"tragedies" poems
We did not come here on the orders of others
We came freely, our own choice, blown by the soft winds
scattered o'er many a mile
Landed upon Flanders Fields and rested a while
Then death came, disturbed the earth
Destruction hit the ground in which we slept so quietly
Awoke us from our slumber sweet
To witness tragedies and defeat
Now we are risen
and in our place beneath lie men and boys of courage, strong and true
Who fought valiantly but now lay slain
Our gentle roots entwine around their bodies that remain
Each dawn we wake for them and face the summer sun
At night our gaze doth meet moon
We stand tall and proud and dip our heads
And honour them that lie beneath with our petals red
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 7:16 AM UTC
**The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.
I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.
We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.**
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.
Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd ***** her last tear and turns away.
13.8k
Icarus washes up on Miami Beach over the spring break of 2k16 and finds a world where the gods roam the streets,
where his wax wings burned themselves into trenches of scars down his back,
where we warn our children of the dangers of flying too high,
but forget the part about the riptides waiting if you fly too low.
He asks Siri how far away the sun is,
finds Apollo in the red rocks of New Mexico
off I-40 just outside of Albuquerque,
alone and basking in the heat.
The ice caps are melting.
The sun still hurts to touch,
burning Icarus's hands and leaving fingerprints in the feathers of his melted wings,
but Apollo is much kinder now,
soothing the skin cancer with freckles and soft touches.
It no longer feels like a damning.
This is what happens to the children of tragedies:
they flinch too much,
they fall too hard,
they're fragile as glass but immune to everything the world can throw at them.
Icarus flinches at the sound of the oceans.
He knows the wrath of Poseidon.
Icarus rises from the dead with his irises washed white
and his rips etched with Hades's name:
he should have been a child of Persephone,
spring in his hands and flowers in his hair.
He should have spent his days sprawled in the sun's caress.
He should have been infinite.
Icarus flinches too much.
That's what everyone keeps telling him.
He flinches too much at every lifted voice and crashing wave and
he flinches too much when he feels sunshine on his face.
Icarus is sorry for flinching too much.
Icarus is trying not to flinch too much.
Icarus is sorry that it's taking so long to just get over his trauma and stop flinching so much--
sorry.
He doesn't know what to do now that he's touched the sun
and this time it didn't burn.
He wanted it to burn.
He wants to burn.
He wants to feel his bones breaking all over again because
that's the only time he doesn't feel like he needs to be in control.
Why is he chasing things that hurt?
Why does he feel
like he deserves to hurt?
He deserves to crash.
He finally touched the sun.
Icarus feels empty, and
he's still flinching.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
I know how much time you spent on your hair so I will not touch it,
but think of how soft it would feel running across my skin.
I know you hate it when I walk around in nothing,
so I'll try and teach you the ways to love your own body.
And I am here to be your crash pad when you get laid off at work
and come home crying.
And before the day is done I'll carry you into the woods and we'll put our feet in the lake to forget our tragedies,
and remember we're still young at heart.
There is no need to grow up and worry about your looks.
Worry how other people,
we don't know,
think about our bodies
and if they are silently judging.
Let's not worry about money.
We'll just camp in a tent on the lakeside when we lose our house.
And we'll go with the river,
play around like children
and enjoy life and live worry-free.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
What is it ?
The mere thought of happiness that rushes through our veins,
When we see someone we love, our crush, our family, the sunshine,
If those were to fade away, a part of us would simply shatter, vanish,
Rainclouds would keep away the sunshine in our life the heavy wind would brush through our hair and remind us of such great tragedies,
Alike a sleeping terror, the chains of fate, the flow of time become;
Meaningless, without what has been blown away like ash by a breeze,
What you must not forget, will never lose, what wont change is...
The past, where your memories, our remarkable actions are living,
Hold them dear, these several rays of sunlight to keep the rainclouds away, to pull yourself together and shine beyond the scene, rise.
Even if you do lose all your strengh and your muscles refuse to carry your beautiful soul trapped within the flesh of your very existence,
Even if you fall into an abyss of despair, devoured by regret.
As long as you are alive, you may as well do a change.
As long as you are alive, you can make the present joyous by striving for a better future, for yourself, for what you lost.
Live, for the love of light is for all to bear.
~ Umi
[M i d w a y - H i m e]
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
PART II: A GLASS CEILING DRIPPING WITH BLOOD
Mohanad Younis, of Gaza City;
Where the sand is stained with blood
As the world feigns pity.
