( This one is from a poet who wishes he had a wife and a child. He has asked to be uncredited due to malicious rumours from those who did not understand the poem as the author did not create Author notes of how the verses changes between the child and mother.
Be aware that the poem crosses over from his wife and daughter, its not too  hard to figure out though.
Innocent stuff - His daughter
Not so innocent stuff - His wife.
Its a really long piece of poetry and this is just part one of seven in the series.

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" Look, sweet heart, a unicorn
munching away in the meadows"

If I could run like the unicorn,
If I could be dreamy in your eyes,
I believe I may be able sprint or fly,
be so happy without your scorn,

You are now the ghost that haunts,
every inch of my bleeding everything,
the wishful in my head that taunts,
ignorance is the reaper that death brings,

The smell of your hair still captivates,
the catch of my eyes upon your skin,
I'm pouring out blood from within,
my feelings have all but been replaced,

I need to find that green filled meadow,
my soul to enter this wonderful unicorn,
Find my freedom away from the darkness,
finally have a life that's full of bliss,

Sick and tired of insomnia,
I need to feel your euphoria,
gentle skin upon my hands,
take me into another land,

" Approach it slowly dear,
Pat it when it knows not to fear,
be gentle, scratch close to its ears"

Sitting in the creek,
having its bath,
reminds me of the bleak,
of which does last,
the unicorn softly grunts,
like a pencil that's blunt

I hear the sound of your gentle voice,
in upon the stormy thundering noise,
brings me joy and such soothing
of our laughter and me being coy.

Does he brings the smile to your dial,
or the laughter that made us stronger,
or is he the wail that will someday fail,
a greeting of arrogance to every meeting,

Happiness is an condition, due to flesh,
do we judge on the outside due to fresh,
we always do and the soul-ful suffers,
I wish I could find a gentle other,

I hear the singing of your sweet lips,
whenever I play back the video clips.
of our love and a family I could have provided,
now I'm left with an empty soul and nothing....

The melody's raw like a tooth is sore,
but those piercing eyes, too hard to deny,
flinching back, I have nothing to hold the slack,
your beautiful face is the thumping chest of race.

Your toes are like snow to be admired
Your hair's like a blow torch to be fired,
skin is so smooth a wolf wish devoured,
your voice is like a god's perfect choice,

Is the flame to blame or my useless shame,
Is your air to bare or the good times we shared,
Are eyes not lies when they say far from cries,
looking into souls we know like the watching crows.

I miss the sound of your sweet conversations,
and now my life is just another ruination,
pretend that his soul has that elegance,
when he's full of that........

**** this.

The paint fades from gutters,
like the colour of my eyes,
watch before they flutter,
yellowing, I'm to die,

Looking forward to,
an emptiness sky,
I won't return to you,
this eagle has to fly,

I gave up on hope,
you tied the rope,
its so hard to cope
not even legal dope.....

So many languages,
so many translations
Je ne peux pas juste me détruire,
Je ne souhaite plus être

Some day you will return
once this soul has burned,
extinguished the torch
my feelings are getting worse,

The unicorn's silvery flight,
its eyes are flipping dimes,
the distance to my remnant,
every man answers his crimes,

Some day, I'll answer thee,
and I will not flee,
answer to the judge,
not be so begrudged....

There's a train, calling my name,
and a bus where I felt the lust,
bread crumbs of such hard crust,
and we pretend everything's the same,

The unicorn jumps around the field,
don't try to tame it as you never will,
but its my guiding hand and shield,
as it jumps around, we remain still.

White horse with the horn,
luscious as the corn fields,
a beast to not love the least,
golden is the horn of its crest.

There's an old saying that goes down with the moon,
fluttering the old wings of our old sky owls,
sooner or later we all answer to it soon,
demons we exist whether we have the fowls,

Dancing in the moonlight, is my little angel,
wearing the silvery of the bought bangles,
I'm proud as I teach but she's out of reach,
like the last time I travelled to the beach,

I'm sick and tired of...

A moon light shines and its to become,
demons beware of my custom,
I'm proud to be of both of the bible
and the Cain that killed........

A little white noise,
A little,
A little white noise
A little.....

I wish for my deathly family,
to reach the heavens,
I prayed and I prayed,
and all I copped was more death,

I'm trying to keep myself strong,
but the dire of the breathe,
why should I continue to belong,
I sing to the beat of my suicidal song,

There will always be a tragic romance,
to the beat of a modern day trance,
the fire to the empty streets,
slows down this song's beats,

I try and I try and I try, and I try and I try,
but this little boy's lost and then he died.


I place you on the unicorn,
it gallops around the field,
sweet-heart, you're giggling,
I can feel your gentle shield,

And my lover laughs in the distance,
at the unicorn with her sweet baby,
memories then blur, I'm lost between tides,
and this is when the wound opens so wide,

I always wished for, and it was granted,
never took for granted my once family,
every sin is judged and mine's the decree,
every soul I destroyed is buried in the sea,

Blued eyed unicorns bask in the summer light,
my little girl combs and rubs them till the night,
behind the ears and their gentle little bellies,
her sweet voice now becomes my end......

Your ghosts are my anchors.

Time dreams to able heal,
wounds feel open & peel,
sleep stubborn spider crawling
brittle bones munch & mauling.

This is the church
in a photograph
I took with pride,
see the entrance's
heavy door
when its open wides,
starry eyes enchanted
to see the wonders
likes within,
beauty of art-works
etched on windows
as you see.

