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#family poetry
coffeexxcigarettes · 2 months
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Tomorrow
-
You called today.
I stared at the phone,
Fear in my stomach.
That familiar worm of hope,
Wiggling its way through my heart,
Lodging itself in my thoughts.
I answered with hesitation-
And it was you.
Tears pricked my eyes,
As we spoke and laughed for hours.
Every silence sent a pang of fear through me.
Please don't say you have to go,
Who knows if this is the last time we'll speak,
I've missed you.
I've missed you.
You raised me.
You sounded healthy and happy,
I sounded hopeful and hurt,
And we both knew time was fighting to get between us.
Yet we talked, and talked, and talked.
I love you.
I'll call you tomorrow.
The silence that lingered after placed a rock
In my throat,
No amount of struggling could swallow.
Tears flowed over my flushed cheeks,
My heart raced in my chest.
I've said goodbye to you in hundreds of ways,
Spoken about you to hundreds of people,
Hurt for you for hundreds of hours.
I'll take this silence,
I'll hold on to it forever.
I'll never change
That horrible ringtone.
And I'll ignore the pain I know is set for me,
Because I made you laugh.
I made you laugh.
I made you laugh.
x
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b-writing-777 · 6 days
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Hello, childhood.
Childhood was never over.
It never even began.
Perhaps we were born this way,
Cursed to grow into our inevitable selves,
The horrors of our very own lives.
The very things we swore to never be.
This circle will always end at the beginning.
So I bid you farewell,
& I step into the ruins of my youth,
Looking for answers,
Looking for life.
Goodbye, childhood.
& hello.
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my mother carries pain under her sleeve like a bracelet and all I desire is to walk up to her, to gently take her hand and steal the sorrow from under her eyes without her noticing. I am quiet in my agony and I think I got it from her.
I am as well reaching out to busy people and leaning against moving things, jumping blindfolded into any river. and sometimes I believe we have more in common than I would like to admit. We both go to great lengths to find the perfect reason to break our own hearts. stars and scars are not the only things we share, both of us would always chase freedom, even if it meant nothing but loneliness and silence of the rest of our lives. we would do everything to go unnoticed, our footsteps would be so quiet, they would never hear us leave.
-e.f
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aishasarchive · 9 months
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ive spent some time in my life convincing,
convincing my mother that she will be okay,
even when her cries of depression are holding her down.
a simple break of a lampshade
could send her over the edge,
unable to leave the sofa for days.
my body is covered in bruises
the weight of her unhappiness
lies heavy on me.
life is expensive,
i try to tell her
but her tears hold her hostage.
so i buy a new lampshade
a brighter one this time.
in hopes it can light something inside of her.
WORD PROMPT: expensive, lampshade, bruise, convincing.
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saint-daimon · 1 year
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starryvomit · 29 days
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“invalidated”
-S
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brehem96 · 2 months
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I would have given anything for you to love me
Love me, like you love them.
You left me waiting by windows.
Waiting for you to show
You never did…
They never had to question if your love was real
But I question it everyday
You never show it, no not to me
You can’t even hold a promise
So how am I to trust you…
What do you do
When the one who was meant to protect you
Ends up being the one to hurt you
Do you just pretend to be fine?
Even if deep down it’s breaking you…
You’d be happier if I didn’t exist
I know it deep in my heart
You probably wish I was never born
I’m just a ghost of your past who haunts you
Sorry I couldn’t be enough for you…
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letsknightinarmour · 1 year
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llanekee · 2 months
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Are you a poet or a stoic Some days it’s difficult to distinguish On your lethal furrowed brow
Is anxiety a passed down heirloom Is depression an enigmatic herald
If you’re the sun, am I the light If you’re the moon, am I stars
If you’re a scientist Am I a failed experiment
Do I take after you Some days it’s impossible to know Through the words in which I drown
To be a poet, to be a stoic To have a futile sense of knowledge
For things love cannot buy For things we can’t afford
Are you a poet or a stoic
Are you the lady in my nightmares Imposing all her plastic expectations Are you the man in the window Who knows what I want Who understands what I lack Who tries to teach the things I can’t understand
We both ask for the reason So who’s gonna give us the purpose
-by Lane Key :]
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rory-is-hiding · 1 year
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i wish i could tell him that it wasnt his fault - meaney et al 1988
some men in a laboratory split a group of rats in half. some were loved, raised with affection. raised with mothers and fathers and packed lunches and socks without holes in them and all of the things necessary to a rats childhood development. the other half were neglected. it was for science, and it wasnt fair.
so today, i am thinking about rat number 12.
i want to know if he ever peaked around the corner, and saw rat 11 in the arms of someone who cared about him.
and i wonder if he was angry. and i wonder what it felt like for him to see love for the first time, and if it hurt him in places he didnt even know could hurt, and if he wished he never looked.
and i want to know if he kept trying to find that for himself, something he had no words to describe. and i wonder if it just hurt him more, because it was never the same and it never would be. there was no way for him to fix it.
and i wonder if he begged for forgiveness for all of the ways that this pain made him ugly. and i wonder if he abandoned god. and i wonder if he never felt pure, or clean, or good, or gentle, ever again.
