Changed, evolved.
Everything
Used to be a verdant green
Of fresh, newborn spring.
Evolved into a chilly thing,
Brown, dried husks,
A few barely clinging
To a tree in late autumn,
Early winter.
Seems something, someone
Sucked the hope out,
Fed on it as if it were life’s blood,
And everything is drained, a leftover hull
Of what once was. But everything goes on.
As if all is the same and nothing
Is gone.
Filled with years of sentimentality,
The vase slips from my hand,
Falling in slow motion to the floor.
The crystal shatters,
Breaking into a million shards,
An ocean wave sweeping across
The living room floor—
And all I think—
What a perfect metaphor
For so many things.
It is brokenness perfected,
And the scattered shards are but
Jagged pieces of a life,
A person,
A heart,
A soul,
A world.
All not so easily swept up
And thrown in the trash bin.
Yet a crystal vase
Is easily replaced.
In youth,
I’d take my steak
Well done only,
Extra dead, I’d say.
Now, older,
having been taught,
Palette educated years ago,
I’ll take my steak
Rare only,
Extra moo, I say
Raw if I could,
I say with a smile,
The tang of iron upon the tongue.
Swallow down fibrous chunks
of bloody muscle
barely chewed.
Wash down all reproach
With the tinny taste
Of blood.
The things we never said numbered,
Counted out and measured
Against the years.
No voice given
To the bouquet
Of words
In truth I’d have said,
For you chided
Me like a child
When I tried.
A throat choked
By petals, stems, and leaves.
No air to the blood
That feeds the heart.
Need and want and desire
Existing
No longer,
Till I am not
Myself
Or who I wanted to be.
But the version of me
You wanted,
Standing mute
With tongue ripped out,
Defined
And custom made
By your design
To fill your needs
And by doing so
Drain mine,
Turning me
Into a dried shell,
A casing,
Twisted and turned,
Positioned just so,
Used for the display
Of you.
Time broke,
And you were there,
Black and white upon a screen,
Seeming to tumble
In time to the thump, thump
From a machine.
Time split in half,
And you were there,
Barely a teen,
Trying on a mountain of jeweled dresses
Frowning and sighing.
Finally smiling
After reluctantly putting on a dress
I asked, “Just try it, please?”
Time shattered,
And there you were,
Clattering down the hall,
Your tiny toddler feet
In my size nine heels.
Time wrecked,
And there you were,
An adolescent sleeping,
Lips parted,
A fist clutching a beloved stuffed bunny,
So grown, yet so tiny still.
Time crumbled,
And you were there
In your toddler car seat,
Sobbing, fat toddler tears
For we had no food
To give the homeless man on the corner.
So, we drove through McDonald’s and bought a meal for him.
Your tears stopped. You smiled as I handed him the meal.
But the incongruity of your toddler voice admonished,
“Next Sunday, after church, we need to buy a healthy meal
And bring it to him. McDonald’s isn’t healthy to eat all the time.”
Time exploded,
And there you were,
Sitting in a swing, hands reaching for the sky;
Crying in my arms, heart breaking for the first time;
Laughing on Saturday morning, maple syrup running down your chin;
Praying the Lord’s prayer in church, brow furrowed in toddler earnestness.
Time coalesced,
Healing its broken,
Shattered,
Split,
Wrecked,
Crumbled,
Exploded
Self.
Time mended,
Leaving us broken
In its wake
To find ourselves—
Mother, aged
And daughter, grown
To know each other
Again.
At sunrise over water,
Remembering a dream
Of finding ecstasy
Within tears,
Things neither given
Nor felt in years,
Linked by all the fears
To form decades of a life
Lived like a stranger
In my own skin.
I have stood
Since the dawn
At this ocean’s edge
Waiting, waiting.
And now at noon
The rain begins.
Fierce pelting blows
Washing me clean
Of all I know
Or dare to dream.
For living continues
Within my own skin
Blurred edges of a winter morning
A dawn leached of color
Where silence and stillness walk
Holding hands
A moment captured waking
Lasts
As warmth fades
And coldness settles in
To stay.
As Young Adults We Can Survive - Find Happiness, Success and Support Other Survivors
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giving myself a good talkin to
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
write, or be written off @treacleheartx
Life past present, thoughts about the future
Inspired to inspire
tips , tricks , free plr articles
Thoughts on my life... by Donald B. Wilson
WRITING is just the beginning, READER finishes the PROCESS!
#joke #lol #haha #funny #hilarious
Poetry, Essays & Creative Nonfiction
Poetry, Asian American Culture, Feminism, Spirituality, Politics, Memoir
Poets Pub
This is a space for me to write, share my words and play with poetry. You are very welcome here.
This is a blog about my life. It's about much more than living with cancer. It's about reading books, cold water swimming, mothering, eating. All that stuff that people who don't have cancer do. If you're looking for my poems you need to go to fmmewritespoems.wordpress.com
I am more than breath & bones.
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my humanity in written form
Gen X’er chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment through poetry, creative writing, art, photography, and culture.
"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." William Wordsworth
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A literary journal for BIPOC parents.