Broken families, unspoken tragedies –
The order of everyday life.
He was born amidst chaos and strife,
To a divorcing husband and wife.
If life were lived in peace,
This dissolution would’ve been a release.
Not much more, not much less –
A family’s lore, a decision to digress.
In war-ravaged land, however,
One needs every helping hand,
Especially a soul that was so clever.
Such a curious, voracious mind needed to understand;
A furious, rapacious search,
Unexplained conundrums to unravel and unwind.
Why do we exist?
Why do we fight and resist?
Is it worth living with all these scars on my wrists?
Does anybody outside Palestine care?
Will they keep on watching?
Or will they be unable to bear?
Of this and much more Mohanad must’ve thought,
As he sat at the Marna House Hotel,
Smoking cigarettes, freshly bought.
A student at al-Azhar, a mild-mannered pharmacist,
A prudent man who would have gotten far.
An admirer of Bassel al-Araj, another victim of oppression –
An inspirer, a brother who alleviated his depression.
Hunted down and killed by the IDF,
Another pacifist murdered for being an activist.
One figure of many who died;
One of those who did not want to hide.
Mohanad wasn’t a resistance fighter –
He felt that such persistence did not make their burdens lighter.
Instead, he wished to make his mind brighter,
And perhaps have family of his own.
He was in love, and wanted to get married,
But life was rough, and warranted a future far more harried.
The final twist of horror?
Having the intellect to apply for University,
And deserving the respect needed to obtain a reply,
Yet not being allowed to leave the city.
That is the news Mohanad had received,
Hopes and dreams suddenly deceived.
Denied a right to education
Because he was born on the wrong end of a cruel fabrication.
The glass ceiling, dripping with blood,
Swallowed his hopes whole like a flood.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Wake up Nigeria whilst it is still day.
Your darkness thickens in the hot summer sun.
Wake up Nigeria from your spectators' fun.
Like a titan to the slaughter, your way
to financial hades might be certain.
Awake, or your future is uncertain.
Your teeming youth population languish
in persistent erosive social crimes.
Awake Nigeria from pain and anguish.
Your tragedies exceed your countless births.
Awake Nigeria, for these many deaths
reveal a corrupt weakened armed forces.
Awake Nigeria from your great slumber.
Your rank in the black world has been usurped.
Awake Nigeria, reclaim your number
one position by treading those courses
once trod, and never again to be stopped.
Awake Nigeria and discern the times.
Cease for good to be black gold dependent.
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 9:22 AM UTC
We all just want to be truly free,
Of all the hatred and misery.
But the limitations of humans, you see,
Is that we can't decide what's meant to be.
We can't control what happens around us,
Not even prevent tragedies that faze us.
And while happy and sad are simultaneous,
It seems only the depression becomes contagious.
Life is hard, and we all know,
When only a mask, can we show.
Only one can relate and help us grow,
But the breeze carrying love, will rarely blow.
I just want to live in happiness,
Feel nothing but the eternal bliss.
But the only thing that brings me this,
Comes from her lips, that one special kiss.
But what do I do when she's not here?
She may not return, that's what I fear.
Her time to go, seems to be near,
But I can't let go when I hold her so dear.
Each day that passes, what grows is her pain,
And as a human, it's what I can't contain.
I'd love to die, but I must refrain,
Because that would just drive her totally insane.
We don't want to be, not at each others' side,
But The Lord didn't make that for us to decide.
To know this just happens, sounds like genocide,
Losing her is like breathing cyanide.
We can only see through our own eyes,
We can't comprehend another's demise.
It's this very limit that I despise,
Because I'll never know when her soul cries.
The limitations of being human,
Make us permanent catechumens.
Only she could restore my faith,
But lost I will be, shall I see her wraith.
She is all that matters to me,
Together forever, we wished we could be.
My soul can't escape the depths of this Hell,
Without her, there I'll eternally dwell.
But her soul being a pure white dove,
She saves me with her beauteous love.
So I beg thee great Lord, not bound like us,
Save her, it's You to whom, her I entrust.
She's the one who takes away,
The sins that always lead me astray.
