You claim love equality,
With words that
match nothing
Of reality.
You still fail to understand,
I want nothing given from
A hesitant hand.
Tis not material
Items I desire,
Nor any attachments
Grand of wealth.
Reach for me just once
And tell me honestly,
That you are interested
To learn who I am,
Truthfully.
Parenting isn’t about
wealth or greed,
Or the material
That you can give.
Knowing one well,
Ignoring the other is
Just seriously unkind.
So my sister pointed out some nanowrimo sprints on Twitter. And I was tickled and inspired by one of the prompts.. It was three words to work in the current section of your writing. GREATEST, BRAINWASH, HAMPSTER.
I found them delightful. So I wrote this poem…
The greatest thing
To clear the mind,
Leave all worry,
Work and woe behind.
Brainwash yourself
To enjoy all the simple things.
Sitting in a swing,
Enjoying the night air.
Forgetting for a while
That you even care.
Stop acting the hamster,
Running the wheel.
Expending all your energy,
Getting no where real.
Dear Mama,
I love you. All that I have ever wanted was to feel like you were proud of me. I tried to be who you wanted. I found that didn’t work. Then I tried being myself. I found that I was happier, but you still were not proud of me. Mama I am fourty one, and I have succeeded. I am published. I am usually a happy soul. Yet when I fall, and I do occasionally fall. It is your voice in my ear, telling me you expected it all along. When I get rejected for my poetry, (as rejections are normal for the writer to recieve) that everyone else would tell me I wrote so well? I hear you telling me that you didn’t want to hear it because of how depressing it was.
Mama, I have published five volumes of poetry, three children’s books, and a novella. You know that family have hardly even acted like it mattered? I am doing what I told you I wanted to do at nine. I am a writer. So I may never be a novelist, children’s books still need written. I have never asked for much. Just a hey, that is awesome. Or even… Uh sharing it on social media that you have a daughter who is printed. So I put space between us. I admit that I was tired of feeling like you just didn’t care. I deserve to be someone who is cared about. I’m sorry that I was never the daughter you wanted, but Mama, I have always just been me.
Love always,
Your daughter.
It seems as though I am running still
Trying to fight such a long gone foe,
That sometimes today is a haze.
I survived.
Shouldn’t it make me stronger?
So why do I feel so weak?
I survived.
So when can I rest?
When will it finally be over for me?
It seems as though
I am running still
From memories of so very long ago,
That it takes over me.
I survived.
What did I lose to be who I am?
Was it worth it?
I survived.
Can I ever escape those memories?
Should I try?
It seems as though
I am running still
Just to escape things from before,
And I wonder if I ever will.
I survived.
Shattered and broken,
Afraid and uneasy.
I survived.
So how do I survive yet another day?
In my life too many
Have claimed that they
Loved me,
Just before turning
And walking away.
Don’t ask me
To tell you,
Who he really is.
For in my sorrow,
In my shame and pain,
I realized that I really
Never even knew.
Do not ask me
What I did,
That drove her away.
For all that I am
The one who once
Sister she called,
In truth I doubt
That she really ever
Knew the truth of me.
The shattered shards
Of self esteem and trust,
Left beside me as those who
Claim that they love me
Leave me in the dust.
Head in my hands,
I have lain.
Frustration rules my brain.
Doubts rearing,
Words written
With no readers opinions
To reach and sway.
Crippling doubt
Searing the mind,
Taking the muse
Leaving only frustration behind.
The pen a sword,
With a double edge so keen.
Severing the need,
Laying the heart so bare.
Power stolen,Silence woven.
No voice left
To the soul broken.
Humanity removed,
Difference exposed.
Protesting the darkness
For sake of grasping the light,
Only to find the soul
Just too weary to fight.
A voice stolen completely away
Left by society silent today.
For though I speak clearly,
There is no one to hear me.
Sleep sweet child, For day is done.
Rest your body
Before another
Is begun.
Calm your mind,
And enjoy your dreams.
Let all your worry
Cease and leave.
All your troubles
Be gone and done.
Close those eyes,
My sweet little one.
When with the morrow,
That sun does rise.
Raise your head,
And open your eyes.
Explore a world
So fresh, so new,
Explore the world.
It’s there for you.
What is art,
Smart and sublime.
Each eye views differently,
Both beauty and the divine.
An artist places in their work,
Heart, soul and mind.
Only to hear an offhand remark,
Of how they should really try to find
Something to do with their life.
Some people are but so blind.
The poet pouring themself
Into the words on the page,
Knowing all along that not all
Will see the truth.
The painter who sees a darker view,
Is no less showing
Yet one more truth
That oft goes unseen.
My truth and thine,
Not always so mesh,
So when speaking of art,
No matter the kind,
Be aware always
The ego is but a fragile
Easily broken piece
Of the artistic soul.
So you say
Words can’t hurt you,
Such bravado to be shown.
Strength in mind, and heart,
Forgotten dreams,
Into the fury thrown.
For though the mind is strong,
The tongue is sharp.
Cutting the soul,
Slicing deep.
The pen is mighty,
No sword so sharp.
Each slice exquisite,
Laying vein
outside the skin.
Making me wish
The words mute
Again.
