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Hi ya'll! Enjoy more great poetry!
Jump to the poem of your choice.
Mother's Day? or Memorial Day?
""
There is no Genie in that bottle,
so put it down, unless of course
your desire is found deep down in
in the ground.
But suppose there was a Genie,
what would you wish for? Happiness?
Luxuries? Or would you settle for
pouring
a teeny bit more?
Does the Genie see your torment,
anger
and bitterness inside, or does he
tell you
to keep gulping away at your
selfish pride?
In that bottle are you reminded
of your four
little girls? (You know the ones
you gave birth
to and later decided to throw
away).
You have replaced your children
with a broken
glass bottle. The glass has left
scars that will
never fade.
All of the effort you put into
recycling those
bottles, NEVER a thought about
the pain you
have caused us. It will never be
salvageable.
So you see, looking for this
Genie over the years
has clearly been a "waisted
agenda". But in that
bottle, I PROMISE, you will only
find our miserable
MOTHER named Linda.
by: Missy
You have a chronic disease that I
clearly do not envy. To list your
symptoms, would be entirely too many.
There are "4" main symptoms that come
to your drunken mind. I mean lets face
it Mother, you are NOT very kind.
In your mind they cause you hatred
and torment. But the reality is, is that
they had to become dormant.
The symptoms you have made are
completely self inflicted. These four
being- Denise, Dawn, Missy & Aileen.
Very beautiful children who are (despite
everything), without a doubt, very gifted.
If you could only put the "bottle" down
long enough to just read the label.
You would then realize "THEY" were
just the ingredients in that prescription
that NEVER leaves the table.
By: Missy
Accept Pain.
Not The Blame!
I will handle this Pain, but I
absolutely will "NO LONGER"
tolerate this blame!
I poured my heart out to you,
to be later called a "liar".
So "WHO" now has the drinking
problem? Do you feel much wiser?
Let the truth be known, YOU'VE created
your own monsterous misory.
I will not tolerate another distasteful word
accusing our family.
We were young, innocent and greatly
unprotected. NEVER once did we BLAME
YOU for the "disgust" that went on
undetected.
I am older now and thankfully married
with "2" beautiful children. I will not take
this blame to become "THEIR" insane
burden.
If you must keep pointing that finger with
your "bottle" gripped tightly in your hand,
just remember, I "NO LONGER" have to
listen to your ridiculous, "slobbery" demands.
To say "YOU" are my Mother is definitely
a title to be earned. As God is my witness,
I wish I could say it was something you
truly "cared" enough to have learned.
By: Missy
It suddenly comes over me
Like a power noone else can see
I give up all of my control
I had once sold it my soul
It has become one with me
It always tells me who to be
To the force I must succumb
I wont be the only one
Thats all the comfort that I have
Or all the comfort that I had
I'm too far beyond comforts range
But with the distance nothings changed
Panic comes and goes with ease
I fear I'll never gain release
The strong bonds still hold me back
The strength to break them I still lack
Just hold me till the pain subsides
And I can once more make up my mind
The power over me still grows
when will it end? Nobody knows
Admitting the problem may be the first step
But it's a secret thats long been kept
For now I'll sit here and give in
Surrender is no mortal sin. Jade
Always the wetness
of her tears
on my face
Always the whispers
of her words
in my ears
Always the reaching
of her arms
trying to get a hug
Always the leaning
of her head
trying to touch my heart
Always the sitting there
waiting to be asked
to go for a walk with me
Who is this person
wanting these things
from, and of, me?
Everyone tells me:
"She is YOU". Ginger
This poem is written in regards to the anguish of removing
the years of layers
of demands of others and society of a chronological aged thing to find
the flesh and blood person birthed & named Ginger:
Beyond that point, as she has said
before, it is like attending a funeral
You step inside the building and
you can not find the right door
You keep trying to find one that is
unlocked, but all will not open
There's no one to ask which one,
or to help you open the right one
Finally, you find someone to assist
you, they open it and you enter
But then you find layers and layers of
heavy drapes you have to go through
You make it past the first one or two
but as you go to go through the next
You begin to get frightened of what
is beyond, then begin to hear crying
And as you turn to leave, frightened
to go further, you feel tears on your face
You will try again tomorrow. Ginger
I need reprieve
from
trying to be your guide
without provocation.
I need reprieve
from
trying not to hide
without frustration.
I need reprieve
from
my heart's tear.
I need reprieve
from
my heart's despair.
I need reprieve
from
the anger I feel.
I need repreive
from
the "not being real".
I need reprieve
from
my discontented soul.
I need reprieve
from
my heart not being whole.
