Poetry (it's debatable)

“Mother, what did you want from the store?”

By on March 12, 2017

When Mother sends me to the store,
I really cannot stand it,
For she rambles off her list,
And expects me to remember
Without even a note or repetition;

So when I arrive to the store,
I do not remember at all
What I am to buy–
I try to think hard;
I try to recall;
To retrieve at least one memory
Of what she asked me to buy,

But to my dismay,
Nothing comes to mind;
I walk through the aisles,
I think she said, “A pack of peanuts…”
No it can’t be, for we both have an allergy;

I HAVE GIVEN UP
I simply cannot remember,
As hard as I may try–
And so I reach into my pocket,
And dial my mother,

“Mother what did you want from the store?”

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Poetry (it's debatable)

You can’t tell me…

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I saw the fear.
I saw the breakdown.
I saw the overwhelming pain in those big, green eyes.
I saw them fill and overflow.
I saw.
Were you there to see, too?

I felt the emptiness throughout.
I felt my throat constrict.
I felt fire of betrayal.
I felt the piercing of my shattered heart.
I felt.
Were you there to console me, to give me a hug?

I thought how.
I thought why.
I thought of all the years and memories made.
I thought of it all over.
I thought.
Were you there to help me sort through it all, to think?

I said how I felt.
I said without thinking.
I said that I didn’t believe, that I wouldn’t.
I said, and yet I knew it was all true.
I said.
Were you there to respond, to say “it’ll all be ok”?

I locked myself away.
I showed no emotion.
I denied it, until I could no longer.
I did.
Were you there to help me, pull me from the dark abyss?

No you weren’t.

You weren’t there to see.
You weren’t there to heal.
You weren’t there to reflect.
You weren’t there to respond.
You weren’t there to solve.

You weren’t there.

So why do you think that you can tell me how to see, or how to feel? What to think, say or do?

You CAN’T tell me…

 

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Long thoughts

By on March 11, 2017

Death. It’s inevitable. In a sense, we were all born to die. We were born knowing that one day we would die. So why do we still cry and weep when death is so near? We can’t escape it, it has to happen at one point or another, and yet, it still hurts. And sometimes, the sadness that overtakes us is so unexpected because you feel like you’ve prepared yourself, you’ve come to terms with it. Trust me, you probably haven’t.

My great grandmother is 96 years old. She was in perfect health less than a week ago. When I’d come to visit we would always watch Wheel of Fortune(her favorite), joke about the length of my skirt, and nibble on peanut M&Ms together.

Earlier in the week she went into an emergency surgery for the removal of a blood clot in the brain. She was left paralyzed on the right side of her body and unable to utter a word. The other day, I went to go see her in the hospital. I didn’t expect to cry at all. I thought I would walk, smile, and sit by her side. I would exude confidence, so that she would know that everything was ok, she was going to be alright. Right, everything is going to be alright? When everything is perfectly fine one day, it’s hard to imagine that the next it’s not.

Everything’s not alright. There my “Granya ‘O”‘ lay, so fragile, barely moving. My eyes just teared up automatically. The sight of her was too much, and I couldn’t contain it. I just don’t get how her health could change so quickly. I came near her. I saw my dad kiss her, hold her hand…and I saw one of the most heartbreaking things. She wanted to reply. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. All that was heard were a few inaudible groans. She couldn’t say anything. I saw a tear stream down her cheek. She was trapped. She tried to raise her arm to wipe away the tear, but couldn’t. I wanted to scream from the pain I felt for her.

How must she feel… she wants to say something, but just can’t.She sees all of her loved ones gathered round, does she know things are bad?What if she doesn’t want to be in this state any longer? What if she wants it to be over? How can she tell us?

There are just so many questions I have about how she must feel, that I know will never be answered. And it hurts to know, that we might be doing everything wrong.

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