Lord, you know, for you are not I,
She's my Angel, I see in both eyes.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
dearer to me than my heart
dearer to me than my soul
and i bleed
I lose
with my heart and soul
Inflicting pain, sorrows
griefs -- endless remorse
Once my homeland was pure
it was freed from blood
****** insensitivity
once my homeland was free of evil inhabitants
sorrows multiplied a thousand fold
gathered in pain-inflicted tears
with lump in throats
distant from your presence
i cry-- for your loss
On the rooftops of tragedies, my heart sink more
like an orphan, an abandoned child
my homeland bleeds
i scream within
i feel the abandonment
dearer to me than my own voice
dearer to me than my own eyes
and i am silent
I am blind
losing my sight, losing my voice
as my voice can't reflect the pain i feel
my eyes can't cry any more
reflecting ocean of deprived
once my homeland was free of pain
people were safe
we running like rivers
do not say it
our country was a flesh in body
now it is a dead body amongst many flesh
forgotten the promises
forgotten the true colors
in the name of revenge, we humiliate humanity
my intention is not to write poems
in my soul, i embrace nights long
this land absorbed wounds, tears
blood, fights, and many martyrs
who are forgotten
my country is our hope
we are growing in broken shadows
this siege is waiting us to drown us
in the middle of lonesome warrior
nobody can feel in absence of love
who are incapable to feel
to take, to absorb
love require us to cry, to embrace
today our homeland is deprived
abandoned, bleeding
she is under siege
as we forgotten to love
we deprived her of her loyalty
we deprived her of her love
we deprived her of her true lovers
My homeland I feel your pain
in my heart I carry all with me
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Delicately pink hearts gently unfurl
From nests of lively minds;
There is nothing weak about Southern women
We are supposed to wear ugly dresses,
Enamel bugs,
French scarves that wrap around and
Tie us all together from the inside out
Football and sassy new haircuts might not make faces look younger,
But they can lift spirits
And just because you spend all day advising others
Of their secret trials
Doesn't mean that you can hold your family in a cage,
Golden and happy though you may want things to be.
Remember that if you feel new, an outsider,
Your personal tragedies seeming too much to bear,
You will always find comfort in laughter
Especially if laughter through tears is your favorite emotion.
You might not pick up boys or money,
But friendship steeps in small salons
Like sweet tea.
Prickly sarcasm and pessimism aren't always the hallmarks
Of a heart devoid of caring,
It's just a natural response after two deadbeat husbands and
Three ungrateful children; somewhere in all of it is a promise
Of hope.
And even in a barren womb new life is discovered,
And even in death joy is found,
And even through pain,
Sisterhood blooms,
Delicate steel petals enveloping grieving hearts.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
She was a prisoner,
Trapped in the shadows of the night,
Caged in the gloom of the world.
She sang songs of heart throbbing emotion,
And played melodies of continuous tragedies.
She wrapped herself in life's desolation
And felt the pull of never ending stress weighing her down.
But she stood under the relentless pressure,
And never wavered.
She heard tunes of everlasting joy and peace,
And never strayed.
She found her way through the darkness,
And never doubted.
A girl once born in clouded adversity,
Now blossomed in ceaseless exultation.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
Things happen, moments are created, faces are remembered and feelings are tightly grasped within the dry skin of our cracked hands,
Cracked hearts too maybe?
Where do we go but forward,
Remembering absent friends, lost loves, broken dreams and a hope to bury it all in that dark backyard behind our weathered but sturdy home,
We will move on, forge new paths, break new barriers, repeat a thing or two,
but oh well,
We all have some familiar cycles in our life right?
