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Jessica H Oct 2012
I held her cold, dead hand
I kissed her lifeless face
Memorizing every moment
Knowing that I would never feel the comfort of a mother's love again.
Her selflessness was her demise
She neglected and gave all of herself
She smiled so big
She spoke soothing words
She needlessly apologized
All in her last hours
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2

My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws

For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks

From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick

You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried

We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers

My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew

I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void

No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork

Logan Robertson

8/16/2018
Play on words-paws, mauled. At age two, he was a child prodigy
with an eidetic memory. He was a **** at math, count change impressively, knew the times' table, like how many donuts in five in a half dozen. We would study the map, he knew all the states and capitals. I was impressed watching him grow and blossom. Then one day at that young age he learned why other kids had fathers and he didn't. It hurt him badly. He recoiled. He rebelled. He purposely started to give wrong answers to my teaching, as he started to lose interest. And things waned after that understandingly so. But for a while there he was so bright. This is a sad page to turn.
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
She loved the catnip
Straight for the hip
She was like an alley cat
With a worn out welcome mat
Her tail rang a chime
And every tom stopped on her dime
Petting was blunt
For all the toms went for the hunt
Affront of the beat
Two cats in heat
Nights played out in false hearts
Howls were off the charts
Brief was the moment
Lost was the fulfillment
Days sagged later
A same old story, bye alligator
Much to the chagrin
Of the alley's spin
When her baby was born
She was forlorn
Like a woman out of wedlock
Dealing with tom's, full of croc
My sister, I watched you fall
My words to you hit a blank wall
You played the game
Without a flame
Sadness as your son bleed
Now years later he followed your lead

Logan Robertson

8/09/2018
JayceeJellies Jun 2015
Paranoia,
I'm drenched in it.

This lunacy is so agitating,
I swear she is out to get me!

Why does no one believe me?
I see her everywhere, am I dreaming?
Grace Feb 2017
I watched as they fell in love,
How ever so brave
I watched their world turn insane,
As they fell into a chasm of pain.

The poured their thoughts into me,
I wondered why fate won’t leave them be.
They fought on and on,
Until the war is won.

But when will it be?
Why can’t love and fate see?
I know life is blind and never fair,
And sanity is ever so rare.
The anger flared in their eyes,
Through pain and lies.
They told a story,
They won in glory.
But with a price,
Happiness was thrice.

I threw the book down in rage,
With all the sadness built at every page.
I cried for all their lost,
Their tears hardened to frost
CA Guilfoyle Jul 2012
You were born of oceans,
glacial upheavals melting
a temperate forest of raining seas
I climbed your stair step moss
to see night stars mingle with fir trees
I watched through the night
only sleeping when stars did,
when birds came echoing
through your woods,
at first light, in mists of fog
verily I slept  
in forest song
He watched the moon,
As it became immune
To his galaxy eyes.
Silver liquid flowing,
The night's come to a closing,
As he mixed his 'sky dye.'
At least, that's what the stars said,
As each one rubbed his head
Goodnight.
Colored images glowing,
His eyelids began lowering,
As he, again, was forced to fight-
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
He sat by a furnace of seven-fold heat,
As He watched by the precious ore.
And closer He bent with a searching gaze,
As He heated it more and more.

He knew He had ore that could stand the test
And He wanted the finest gold,
To mold as a crown, for the king to wear,
Set with gems of price untold.

So He laid our gold in the burning fire,
Tho’ we fain would say Him "nay."
And watched the dross that we had not seen
As it melted and passed away.

And the gold grew brighter and yet more bright,
But our eyes were dim with tears,
We saw but the fire, not the Master’s hand,
And questioned with anxious fears.

Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow
As it mirrored a form above,
That bent o’er the fire, though unseen by us
With a look of ineffable love.

Can we think it pleases His loving heart
To cause us a moment's pain?
Ah, no! But He sees through the present cross
The bliss of eternal gain.

So He waited there with a watchful eye,
With a love that is strong and sure.
And His gold did not suffer a bit more heat
Than was needed to make it pure.

