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Deathbed

You’ve reached the end of the road,

And there is no reward.

There are no golden lights.

Or singing from the heavens as the gates swing open.

No “Oh thank God I made sure to attend church

Every Sunday.

 

Just you, weary and facing down age,

Looking for acceptance, looking for peace.

Watching tears track down your daughter’s face

(She’s so grown up now) and

Trying to convince yourself

It was enough.

 

But you wanna hold her hand

Just a little longer and

You don’t want to leave your wife alone

Like this, wrinkled and weak.

Because it wasn’t,

Really,

It wasn’t enough.

 

No idea who made this image but it’s not mine! Featured image: link

Phone Silence

We used to talk—

Whispers at night with

Our secrets and tears stuck on repeat,

Broken records in more ways than one.

Refusing to fix ourselves,

Because the sad was just so

Delectable.

And now we have all these

Words exchanged

As we rebuild our homes,

These stunted talks that don’t

Support or trust or

Love.

Can you help us?

When we were broken

We fit together and made

Each other whole.

And now we

Conflict,

Stare at our phones

because we don’t know

What to say.

cirese_amare_by_bittersweetvenom-d4aaech

I’d Rather Not

You want your politically correct,

You want your

Hate, hate, hate—

You want your outrage—

Your dignity, stuck so far out there and

Your right to say

Stomping all over my right

To not listen to you.

You’ve got ideas

Good for you—big ideas

And everyone else’s

Ideas

Are wrong, to you,

That’s fine.

But

If you want to live in your

Hate, hate, hate—

Want to bask in your signage

And screams—

Do not condemn those

Who do not.

Do not condemn those

Who wish simply to live

In their time

And be comfortable in their skin—

Those who would rather change the world

From somewhere farther within,

They just don’t have the

Energy

For your

Hate, hate, hate.

 

Featured image is not mine but I don’t know who it belongs to! Image at: link

It Wasn’t Nice Seeing You

Family reunions are

A subtle sort of warfare—

Of strained smiles and

Relations trying to one-up–

“Oh, your little Bobby’s got

Straight A’s?

My Anne’s showing all the signs

Of an art prodigy.”

And so on,

So on.

Gloat and fart and weasel around

Veggie trays and family photos

Smug grins and–

So tragic, really.

Leave with tight hugs and

“Oh it was so nice seeing

You again!”

Get in the car and

Oh, the audacity of the people

We’ve gotten too far away from

To be comfortable with loving.

She’s a Fixer-upper

I’m going to tell you how to fix something–

Tape it back together or

Jumble parts with nails and screws

And fingernails caked with dried blood.

I’m going to tell you that

They don’t want your tears or pain.

They’d rather not shoulder your

Burden.

I’m going to tell you that when you feel unsteady

Crawl on.

And when you want someone to lean on

Find something more solid

Than a person.

Grin at them, bottle your hurt,

Honesty will leave you alone–

If you want to fix it

Pretend it’s not broken.

 

The Young Past

With the piano playing softly

And her voice singing gently

We rest in smoky ideas and chatter

Where lipstick and mascara spatter

We don’t need the night

Our words are whispered and quiet

She placed her hand in yours

And ended all those wicked wars

We took a leap of faith

But we didn’t land on our feet

And our wishes were left to rot

Among shards of dreams we sought

We don’t remember where we were going

We’re not lost, simply confused

I’ll let her voice guide the way

And wander off another day

Thin fingers intertwined with mine

Breath escapes softly nearby

And smoke rises gently up behind

Left by a fire I could not find

Our eyes are wide open now

See all the mistakes we’ve made

But we don’t regret a single one

And we won’t take back what we’ve done

Those years of nothing that ever mattered

Crafted us into people who lived

The love and hate and friends and us

Living upon a single day’s guess

Take us back to the soft piano songs

Back to her lullaby voice, heavy tune

Let us sleep for years we’ve left for good

Where we did what we did–

Because we could.

 

AN: This is a bit of a flashback poem from a few years back. I used absolutely no punctuation. Q_Q I don’t think the poem is terrible, so I figured I’d post it and maybe rehash it later on to see visible improvement. Or maybe I’ll be lazy and never get around to it. Who knows?

Strict Relations

She doesn’t really love him–
He knows that– of course he does.
She won’t even look at him most days,
Really look, ya know?
He just keeps on with it
Lets her think he doesn’t know–
While she makes eyes at his coworkers and
Cracks her gum–
Always wants to hold his hand
— reassurance, probably,
Making sure he’s not gonna run
Leave her with bills and rent
And a mild sense of
Emptiness.
A leash.
He just lets her, content in a lie
Nods his head at his boys’ advice–
Get a new girl–
You deserve better.
Nods his head.
Well, he just keeps callin’ her babe and
Cookin’ easy dinners–
Tries not to notice how late she comes home some nights–
Because she doesn’t really love him–
He knows that.