainy nights
if he asks how big it was
don't hurt his self-esteem
lie just a little bit & tell him
i had chapped plump lips carved from **** roast
a long curved nose like the scroll of a violin
& a heart like a busted squirrel cage
but omit the weeks we spent sprawled naked
on peyote friction furniture digging
our toenails into the floor
when he asks you what you're thinking
don't hint at the nostalgia
buried in your eyes & throat
if he asks what you're writing
on the edge of the bed first thing in the morning
lie a little lean down & kiss him
but never show him the dream journal
you stole from me & are keeping
as your own now
if he wonders aloud how you got those scars
after months of seeing you naked
tell him a little lie & never whisper
the names i gave them that first night
when i kissed your whole body
don't ever show him the tearstained
underside of your pillow &
act like you've forgotten my name
when he claims you say it
in your sleep most nights
if he corners you after work one day
& demands to know who i was
distract him
tell him you love him
& **** him right there in the kitchen
so he forgets to ask about the extra toothbrush in the shower
or the old flannel work-shirt hanging on your side
of the closet that smells like nothing he's ever smelled on you before
when he forgets your favorite flower
on your ******* birthday just shrug &
blow him in the car on the way to his parents' house
so that he never wonders about
your finger on the trigger of the gun at his head
let him fill the spaces i left between your fingers with his fingers
let him plaster the hole in your chest with new promises
let his toned shirtless testosterone replace my warm soft flesh beside you in bed
let his brass belt buckle be more comfortable for your angelic head
than my bare waist
let him replace the lingering scent of my insecurity with the new stench of his over-confidence
eventually he will learn to ignore the way you
twitch when he says my favorite curse word
eventually you will forget how my
bare feet used to tie into yours on the sofa
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
I could only see through altered sensory
Clearly drowning subconsciously
Open wide beneath dark clouds brewed consciously
The familiar breeze that once calmed me
I no longer feel
She only qualms me
The mentally numb have become physically sick
I can't stand the rocking on this ship
So accustomed to life at sea
Flashes of lightning dance with me
A tearstained deck under my feet
I loved the taste
It smelled sweet
The salt and the sweat
All of our heat
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
Six years old
My pretty box
of pretty things
a little girl's collection
a pebble, a purple sequin, a lock, and a sticker, pencil leads, and a rose petal I found on the ground in the rain but I ran back to save it.
Precious things
Collections of the young will always remain a mystery to the jaded adults who grew out of simple happiness far too long ago
Then one day
My box slips off the counter
and I search desperately in the carpet for my pretty things
tearstained face and choking on sobs
not my pretty things
not my pretty things
I find my pebble
I find my purple sequin,
my lovely silver lock,
my special sticker,
all three pencil leads,
...but my rose petal
is gone
except for a couple crumbling dried pieces of it
on the ivory carpet
and the rest of it could be anywhere
I can't find it
it's gone
it's gone
my pretty, pretty rose petal that I loved so much
that I saved from the rain
...but sometimes even if you save something... or someone...
from the rain and love it for a long time, when things fall, you can lose them forever, knowing they are crumbling and not whole anymore
but you can't help them
What you save and love,
you can still lose.
Repost if you had a box of pretty things when you were little.
Comment and tell me what they were, I love to read comments :)
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
I arrive at your doorstep, flowers in hand,
To surprise you on this beautiful day in June.
Your birthday, and the perfect day to take you out,
Could there be nothing more excellent than this?
I ring your doorbell and stand there for a minute,
And then you open the door,
Swollen eyes and a tearstained face.
Darling what's the matter?
I try to console you,
But you only push me away.
Saying that you are sorry.
Whatever you've done, why should I be mad at you?
I attempt to hold you ,
And then you begin to scream
At the top of your lungs.
How long did you say it was since?
I am confused now,
If you say that you eat double now,
And that you and I brought life here,
Then why should you be sad?
I do not understand,
And you begin crying again.
'It is the product of another man!'
And now I wonder why?
I understand now,
And I am frozen dead in my tracks,
I drop the flowers and walk out the door
Do I dare look back?
I can hear you crying behind me and I drop to my knees in your front yard.
For hours I sit as your wails die down,
You bring out a beer for me and a soda for yourself.
And I ask you 'how long?'
You reply with 'only a few weeks'
And to follow I ask who.
Somber, you cannot remember,
Only that you were not willing and could not recall much.
We gaze unto the stars and what a whirlwind these hours have been,
Conversing until dawn.
And everything remains calm as I carry you back inside,
Sleeping in my arms.
On your bed I lay you,
And beside you I stay until you are deep in slumber,
Peaceful and the flowers now in a vase.