~ A.F. Ingler
~~~
Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
Tiiiiinngg!!!((())))))
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
Through
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Stagnant,
Filthy with earth and
Hours,
their
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Open
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.
"duck"
    "DUck"
              .........."DUCK
"GOOSE!!!­"

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
Aloof
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
climbing,
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
watch
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
everlasting,
Where
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Quietly,
wander
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
Violently,
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
people,
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
Nothing/
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
Everything,
All that I can hold in my eyes,
There
Where there is life everlasting-
Fingerprints,
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
Hovering,
Softly
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
years
And hours
Of days that dripping
minutes
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
Elioinai Jul 2018
You were my coffee today
Just walking along the road
to **** knows where on the last day of July
My car made the turn onto Sheridan
and my eyes caught the motion of your swagger,
dark pants
Black tank
Probably a red shirt wrapped around your waist
corded arms slightly bowed to give the impression of a badass

your long hair flowing in the morning air

In an instant your head came up
Instinctively giving you the image of my nearing car

And then you smiled
It’s funny how seeing a beautiful person instinctively offer up a joyful, innocent smile can brighten up a day completely
Johnny walker Feb 18
A fantasy I'm walking through wood very
dark but sunlight
flickering high above
the treetops tiny little beams if the light just to
enough to show my
way

For the wood Is getting darker by the minute the path I walked upon was guarded by trees on both sides that were
sloped

But out the corner of my eye I see almost like a butterfly filtering through the trees above me I hide behind the nearest tree and watch hopefully not to be seen

But this girl skipping through the trees like a butterfly so beautiful but completely ***** but totally unaware of me there I watch In amazement

As she danced can't believe my eyes so pretty but ***** suddenly there pain In my leg I move It slightly but on moving I snap a twig being so silent In the wood It was more like a gun being
fired

She suddenly stopped looking around I remained behind the tree but she had already seen me all of a sudden these beautiful white wings appeared from her back she gave them a flap and she lifted
from the
ground

I stood In amazement to see her lift Into the air and with her unbelievable beauty watch her fly away into the distance to disappear never to been seen
again
A fantasy while passing the day
Ilion gray Jul 2018
I hope you're there the day the rain falls down from earth to sky
and I hope you remember
that night we watched the ocean dance with the wind
and I explained
How the  waves
make love to the leaves
while they're
still holding the trees hands
You told me how
You counted
Raindrops dripping
On the wood
behind the window
Outside
In
The Wild
Of your childhood-
I fell in love
with the rain, with
You that night.

When I was a boy
I thought that I
Held all things-

                                        I did not.


Now that I am a man
  I know
How at times instantaneous...
mountains can rise
between a woman
And a man
That eclipse the sun
Yet sets fire to the sand!
Marilyn Heavens Oct 2018
I watched the news today,
I watch it every day
and every day It seems the same
painful terror without shame

As Mother nature makes her call
She devastates both one and all
She'll slice her way across the land
As father demon lends a hand
And seas rise up towards the shore
Where land becomes the ocean floor

I watched the news today...

War torn places on their knees,
The innocent no longer free
A starving child, he walks alone
across a stony path he'd roam
Searching for the freedom, a gift that he once knew
His mother dead, his father hurt his brother disappeared
This child alone keeps going, there’s nowhere he can go
He searches everywhere for someone he may know
But no one comes to ease his pain,
His search for freedom, all in vain

I watched the news today...

The starving child who walked alone
He walks alone no more
He’s found amid the war zone
crouched, cold and all alone