We are resilience built on the foundation of faith and belief,
We are unwritten pages, with past chapters that can fill a library, a library that none might visit,
And we will still go ahead and do everything that we want to, regardless of what anyone else ever said,
We are beings with a field of uncertainty surrounded by determination at the most unexpected moments,
Love and let go, love and cherish, love and be broken, love and not expect anything in return, love and be loved back a 1000 times,
We are the sum of billions of atoms,
We are the moments we create and the things that happen,
We are the beliefs of more than thousands of faiths in this world,
We are the tragedies of past, the conundrums of the present and the triumphs of tomorrow,
We are able,
We are capable of all of them,
We are capable and able.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
A recurring memory which ties us together,
Is the fuel for a fire beneath my pitch-black wings, take this flame,
Burn my body and break my destiny, but deep within it will always flicker in hope to be going ablaze, a firestorm of raging conflagration
Empowered by my heart, the strengh of the sun's core and a stellar flare, sweeping it all away by just a furious, mighty energetic outburst
A star amongst billions, in one of just countless traveling galaxies, may make it less special, since I am neither the brightest or strong,
But as long as I can gift you sweet light, golden and untouched to make your day brighter I will shine, try harder for your fragile sake,
Just don't gaze at me, or I'll burn my image into your eyes, blind you for all of eternity, leaving you in darkness when my goal was to send you warm light to cheer your way illuminate your path and your stay
Flapping my wings towards more light I might appear alike an angel to you, yet, I am nothing more but a demon who tries to be good,
Even if I should cause, through my burning thoughts tragedies,
One day the day will come when everything melts down, heaven then hell, then you and finally me so I am left to rest at the very last,
Embracing you with the sweetness of burnt out black feathers
~ Umi
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
The grey hair on your head are moonflowers
The wrinkle on your forehead is wine
You need to stop worrying about your body
Cos when I look at you, you’re doing just fine
Stop weighing the things that aren’t important
Cos the valuable things cannot be weighed
Like the air that we breathe or our feelings
Or all the beautiful memories that we’ve made
And what about the magnificent souls inside us
The spirit that tragedies couldn’t break
You cannot weigh the experiences that made you
Like those moments we spent sitting by the lake
The scar on your cheek is a white butterfly
The fat on your tummy is snow
You need to stop worrying about your weight
Embrace yourself and let self doubt go
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS
*The tears flows in an endless way
Bemoaning the days of yore
Watching with eyes that sparks red,
Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore
Helpless and wishing for a relentless call
As tragedy hits her most sensitive part,
Bemoaning the tides,
All her days of glory,
Now a shadowy story*
*She had been ***** by her very own,
The children she yearned and bled for,
The men she fed and trained,
Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts
Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights,
Her nights of terror and horrors
Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness*
*It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to,
It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark,
But when they grew and flew,
She waited still
Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore*
*Then the dark hour rolled away,
And when morning came, it was harrowing.
It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected,
As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky,
Trampling her down,
Relegating and belittling her
Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore,
Where she laid all her virtues down,
Giving it all to see her children smile,*
*It is this dejection that has brought her to tears,
It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly
It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory,
As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony,
Forgetting her,
It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon*
*What is worse than a child abandoning his mother?
It is this penchant, that drives them
It is the love of greed,
It is the seed of corruption,
It is not an inherited trait,
It is a despicable decision
Like a monstrous shadow,
Twirling the back of the night.
It is the fire that burns within their heart,
The fire to **** steal and destroy
To take what she can never give again
To live,
To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony
It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch
And now tragedy looms,
It booms and blooms,*
A society written in flames
Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA?
Ovi Odiete© 2016, Oct. 31
All rights reserved
Note
Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
She has fought through illness and heart pain.
She has seen tragedies, time and again.
She risked her own life so I could be born.
Not listening to the doctors who said to abort.
She has stood through life's trials,
and has come out stronger.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.
She has questioned God.
But her faith has not faltered.
She has placed herself in His hands,
for however long He gives her.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.
She is gentle-spirited, yet a warrior.
She is quiet, yet bold.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.
And she is still fighting.
She has endured long.
And continues to endure.
Whatever comes.
Her story will be told.
To future generations.
I will tell her story.
Her legacy of faith.
For I am her daughter,
and I love her.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.
