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 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…

By on

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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