He stares into his fathers eyes
where pain and anguish clearly lyes
Hand in hand they walk together
father, brother, and memories of mother,
Along a stony path they roam,
towards the tiny shack called home
Am I having one of those days,
where I want to leave everything
and everyone?
Where I want to go into a daze,
and watch my dreams all come?

No, it's not 'Just one of those days'
It's not even a phase.
I am extremely unsatisfied and bored,
and my life feels more like a chore.

So i cry, and i sigh,
and get out my frustration.
While claiming I'm okay,
I lie,
because no one has time
for that curruption.

So i try to let these three years go by, as quickly as I can:
while I'm still being controlled
and watched,
as independent as I am?

I long for those three years to fly,
so my life can be ran by only I.
I'll have my own lovely home,
with a cosy fire,
all made by stone.

There won't be much company in need,
Not with all of my books,
candles and reckless sprees.
My house will be filled with glowing golden lights,
and expensive furnishings,
of all shades of white.

I'll be looking out of my balcony,
with my blankets wrapped around me,
as I listen to the rain pour and slide,
with a pen and paper at my side.

With my dog at my feet,
my eyes on the sky,
and my music playing lightly,
I'll always be on a high.

I know that's what my future holds,
as I won't settle for anything less,
I won't have lived until I live that image,
and until then I'll try my best.
This is truly where I hope to be, and these are only a pinch of ideas, out of a whole jar full of them.
ThePoet Sep 2015
I took a step
back, and I
watched as
you cried,
because if I
took a step
forth, I would
have watched
as you died.

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)
Sometimes being away from someone will hurt them, but being with them will **** them.
Saint Audrey Jul 2018
Casualty: my interest fading
Once waxing moon now seen waning
And I did concede your irksome warning
And watched as the rest played out

So let bygones be gone, fallen out by the side
Of this road, worn down, still restless, keeping straight
Eyes glinting off token little bits of hospitality
Mother nature being so inclined at times

The stress so unnerving, I hardly doubt it
But tension is eased once it comes to acceptance
And I accept in full, finding time to unwind
Winding stretch of lonely road, dotted here and there by
An occasional landmark
Or a lonely tractor pulling behind it
Iron bars, old and rusted
Found in their hold
Bales of hay or
A small little pond
With a bench beside it
Holding initials carved against the grain

With a heart surrounding

As mine beats slower

At last, the sun begins going down

And the moon grows brighter
Even in its state
And my feet move faster
Though my body is withering
I feel this separation growing
As my mind takes flight and leaves me

Behind, in the twisting twilight
And alone, I walk along
Gabrielle Isa Nov 2017
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
Ms Noma Jun 2018
Our first date,
Our first meet;
So very quaint,
At gentle speed.

Watched a film,
Watched your face,
And quiet skill
To woo with grace.

I knew not
My heart fell;
That blood would clot
Under your spell.

Please do note,
It was not
My plan to dote
Once you forgot.

It just is
At the end;
I sorely miss
Calling you friend.
Cné Dec 2017
she dragged me out of the house
knowing i was feeling down
not allowing me to wallow
in my self pity,

she dressed me,
        painted my face
               fashioned my hair,
that’s my girl friend

at Juliana’s,
small family owned Italian restaurant,
a gem of a find, she said,
Lorenzo, greeted her with familiarity
(she leaves a memorable impression)

she introduced me as her bestie
with a twinkle in her eye
young (as all under 30 people are to me)
handsome, dark thick curly haired,
with dancing eyes,
a serving towel over his left arm
nodded with a genuine smile

i smiled back despite my mood

wine was swirled, smelled,
sampled and selected
a captivating performance,
executed expertly

she watched me
watching him
describe the specials  
with a melodic Italian accent
transforming my mood

garlic knots wafting with his stride,
placed on the table
with a small bowl of marinara sauce
still hovering
in his long lean fingers
it slipped,
splattering red stain
on the pristine white cloth

without skipping a beat
his eyes poured into mine
words emerged
forgive me, your beauty made me nervous
True story,
and yes I left a fat tip!
Best line ever
ghazal Nov 2018
shivering on top of this roof,
burnt cigarettes in the shingles of the accused.
and in this cold weather,
my jacket and your words shared one thing;
a lack of proof.
immersed in thought,