Walk inside,
Wonder at
architecture,
built by brain-washed
slaves,
fired by a polished
sweet gun.
A dream to die,
Are you merrily
dancing square center?

Time eagerly spins the wheel,
wounds amateur stitched
can dream to be sealed,
but dead can't be healed
skin like paper, rapidly draws,
empty keg that bar-maid pours.

This is the school photograph
where I'm smiling,
third grade second row
third to left drowning
in a sea of happiness
and broken promises,
scarring away
as no peers
or teachers notices.

Wandering,
School built
looks like prison,
the clicking of
firmly held pens,
exclaims ignored
by teachers
irrational student
detention was built
by hell-sent
hiss at never...

I continue,
to love her
Burn Eden's Garden
Its a reminder,
gentlest touch
from heaven.
No church or school,
could ever contain,
and a fountain's dew
could only  spray
chaotic waste-ful days.

There's nothing left between you &I                                                                ­                                                    I don't know about you, but I tried                                                           You don't love anyone but yourself                                                         ­                                                You broke me & put me through hell                                                Our whole lives I gave you my all                                                              ­                                                  When I needed you , you let me fall                                                             ­                                                     I closed my eyes & forgave you still                                                            ­                                                      While you busy breaking my will                                                             ­                                                  
I bent until I was broken in two                                                              ­
I see it all now, it's in clear view                                                             ­                                                   As I walk away from you

Dearest Parents,

I don’t even know where to begin, because there’s so much sitting in my heart. Some of it heavy, some of it aching and all of it quietly waiting to be heard.

I miss you both.
I miss home.
I miss the feeling of safety I used to associate with your presence. Even when things were hard, I believed, deep down, that love was somewhere in the room.

But now… I feel banished. Like I was pushed out from the one place I thought would always take me in. I don’t know if it was something I did, or didn’t do, or simply who I am. But the silence, the distance, it’s louder than any words you could’ve spoken.

I’ve been trying to be strong. To hold myself up without the foundation I used to rely on. To believe I still matter, even when I feel forgotten. It hurts. It hurts in the kind of way that lingers, that wakes me up at night, that makes me question my worth.

Still, somewhere in me, there’s a small flicker of love that hasn’t gone out. A part of me that wishes you could see me. Not as a disappointment, not as someone to cast out, but just as your child. I’m not perfect, but I’ve always carried love for you. I still do.

Maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe nothing will change. But I needed to say it, for me. I needed to let these words out of the cage they’ve been in.

With love and sadness,
Me

He clicked his tongue,
sharp like a whip,
his words struck,
cold, harsh, final.

Then—
silence.
Not the soft kind,
not the comforting quiet,
but the heavy, hollow kind
that presses against my chest,
stealing breath.

I stared at the screen,
his name fading into nothing,
the call cut off,
not by accident,
but by choice.

He hung up.
On the call.
On me.

And I sit here,
holding the weight of his anger,
swallowing the lump in my throat,
wondering if he’ll call back,
wondering if I even want him to.

"Oh"
that is the sound I made when you told me you liked me
the sound I made when you asked me out
when you said "I love you"
when you touched me
when you said you felt i was distant
when you left me
when you ripped my heart into a million pieces and left me for dead
when you told me you were getting back with him
when you told me he was so much better
when he left you
when you stopped talking
when you left

you didnt like me. you liked the idea of being liked, loved.
you knew i was a rebound.
You said "I hate you" and meant it, but "I love you" felt fake
you felt like him. i hate you for that.
i was closer to you than anyone. i left everyone for you.
you chose to leave
you hurt me
god it hurt.
i told you i was proud of you and him.
he finally realized how awful you were.
your silence filled my ears
and then you were gone.

Dear dad,

when you left, it broke mommy.
you hurt her
an then as soon as she tried to get better you tried to take me away
you hurt me deeply too you know
not only me
not only her
you hurt nana, poi.
you hurt us all
as soon as i was "old enough" i was used
and you defended your brother
because of course you did.
you chose him over me
i hate you.

i dont really.
i dont.
i love you
because im supposed to.

Love,
Holly.

I write of love, my words soft as blooming flowers, outshining the silence. They drink from my verses, offering praise, yet never seeing through hollow eyes. They trace my ink with their pens, searching between the lines, yet always missing the rot woven into the rhymes. I only ever meant to heal, to imagine a world that would never falter. But as echoes tremble and shatter, the voices grow louder in my wake. Hearts lie broken along my path, split and bruised, marked by both my hands and the words I chose. The tales I spun, the dreams I wove, just layers of silk concealing the screams of the past. Each whispered line, each lullaby sung, was a betrayal wrapped in delicate deception. I thought I gave my all, shining bright, yet I only ever left them shattered and cold. A poet’s sin, unknowingly blind. Now, the weight of it all is too much to bear, even my own hand too heavy to hold. The ink thickens, choking the page, my verses darkened by buried rage. I once believed myself gentle, kind, a guiding light for even the quietest of minds. But I was blind to the wounds I inflicted, to the trust I fractured, left to wither in the dark. Each tear they shed, I was the reason why. I swore I loved, I swore I cared, yet I was the reason they were afraid. I was begged to change, yet failed to see where the cracks needed mending. Blind to the truth, I led them further away. And now, regret clings to me like a ghost, whispering of what could have been, of a future where things might have been okay. Every poet holds a secret, buried deep within their lines, whether the ink glows faint as a whisper or bleeds dark as sin.