With her Faithful God behind her.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
There is nothing more comforting than warmth
Rays of sun painting my cheeks red
Blistering campfires that tickle my toes
My own blood trickling down my arm
As I looked into the bathroom mirror I felt nothing but
Warmth
Toxic words that had been spat at me disappeared down the sink
A blurry fist fight faded to memory
My black eye and bleeding nose ceased to pain me
All I felt was the red blanket coating my arm
It doesn't hurt
I feel nothing
Silver pens write terrible tragedies in red ink
But they also write happier endings for troubled minds
I am my own demise
My destruction
There is no conductor and my train is off the rails
Spinning, racing out of control
And stopping at a red light
Red lights that pool into one in my palm
Translucent, reflecting the light above me
I see red
I feel warm
I taste fate
She can't hurt me as long as I am warm
I will leave this world with no blood on my hands but my own.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
How it felt about when she smiled
Her roses were red wine
Teeth were an iceberg in a cold sea
I didn't know she knew me more than by name
I walked head up to her in a confident laze
She always willed to lay a hand in a steamy time
Whenever she called me by my pet name
I would light up a grin
How I couldn't help her spell
How much I belied of having a way out
The more she drew close, the more I sank in
How she made seduction a white collar trade
The lavish eyes, the lazy talk, the pure feminine mien
She pat on my shoulder and turned to catch a glance
Asked what made her hands a soft pleasure
Whispered that she was schooled in pottery and making dough
I couldn't stop but ask about the flawless curves
She pushed out her lips and said I used to spin a ring at nine
I asked her out for a movie
She said tragedies make her cry
One day I went to look down through my office windowpane
My sight met hers taking down a secret gang
With a fierce nine millimeter gun
I was left speechless in awe
We needed to rethink our revolution
On her mission in Damascus a plane crashed
I still cried a pail.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
I am just like you, except there is something stopping me
Racism; Stunting me from the same opportunities as any other person
Being an outcast, a black sheep in a world of white sheep
Due to the melanin in my skin, a feature everyone has that is skin deep
I come from the natural essences of meticulous hair products in my hair
Used to tame my true being because it looks ***** when in reality my hair is but of African descent, as am I
As I walk past you, you give me nasty looks as the smell of my tamed curls wafts to your nose
I walk like you, talk with the same tongues as you, see like you do, and have a soul within the vessel of my body and hear the same way
Only the things I hear and see are not kind or compliments about things I wear or how I look
Instead, I am met with hateful eyes, pointing fingers and a raised voice
I am judged for anything I do: my native tongue, my natural curls, and the color of my skin
You look at me with belligerent eyes, your hands moving around symbolically to create a point
I am just you, just with many differences between us and a whole different world; yours without segregation
I am just like you, I can express how I feel in different ways just like you can
I can create music with my tongue and I can create a dance with the rhythm my ancestors blessed upon me
I can create a sketch or painting with my hands to express the tragedies segregation has caused
I move my feel methodically to the words of God himself, which uplift my conflicted soul in desperate need of prayer
I am just like you, except my world consists of using “colored” bathrooms and sitting in places only for “colored” people
Is the reason that I am called colored is due to the color of my skin, which is unnatural to your European eyes?
I go to church just like you and believe in the same ten commandments just as you
If there’s one thing you should know, it is that I am just like you; I am human
mbm
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
I wish I had a father
Maybe that would have made me a better lover
Don’t they say that children from broken families
These children are the ones with the tragedies
I wish I knew what it feels like
to be daddy’s little girl
To be protected
in a shell just like a beautiful white pearl
I have so many questions
I also have a confession
Out of all the things in the world
One can pick from
I wish he had picked me
I wish he could tell me stories about my skinned knees
I don’t know how to ride a bicycle
Isn’t that one of the first things you learn in a life cycle?
He didn’t help me get off the training wheels
I cant let people love me
I don’t know much
but I do know
How messed up that sounds to be
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
I have a heart
made to adore
juvenile fantasies,
despite modern tragedies.
In moments of madness
when modern photography
presents to me
the horrors of humanity
I can engage for a minute
and escape the insanity
in the comics
that carry super hero forms.
When I see bombs
that blister skin
till flesh bursts
revealing red disfigurement
I can travel in
my own mental
compartment
to escape this.
I can revisit
Winnie the pooh
or review the crew
of “Star Trek
The Next Generation.”
When mind numbing poverty
rears its sad faces at me,
with stranger’s eyes
and thin lips quivering
in lonely desperation,
despite my empathy
I have a gift for escaping
the irrationality
of human suffering.
I just sip the soft brew
of nostalgia for old cartoons
recalling a slightly saner time,
when all the sorrows
were only mine,
when I ached
with a mother’s fury
but tv shows saw me distracted
the fact is
I have been escaping
my whole life,
and I don’t see
that changing.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
I fell in love with a ghost
Upon whose grave I have committed great travesties
She was silent and seemed lost
And my feeble heart could not sustain her futile tragedies
The tragedies of millennia past, gasping in in-articulation
The suffocation of a future already always lost, without observation
I fell in love with loving a ghost
Who saw past my eyes into a formless ocean
Limitlessly there, she sunk and she rose
But alas was not of my wanting nor creation
She who is of minimal infinity
Taught me nought about nothing, nobody
I only recognize that it was her that never wants me
And I who longs achingly to be in her vicinity
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 7:11 PM UTC