i retract my youth.
and thinking back to my childhood,
memories blue.
thinking not how a child should,
no one had a clue.
it's no ones fault and i know i shouldn't blame you,
that's not what stuck, it's what i prayed to.
the sound of my stomach has become louder than my thoughts,
and i know i should stop writing but you took my ******* heart.

selfish you are.
selfish you are.
selfish you are.
insta: @faithpoetrybook
Brooke White Nov 2017
When I was a child, the hallways stretched for miles
Mahogany and ceramic floors, polished bookcases
A mansion for fictional paperbacks
All neatly tucked under fluorescent lighting

The librarian would wait behind her desk
She reigned silent
besides the tapping of her fingertip to her glasses
I can’t remember her ever looking happy

Until the day I noticed the chirping
Sang somewhere between the realistic & historical fiction,
a bird cage sat next to the woman’s desk
It was an unexpected visit

I should have brought a better dressed book to check out
Mine was bound by yellowing pages
But I met the canary and heard her song
As I watched the librarian smile
Outside Words Sep 2018
On a gusty autumn night
Another husband was swept,
Somber under the porch light,
Abigail watched and wept.

No men were happy,
As they dealt with poor Abby –
Day in and day out,
So miserable and naggy.

Nine is such a tender age
For a father to leave his daughter,
In horror, Abby waved,
Her mind underwater.

Crimes of parents, what a shame
Those with good ones count your blessings,
Lest we forget little Abby’s pain
And teach our children similar lessons.
© Outside Words
Robert G Page Dec 2015
A Christmas Thought (short story)
by
rgpage

This time of the year,  when once giving from the heart has since melted like the snow in Spring to the meaningless demand for expensive toys and gadgets;  and Santa has waned to no more than the all-giving sugar daddy to each and every child,  and a tireless crutch to the mindless parent during the year; “Santa’s watching so you’d better be good.”

And alas,  there I stood in this huge department store amid a vast forest of toys, colors, and noises, fallen prey to this modern day hypocrisy known as Christmas.  Being of a lower middle economical standard,  and having with such stealth blindness juggled expenses and bills to afford myself the opportunity to plunge even deeper into dept.  I pondered these playful wonders of modern day technology.  All about countless numbers of people were doing as I in efforts to reward their children for their year of good service.

This was when I saw her. As fast as this seasonal frenzy had overtaken me just days earlier,  it vanished for a time as I watched her. It must have been that she seemed so out of place in this hurry-scurry festive scene of Christmas shopping that she caught my eye.  She was very old and her tattered,  worn out clothing all too obviously reflected the fact that she couldn’t afford much.  While others struggled about her almost comically laden with brightly colored  packages, this old woman had nothing more than an old purse dangling from her arm.  Slowly she moved, seemingly pained with the infirmities which accompany old age.  She appeared overweight for her stature which I’m sure added to her discomfort.  When she stopped in front of the doll section  her old, pudgy face glowed with joy.  Undoubtedly a doll for a little granddaughter,  I was  sure no more as she couldn’t possibly afford more.  I watched as she studied each doll
and its price tag,  going from one to the next.  Finally she stopped to give particular attention to one little doll adorned with colorful ribbons and big bright blue eyes.  Then putting the doll back,  she opened her purse and I watched as she counted the small amount of money that she had.  

By this time I had become so unexplainably absorbed with watching the old woman,  who with a smile closed her purse, retrieved the doll and walked slowly and painfully to the checkout counter to wait in line.  Around her the noise of parents and children alike waiting their turn to check out didn’t seem to bother her as she patiently waited, holding the precious little doll for an equally precious granddaughter.  Finally when her turn came, an all to cruel yet human trait appeared in not only the people waiting behind her but the checkout clerk as well. Their impatience to maintain a steady flow of human traffic through the turnstiles came to the forefront almost obliterating this seasonal spirit.  This didn’t seem to deter the old woman from slowly and surely counting out the correct change,  leaving her very little to return to her purse.

