some personal poems about little 'ol life
and photos to entertain the eyes
poetry + fotas
I was looking for something to define me, Because I didn't know who I was. Something to give me happiness, Something just because. I was looking for that sense of belonging, A place for me to shine. Something I had always looked for, Something I was ready to find. I was wishing for something to complete me, To serve as that missing piece. I was hoping that it would raise me, To overcome whatever feat. I was looking for what they call community, My home away from home. So I never had to feel again, That feeling of being alone. I was looking for something to be proud of, That could move me to happy tears, Something I could belong to, No matter how many the years. But the only tears incited, By this thing I yearned to have, Have never been tears of happiness, But tears of wishing I never had. Never found this thing so "joyous" Never found this thing so "great" Tears are what I wanted, But not tears of sad and hate. What I found was only a black hole, Which steals way to all I am. And while I wish I could climb my way back out, I am afraid -- I never can. I am overcome with the sadness of oppression.
Of a people...who are people all the same. Stuck in a world who hates color, Unless it's cleverly cloaked in fame. I am sick with the plague of prejudgement, Where some people are only deemed good for their hands. Because God forbid if those people, Were created as equal as Earth's other man. I am starved by the hunger to see no justice. When so many lives are lost, and at any age. Where no evidence could protect the people, And no unfairness could justify their rage. I am alarmed by the truth of this relapse. A cancerous history that's never cured. Though the people shortly see a remission, The cancer always returns in new form. I have been struck down on my knees by my cohabitants, I can never make them proud. Though I speak up when they mistreat my people, I am asked to quiet down. So I am wounded by this war against people. As long as these stereotypes whip my back. Because to them, I am not people... I am nothing more than black. I shall never cry a false tear again.
I'll only have to think of you. One look at your picture, Or though of your laugh, And all happiness is temporarily subdued. I know you're better off; I know it. And it's selfish for me to think any other way, But I still cannot help to ask God each night, Why he could not allow you to stay. Why make you struggle so much, after you worked so hard? Why make you leave your love? Why couldn't we have a few more years, Before he stole you to the Heavens above? And I know this world is temporary. I know you were probably ready many years before. But some of us little human left on Earth, Were not ready to close that door. I miss you. I love you. I still need you. You really were my best friend. And I was too blinded by your humble smile, To ever foresee your end. You were my favorite person on God's green Earth, But now it's yellow, brown and dead. A life less of you, leaves a hole in my heart, And sometimes makes this life hard to live. And no, no. It is not your fault. Though I know you would gladly take the blame. I should have known the gravity of what was to come, So I could have been prepared when your ascent came. But who really could be ready for such a thing? Perhaps that was only you... Because if it could happen again, It would be just as bad Even if I had already knew. I still see you in those old brown pews,
Quiet yet singing along. You never had to shout or stand, To say it was your favorite song. The left sanctuary was our family's place, It had an unspoken reserve. The rest of us were always late, But you and gram, always first. Before you ever needed a cane, Or your hips started to ache. You joined the men in aiding the church, And holding the collection plates. You always walked to altar call, And mentioned all of our names. Blessing our travels, homes and health, Each Sunday your prayer was the same. And when it came time to read His word, You placed you're glasses on your face, We stood and held the book as one, And always read at the perfect pace. But years went by, and you grew sick, Some days were better than worse. But then your name came under sick and shut-in, You couldn't even come to church. The oxygen tank bound you to home, Sometimes only to your chair, And the phone calls started to come each month, Saying the family need come here. I don't think I grasped the gravity, Of what could possibly come. While everyone worried about your heart, I imagined us holding the Book as one. To me, you were still in church, Handing me a dollar to donate back, Your hair was still full and knees not too weak, Strength, you did not lack. Church was a memory I had of you, Yet clouding what was to come. And then I found myself in church, But we weren't holding His book as one. Clad in black, I spoke to you, Still nothing seemed real. Until they closed your bed for good, And the tears began to spill. I don't know if I would ever go back And understand what was happening first. Even to this day, I see you smiling in faith, Sitting on that pew in church. I prayed for love, I asked for it.