I am healing
from
the pain I have endured,
I am healing
from
the hurt this has lured.
I am healing
from
the anger that has been set aside,
I am healing
from
my mother's pride.
I am healing for my soul....
I am healing for the little girl inside....Kim
D.
This is the moment
In which I feel I must choose.
A direction......
No matter what is misconstrued.
A direction unknown,
A direction full blown.
A directin with a guiding light,
And a direction with no old bones.
Wrenched in
The comforts of pain,
Which I cannot let go.
Paralyzed by
The comforts of the unfettered
Seeing this, I must say, has made me shutter.
(This hurt must give way
To the trust of my soul.)
Pushing back the curtain
Of despair,
Needing an elucidation,
Like needing air.
Breath deep, this unsullied
Firmament;
Fill your heart and lungs
With this untainted environment.
(This hurt must give way
To the trust of my soul.)
Looking back with my heart extended,
Leaving the discomforts behind;
Looking forward with my heart open wide
Embracing myself to heal the little girl inside.
(This hurt is giving way
to the trust of my soul)
The decision is in the making,
Hard but true;
Some day,
I will tell myself,
"I love you......." Kim
D.
Mother's
Day?
or
Memorial Day?
A mother you are not,
but rathera memory that will dwindle and rot.
A cruel bitter soul that will have no peace,
your anger will remain until you are deceased.
The reality is our mother is dead.
Not even one single tear is shed.
Our mother doesn't exist, but who am I kidding,
she never really did.
It's 9:00 and the store is about to close.
My decision is finally made
NO card was chose.
I guess I gave it my best and now I
tell myself to go home and grab a peaceful nights rest.
I pray to God that my two beautiful children
will never have to look at me,
THEIR MOTHER
as such a burden. Missy
I am lucky...
I can feel pain,
I can feel love, joy and sadness.
I am lucky...
I have a husband,
Someone who respects me,
Someone who loves me,
Someone who holds me while I weep
and while I rage.
I am lucky...
I have two beautiful children,
Children who respect me,
Children who love me,
Children I can hold and comfort while they weep...
but they do not rage...for that, I am lucky.
I am lucky...
I can smile,
I can laugh,
And I can touch my children with tenderness.
I am lucky...
I am a survivor,
I am strong,
I am alive and no one can know my pain.
Written by: Jennifer C.
The sorrow that I feel, the pain that I hide.
No one knows, but me.
When I think of life, sometimes I’d rather die.
I wish I was someone else,
Living someone else’s life with their family.
Sometimes I think I have real parents, out there.
With real brothers and sisters.
Maybe they have been waiting for me all these years.
My heart is torn to pieces.
I have no soul.
It was stolen from me years ago along with my innocence.
I’m so confused.
My heart has been pounded against ocean rocks and washed away
Pieces of me blowing in the wind.
I’m trying so hard to catch these pieces
And put them back together.
But I can’t reach high enough
And I can’t catch them fast enough.
I see them blowing away, further away from me.
I stand in the garden of my childhood home staring up,
Watching them drift away.
Pieces of me.
But who am I?
This is the question I born to find.
Without a soul, I wander aimlessly.
Looking for fragments of a broken past.
Confusion, anger and pain hit me
And wash over me, like a violent storm
Within this storm, I see reflections of a young girl.
She has no mouth, no heart
And no soul.
Like me she wanders,
Searching, desperately,
Her eyes hold many memories,
Unspoken truths,
But also many lies.
I realize she is me
And she is others like me. Author
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Living in fear wondering how you found me here.
So small yet i still can not hide, So distant, yet still not so far
away
why am i unable to escape. Why do the continuous visions of those times
have
to be repeated indefinitely in my diseased mind.
Protect me mommy please i cried, but mommy is busy with her drinks
and men
and i am baggage carried along.
My fears i hide, my tears are not cried My hate is internalized.
Helpless and alone to my god i pray that these acts forced upon my childhood
body will end one day.
To death i turn as the time lingers on, begging for some way to escape.
Mommy why didn't you help me, i wonder through my mind for the only
solace i
am able to find. I hide these childhood secrets i can no longer bare.
Greener pastures i find and the events of reality distant in my mind.
The knife so tempting as triggers bring back the past. Death the only
way i
can escape the tumultuous place.
A failure at death so it seems. All the good it did to try for neither
God
nor the devil answered my demented cry. For what purpose am i left to
bare
this despicable pain of these entrenched mind games.
Hope nor love can heal the memories produced by my childhood sexual
abuse.
The baggage of me left for the predator to go through taking what he
chose
and not caring that maybe i could have been a beautiful thing.
April
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