With this done and the doll tucked away in a shopping sack,  she proceeded through the large glass doors and out into the cold December night.  A passing thought, “one special gift for one special person,” went through my mind as I continued my own, now more selective tour of annual duty.  Looking over my shoulder for one last glimpse of the old woman, I suddenly felt as if struck by a jolt of electricity as I saw her on her back in the slushy snow, struggling like an over-turned turtle.

Bolting out the door hoping to be the first to reach her,  I almost found myself lying next to her on the slick sidewalk.  Nothing was said as I struggled to lift her up.  Once this was accomplished I asked her if she was alright.  Instead of answering  she started looking around for her package.  I spotted the torn, soaked paper sack some ten feet away in a slushy puddle and went to retrieve it.  The doll had come half way out of the sack and her little blonde curls were now filled with water and slush; and as I handed it back I searched the old woman’s face for even a trace of sadness, there was none. Instead she looked at me smiled and said, “thank you young man, it’ll dry out, it’ll be alright, Merry Christmas.”  Then holding the doll in both hands, she turned and went on her way, much slower and much more cautiously.  I just stood there and watched her until she finally disappeared in the crowd and darkness and thought to myself, “maybe Santa Claus isn’t a man after all.”
You broke my wings
You dragged me down
With every word you let me down
Nearly touching the ground
I knew what I had to do
Escape from you
Yet I kept listening to your lies
Staring death right in the eye
You dropped me down a cliff
Down in the water
I couldn't breathe

Still under deep water
I try to find my way out of the dark


On the edge of the cliff I imagine
You watched me fall with a smirk
I can still see the smile on your face
It was my turn to fly
But you cut out my wings and threw me down
Give me back my freedom
I've been drowning for too long,
Release me now
I would do anything to swim back out
A year ago I found my way back out. Tonight I found this poem and realized how far I have come. You didn't destroy me.
Mygreatestescape Sep 2018
In the morning when
I have spent myself,
I am serene like
a hurricane,
--(I will call myself
Katrina)
a giant conspiracy
of lovers,
I took a step
without any feet,
the preacher
speaks of god,
of a childhood innocence
that was lost before
it begun,
the stillness of
the soul,
living in the
abyss of
my loneliness,
I cannot believe in
a god that lets
the world rot,
that lets flies die on windowsills,
but yet I believe in
a beloved that
makes me sweep
the ground,
stoop till my back aches,
who looks at me
without any eyes,
and brings tears
to mine,
everything that I ever
loved grows like
flowers
when I see this beloved,
if I know of love
--like a child,
I only know through
my beloved,


and yet,

yet  

    yet


god is a tattered
coat that my grandmother
wears,

to have you listen
to me -- that is my beloved,

spilling my tears onto
ginseng leaves,
dust gathers
like grime,
a second layer of skin,
watching Aphrodite rise
from homes riddled
by ****,

this whole nation cursed,
and yet here is mecca (Medina)
here is Bethlehem
where apples grow freely,
and Eden lies north,
where money rains onto
nudists,

here lives the prowling
sphinx,
here Thebes rises
from the gold dust of
the Sahara ,
her salivating tongue
licks up our dissent,
and our leaders
drags Artemis by
her hair,
the sinners of
earthly ****,
Lucifer wears
armani suits
and defiles cherubs,

they have lit our
children on fire,
and have called
it a sacrifice,
we watched kindness
fall into the deep marrows
of the Styx,

living in a nation
of free will,
undressed free
will and
ravished her against her
will,

my beloved
who wears my anger
like furs,
and milks the world
like a daunting king.
suis-je en train de mourir? - Am I dying?
Evelyn Genao Mar 2018
"Please, daddy!"
You were walking so fast.
Too fast for my little feet to keep up.
Was it that easy for you to leave me?

You heard my tear-filled screams, but you never stopped.
You just kept going.
Farther and farther away, not even trying to get one last look at me.
I punched, pulled, and pushed trying to make you stop.
You didn’t.
You just kept going.
Leaving me behind.
"Please don’t leave me!"

Pain.
I remember it too well.
The heart throbbing pain.
We watched as you left.
Me and mommy.
My eyes were wet.
Hers were dry, cold.
As if she knew this would happen.

I looked into mommy's eyes.
Her brown eyes tangled with lies.
Lying to me for you.
How long do I have to wait for you before you realize that what you did was a mistake? What was the reason you stayed away for so long?