I touch your stomach and I can nearly feel the life within.
Life jumps beneath your closed eyelids.
Considering the circumstance, I cannot think of a better way to spend this June day.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 10:23 PM UTC
Will you carry on
Over open water
Will you go
Toward the rolling shore
Will you fly high
Ever rising spires silent skies
Rush of wings brings you home
This is the moment
Smile and cry
Goodbye
Will you leave me for ever
Little girl no more
Sail far from this troubled shore
Broken wings can’t fly with you
If I could be your light house
Shining bright for you
But I’m only the mirrored darkness
Reflecting torment we go through
One faded image shattered
By the stones thrown from passing years
Bruised and broken on the highway
Washed away by blood and tears
Will you carry on
Through windswept waves
Will you go
Til you find your way
To a harbor safe and dry
Spread tearstained wings and fly
Until you find your way home….
Leave me lost
I stand sentinel
On this troubled shore
Alone
© 04/01/2006
For buffi and beth
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
She solemnely watched
the winds take him up
in a world she dared not venture
Not because she feared the knew world
he had luxuriantly endulged in
but because she had become a
stranger to him
not certain if she would be welcome
With tearstained cheeks
she stood by the palm tree they stood last
hoping the winds of time would
carry him back & drift them back into the
forgotten times when they walked in the
enchanted valley of love
while their love was still aflame
///herwishfulthinking//unansweredprayer//utopiandream//shewillneverknowwhy//
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
I will let myself cry.
I will let myself sigh.
Sorrow will overcome me.
And my sobs will shake me.
I need this now and then,
I just wish I could predict when.
My doubts and worries creep and creep
And then I sob until I sleep.
My mother wonders what’s gone wrong.
My lover holds me and sings a song.
People try to soothe my doubt
But I just need to cry it out.
It might be hormones, or it could be the heat.
All I know is that the cycle will repeat.
In a month or two I’ll be crying once more,
Shaking and sobbing in a way I deplore.
But the morning’ll come and I’ll crack a smile,
And I’ll be back to normal for a little while.
And then something’ll happen and I’ll feel my eyes sting,
And I’ll turn my face down and curse everything.
I’ll hate the world for a night or two
And I’ll hiccup and sob and feel so blue.
I’ll try to feel good in my own skin,
And I’ll try to keep out of the loony bin.
And then once again, I’ll feel just fine.
For a long while my eyes will shine.
I’ll be happy and confident and I’ll love you all
But in a few months, I’ll have to fall.
Even now my cheeks are wet,
And I’m writing things I might regret.
But tomorrow morning I will wake up
And, still tired, I’ll fill my teacup.
I’ll act as though nothing has changed
Though the night before I acted deranged.
I’ll clean my tearstained pillow case
And I’ll rejoin the human race.
Until it happens one more time.
And then I’ll write a nursery rhyme
as my sorrow overcomes me
and my sobs relentlessly shake me.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 1:33 AM UTC
Each day as evening startsto set
The ace builds in her chest
She knows she must go to bed
And try to get some rest
She hugs her tearstained pillow close
When no okne is around
And cries for one she loved and lost
And screams without a sound
Other see her in the day
They think she's doing well
But every day as evening sets
She enters her own hell
Time hasn't healed her pain at all
Or quieted all her fears
So every night alone in bed
She sheds those silent tears.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Call her needy, clingy, and pathetic.
Laugh at her for needing reassurance,
But know this:
You are laughing at the little girl
whose mother never picked her up from school.
The girl who waited by the phone
for a Christmas call that never came.
Laughing at the numerous
unanswered letters and cards.
The girl who taught herself
about her body and boys.
Laughing at a tearstained face
when she got the voicemail again.
Laughing at the woman who got herself ready
on her wedding day because her mom didnt come.
The woman that waited at the hospital
but gave birth alone.
So call her what you want,
But know this:
You are laughing at the issues
following the abandonment
of a girl who just needed her mom.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
Tearstained cheeks and a broken smile
It's what I've been wearing for quite a while
Because I'm just so **** confused
And with you I can't say I'm amused
"I like his friend," I say with a guilty air
I'll send us to ruins, no surprise there
My days will be stuck in a funk
While yours will be lowly and drunk
I wasn't made to break hearts, you know
With my hands on yours, I'm taking it slow
Who knows, maybe I've got feelings left
But I think they're gone in a blonde theft
As I sit and ponder, all the fears just swirl
And with a sad song they pour out of this girl
A few tears and a wide array
Of pictures, memories and a few great days
I've remorse for the times I've not been true
And all the faults I tried to give you
If this does end, I hope we're both happy
It was never you, it really is me
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 1:31 PM UTC