It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.
Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens
Decades yawn and stretch across the years,
traveling up the stairs, around the chairs
coiling around the door of one small room
that was groomed by the sun of a Saturday afternoon...
Floating on a sea of a hardwood floor
I'm prone, on my back, on a lavender rug
Examining the nail of my left hand thumb
hearing you express, that you aced your class
I had confessed, to missing you more each day
linked only to you, by that ivory phone
and a ring on my finger, that bound our love
and blinded our eyes to the doubt of youth...
Invitations in the mail, and a church on hold
There was a cake on order, and a cold hard world
You were glued to my ear, I was entrapped by a cord
that tugged on the wall, with every word
Light from the yard is scored by the blinds
but, there on the floor, prone on my back,
I'm bound by the cord that tethered our lives
Linked to your voice, where love was wound
Hovering over the sea of cold hardwood,
I had a pillow of shag of a lavender rug
The days stretching short and our vows yet untold
A cord getting stronger, that time would unfold
....and she laid it so bare,
Her soul to my hungry ear.
All her fear, hopeless and frail
Washed over me like a tide
I could not swim the likes of this
The eddies pulled me under
All along I wondered how she survived
The constant surge of her life
In the end, I'm glad I was there
It took it's toll on me to endure her pain
She only needed my ears and my silence
She only wanted to be loved.
For a night, we shared some peace from the world at large.
Only to find that NOTHING had changed.... But us....
created not by God but man
harsh ridicule he endured
abhorring the mere site of him
people pursued a “monster” in perception only
carrying torches and weapons
angst festered within a tormented heart
sentenced to a life of agonizing loneliness
without committing a crime
abandoned by a thoughtless creator
his arduous trek to find him began
dwelling in caves, crying
hiding his hideous appearance
from a bitter world that rejected him
just one simple hope had he
find a companion to share affection
with prayers unanswered
suicide his only choice to escape solitude
broken-hearted, he faced demise in a conflagration
upon the northland’s glacial ice
cold as society’s treatment, hot as the fury in his heart
Listen to the silence
the silent ... nothing
Silent screams of pain
loneliness that is currently
and loneliness luggage tomorrow
Slowly creeps into darkness
shadows as an eternal companion
The total feeling of emptiness, disappointment and sorrow
A longing for tenderness, touch and love
The butterflies are gone ... they've flown their way
Left me here alone - abandoned the covenant of love
Tears fall like silent thunder
Loneliness and fear behind the mask
The mask falls when the tears come
The silence of tears and sorrow
Swollen, teary and red eyes
Trying to catch a ray of angelic light
A-L Andresen :)
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
Oh! Sky the lonely heart
Dwelling upon my untiring soul
Lost with an unspoken word.
Fountain of misery teaches him
That defiant endurance…
Oh! Sky the lonely soul
The creatures fly and obey
But the hollowness prevails.
The Sun burns him with anguish
Yet he weeps with pride.
Oh! Sky my undeniable hero
You made me the undefeated queen,
But I remained lost in my thoughts of isolation!
Now I wish to merge in you
Come my hero …my sky!
A truth in rage of insult furrows my mind
For it is only an offense given to me by myself
In the mouths of others far innocent than I
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks
For I have surfaced into an ugly mistake
I am always inadequate in this brain
I try to shine like the advice of grace given
But confidence rarely rears its head my way
There’s a sort of shade blocking its way
A shade that darkens everyday
That very shade led me to believe my feelings are wrong
That I will never belong so long as they are not controlled
I must be careful—for the lines of love and lust run cold
I hate myself truly this night
And no one but myself will give me the right
The very right to degrade my every being
Because you are not seeing what I am seeing
There is no point
My lines run cold
Can I be so bold as to say
I still love with a pang of indistinguishable doubt
All feelings enter in
As my truth blurs and checks out
Your words pierce me so deep
I cannot describe the pain I feel
God it hurts so bad
It can’t be real
Much like the love I have come to embrace
The very love that links to your face
Tears don’t give it justice
It can’t be real
Much like the love I will never face
In their dreams…
Whisper indoctrinated dialect
Upon my harrowing song
Remove that scented, plastic tulip
Place it upon my oblivious palm
As if we’re in a Sadie Hawkins dance
With petal currencies
I woke up only feeling like a thousand bucks.
A foreign knock-off made of recycled, rubber bolts
Tell me I’m priceless with borrowed, high-interest breaths
Liquidate my potent complacency
To become that symbol of an elitist humanity
Stroke that clouded, diamond tip
With your sensual thumb
Love stamps of approval
After 6 months of quickie penetration
And co-signatures on dilapidated apartment leases
Take me to our creator!
Tell Him I am free!!!
I will stand here in virtual observance!
Wait, where are you going?
Come back to me!
COME BACK TO ME!
My wheelchair’s batteries are fading!
How will I stand?!
Sadly, they never validated their reality…
©Drake J. Eszes
It’s dusky and smoky in the room.
People are talking too loudly,
laughing at a joke of which
the punch line was lost in the din.
I shift my weight on the stool –
the dimensions not quite fitting my shape.
My skirt rides up my thighs.
I leave it there and pick up a stare
from across the room.
Not quite sure if it was meant for me,
I notice a slumped punter
lift his glass in a salute.
I nod and turn reluctantly back
to my half empty glass on the counter.
A cautious tap on my shoulder
quickens my pulse.
It is late and my head is fuzzy
from the G & T’s, but this attention
is most definitely meant for me.
He mumbles sweet nothings.
Well, that is what it sounds like
through his whiskey breath slurring.
He picks up my flimsy wrap
and drapes it over my shoulders.
The touch from another human being
feels good on my naked skin.
I let him kiss me on the lips
and do not protest
when he calls for another round.
I cannot remember when last
someone has sweet talked me.
It is getting very late
and the prospect of being alone
fills me with dread.
In the dark corners of the bar
people are trying to expel
the mutual fear of being lonely.
Persona Literary Term refers to the narrator or speaker of the poem, not to be confused with the author - a narrative voice other than the poet tells the entire poem. The expression derives from the Greek word "persona" meaning mask. When the poet creates a character to be the speaker, that character is called the persona and the poet imagines what it is like to enter someone else's personality. This is an example of a poem where I have used persona.
It usually reflects the thoughts of the speaker and they are not necessarily the personal experiences of the poet, ie the poet places himself in the shoes of the other person and comments on a scene observed. It is a difficult format to write in as as the poet needs to keep in character throughout the poem and it tends to deviate from the usual voice of the poet.