So then why am I so afraid? God graced me with an answered prayer, And now I’m hiding away. I wanted someone to hold, I needed it. But now I’m an emotionless, distant brick. For ever step he takes toward me, I step back, scared and transfixed. On the person who cares for me, I’m blinded. By my knotted heart inside. Concentrated on my troubled past, How I can avoid it, how I can hide. Though I prayed, “Lord, let this be it… “Or please just take it away” The answer seems to be, “This is… “This man right here will stay.” For a moment, I forbade my weakness. For a moment I let him in. And every scar I worried for which he would care, He didn’t falter, my fear couldn’t win. Yet, still, I fled, I ran. Without another word. Running from getting too close, Running so I could not get hurt. And now I lay here and reminisce. Replaying each honest word exchanged. Wishing I could rise above, My wall which prohibits change. I prayed for love, I asked for it. And God even said, “Well then let it be.” So then why is the only thing left holding me back, Inevitably, and disappointingly, me? I don’t want to be that girl.
But that’s who you make me to be. Waiting all night next to a phone. It never rings, yet she never leaves. I don’t want to be that girl. But I’m turning into her still. Worrying about the smallest things Hoping someone with care, but they never will. I don’t want to be that girl. Whose heart is pulled too many ways. To her instinct, her gut, her past, and present, And her fear of all things change. I don’t want to be that girl. Yet you force me to follow suit. But with the care and comfort you bestow on me, Never ill, never brute. But I don’t want to be that girl. She’s vulnerable, dependent and weak. Always in need of someone else, And falling to his feet. Once she was strong and willed, Once she loved only herself. But when you came into her life, She learned to love someone else. So now I am that girl. And I don’t know how to leave. Perhaps deep down, this in love girl, Was who I always wanted to be. What is this thing we ponder for,
And search the widest seas? The thing that brings women to tears, And men weak in their knees. What is this thing we pray for, And die when it’s not around? The thing that make our hearts flutter, Though our feet remain on the ground. What is this thing we’d kill for? And makes another more important than yourself? That thing where we need one being; There’s no satisfaction with anyone else. It’s three words make us speechless. Scared and happy all the same. And when we lose our minds from lack there of, This thing, is only to blame. How can something that builds a person up, Proceed to tear her down? Like a summer storm that leads with blue, And ends in clouds that rip the ground. What evil is this that lies inside, The organ which runs our souls? A feeling so constant in the young, The poor, the rich, and old. Love is what we call it. A devil due, an angel reborn. It keeps our hearts intact, Yet keeps them always torn. Like a high, it’s never satisfying Each time disappoints the rest. Until we find ourselves settling, For merely second best. What is love? Oh! Is it true? Or does it tell a myth? Whatsoever it may really be, We’ve all come to live with it. Still I cry myself to sleep.
Still my heart hangs heavy. Still my tears re-wet each day When something new reminds me. Still I hold each memory close. I can never, ever forget. Still it isn’t real to me. I still can’t believe you’ve left. Still I try to stand strong, To honor who you were. A man who gritted teeth and blistered hands, Of hard work you were sure. Still I hold your hand, And hug you in my sleep. I still hear your beautiful laugh, Yet it always makes me weep. Still I hear the change of voice, Anytime we say your name. Still I wish I could have you here, So things would be the same. Still you watch over us, I know you cannot refuse. To still watch over the ones you love, Though you’ve now been made anew. And, grandpa, still I miss you dearly. Though you still sit beside my heart. Still I thank you for making us stronger, Which you’ve done from the very start. But I still keep on crying, Nothing seems to dry these eyes. It seems the worst part in my life thus far, Was having to say goodbye. You’ve been on my mind.
Yet I don’t know who you are. In my dreams, you’re just a mirage, As if I’m watching from afar. Yet though I can barely see you, And I don’t even know your name, It feels as If we’re perfect It feels we are one in the same. But, you’ve only been on my mind. You’ve never come to my sight, Though my wish is to see you during the day I can only find you in my dreams at night. So I pray that my dreams turn way, And become what is reality. Because the thing that’s been on my mind, Has simply been, You with Me. I wish it were fine to cry in public places.
I wish no one paid it any mind. When they see a person spilling their tears, I wish it were seen as just fine. Because I often want to cry in public places. Since here there is no place to be alone. Perhaps if we all cried in public places, No one would feel they had to deal all on their own. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
February 2015
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