Was it all the ****** **** you did in the past or is it because you don’t want me anymore?

Since you left, I dreamed of your return.
The day you would wrap me in your arms and whisper in my ear,
"I'm sorry for what I did. I promise I will never leave you again,
my little Cookie Monster
."
Then I wake up, hoping to see you.
Praying that it wasn’t all a dream.
But reality soon caught up, and the dream quickly died.

I remember all the tears I had rushing down my face
as I saw you leave me and mommy behind, to never return.
I'm so incomplete without you, I need my daddy back in my life.
You deceived me, you said you would always be there.
You pinky promised.
You broke your promise.
How can I trust you again?

Do you still think of me as your "cookie monster" or
a daughter you never loved, a daughter you could leave behind without a single goodbye in the blink of an eye? I wish you were here to watch me grow up but we both know that will never happen.

"I miss you so much! Won’t you please come back to me, daddy?
I just need to see your face one last time
."
Am I that disappointing I need to work to make you love me?

Hey, daddy even if you don’t love me I will always love you no matter what happens.
I bet you didn't even think about how I would feel when you left.
No, you only thought of yourself like you always do.

You missed all my birthdays, first dates, father-daughter dances,
and you may even miss my wedding, not that you even care.
Did you know that I would wait for the postman to bring the mail and check to see if there was a letter for me? But there never was.
I eventually stopped going, knowing nothing was there for me.  

"Well, daddy looks like you really didn't care about me buts it's in the past. Now I have a family who loves me, stays with me, and likes for who I am.
I don't need you anymore
.”

Daddy, I still need you. Please, come back.
When I was 6, my dad was deported to the Dominican Republic. I remember visiting him in prison before he was booted out of the country. I was only a child then and I don't remember much but the pain is still there. I didn't ever write down my feelings until my English teacher assigned the class a project where we had to write a poem about a struggle that impacted our lives. It was not the best and as the years went by I would add more to it, pouring my heart and soul into it. I think the day presented my poem to the class was the day that I wanted to become a writer. I hope you love this and be sure to comment your thoughts on it. Also, check out my other poems!!
Dead Rose One Mar 2015
In The Prison Of Winter, No Rise, No Set**

orbit nearly closed,
the radio announcer gleefully
chirruping, the twittering fool,
"only ** graves to X off till
                                               spring"

the weight of the prior
the wait of the more
no matter how little
yet to come
                    too much insufferable

having suffered
multiple life sentences
you snit ****, u don't know better,
ha, they don't even run
                                         concurrently


there are no sunsets
in the girding grays
of harsher enough and words that fail me,
are the winners in the
winter of the ****,
tests and hunts,
I have successfully
                                 failed

of course I'm wrong you
petulant hobgoblin wringing
nyet from me you'll get no concession,
**** science,
there are no sunsets in the winter
and the sunrises,
short unsweetened,
light-less, less of less,
frigid glaring revealers
of dead trees
and deader
                    men

maybe in the Rockies,
perhaps the Alps,
wonderlands photoshopped,
pretty lies on the Internet BS posted

where I live,
wear the wear the weary
neath the sweat stink of layers of
unbundled choking hands,
winter's damage
assessed and assessment is
never overdue, payable in
                                             immediacy

heating bills I can't pay,
a job that said no more of you,
unpretty please,
a woman who sorcerer-scarced herself
right freaking black magic quick,
trust me I have certified verified,
me and Nixon,
X's on the kitchen calendar,
there is daylight, there is mighty night,
almighty in long and colorless
and nothing in between,
but the smog stained slush of
                                                    smothered life

but definitely
no sunrises and no sunsets
watched all day from the
imprisoning kitchen window
which doubles
as a *******
                       mirror

there are no, not any,
you know what,
cannot even say them,
the pipe dreams of better yet,
pipes that have beaten down
me and my
disassociated senses,
signed sealed and now delivered,
from the formerly known as
The Summer Man
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