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coffeexxcigarettes · 19 days
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Tenderness
-
When I was young,
There was a night the fear
Seeped into my bones.
Sobbing on the bathroom floor for help,
My mother guided me to the living room.
The room was dark,
The hour was late,
And she took my head into her lap.
She stroked my hair gingerly,
With a repetitive motion.
Nausea licked at my throat,
Fear ripped through my insides,
And just when I thought there was no way out,
She whispered.
"Which ornament is your favorite?"
The Christmas tree lit up the corner of the room,
Different hues flicking out against the darkness.
Anger burned in my chest now.
She doesn't realize I'm drowning.
She doesn't care to help-
"I like the glittery ones. The spirals." She answered first,
Still stroking my hair.
She reached out with her opposite hand,
And let her fingers brush beneath an orange, glittery spiral ornament.
The lights danced off from her touch,
And my breath left me,
Taking the desperation with it.
"I like those ones too." I had sniffled,
Turning my head to look up at her.
In the shadows and string lights,
Her eyes looked so thoughtful and sad,
Focused on that little tree
In the silence of our dark living room.
As she stroked my hair
And admired that little ornament,
She asked me more questions about
Flowers, and lights, and the weather.
As the clock ticked in the background,
I fell asleep in her lap.
It's a hard thing to explain, I think.
How smart my mother really is.
Now when somebody approaches me,
Dying for air,
Needing a hand to pull them above the water-
I think back to the glitter;
The lights.
And I ask them about the weather.
Their favorite flower,
Or color.
Like my mother had done for me,
The night the fear
Seeped into my bones.
x
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sharloola · 7 months
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evergreen between them, my parents know five languages but i don’t think they ever learned how to speak. words are pulled from throats like weeds, unwanted and stubborn. they sprout quickly, green and unassuming, but anchor their roots to your insides, believing themselves cardiovascular. veins grow alongside every bad word ever screamed or whispered. bones reinvent their architecture to hold onto promises broken when you still knew hope, like trees around barbed fences. and children born to the wordless only learn that they are not heard. so i find myself playing translator, my own tongue forgotten. trying to reshuffle words carelessly thrown so things don’t have to get so loud. i untangle my brothers voice to bite-sized pellets because our father no longer has ears, only a black hole where his childhood should have been that births kamikaze remarks. i douse my mothers lexicon in ice water so it doesn’t scar me as bad as it used to, weave her questions into quilts with charred hands to place them over my fathers eyes so he might see what it is she’s really asking. i watch them all shout with their lips sealed shut, like eyeless soldiers in no-mans land. see how a sentence can leave one shell-shocked while the other is laughing. pictured above the fireplace is a family with no mouths. limbs covered in poison ivy, a silent people, evergreen.
s.o.
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aishasarchive · 10 months
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we have fought. you have pulled my hair.
“can you please play a game with me”.
i can still remember holding you in my arms.
your favourite cartoon playing in the background,
but only quietly so your little body can sleep a little longer.
i will make you a cup of tea, side by side by mine
till the day i die.
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cryptic-science · 2 years
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oh brother of mine,
how i wish you could see yourself
the way i see you in my mind.
youre the thorn in my side,
youre the sun that shines.
oh brother dear,
little brother,
i will always share
an orange with you.
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starryvomit · 1 month
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“family portrait”
-S
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rosecoveredthorns · 9 months
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the dining table
the father sits at the head of the table
for he is the leader, a natural born 'achillies' with potency like no other, and a thunderous roar, feared by the rest.
to his right, the only son - the prophet, a sole heir to ruling the kingdom - full of vigour and utter sovereignty, he possesses the whole universe at his fingertips without the need to request it.
to his left, his wife, for she is only an augmentation of the father, simply his extension - a cord running from the inside of his left ring finger to the depths of her heart, and soul.
at the bottom of his table, seat his two daughters.
his youngest, blossoming in her youth - she illustrates hope, purity, and ingenuity - for he is to protect her, his youngest cub.
his oldest girl, she is a warrior, fighting the ineffable battle for liberation, for she desires more than this - yet she is held down by him. he is always apart of her, blood and bone.
and regardless of whether the cord is broken, or they bleed themselves dry trying to rid themselves of his lingering presence -
nothing can release his daughters
from the fate of his wife.
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