Long Bathroom Poems
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What was missing in my life?
You!
I lived many years without you,
not knowing what I was missing.
One day a surprise came to us
at an unexpected late- in- life date,
it was a baby boy.
He smiled at us with blue eyes
and bald little head,
and we were complete.
I treasured the cuddly feel of you,
fitting into my arms so well,
your weight seemed just right,
to pack you around every day,
even as you grew and grew.
You added an element to my life
that had been missing.
I now learned to slow down,
stop at playgrounds, push your swing
and sit in the one next to yours,
leaning back, looking up into
the crowns of swaying trees.
Taking walks, delighting in gathering fallen
red maple leaves, watching bugs
and birds.
Frogs and crawdads appeared in our bathtub,
I emptied your pockets while doing the wash
of rocks, seashells, dried katidid shells,
sticks and marbles.
I learned that stepping on jacks
at night while going to the bathroom hurts.
On your first fishing trip you accidently hooked a duck
and cried because you thought you hurt it.
I already knew of your compassionate heart.
You and I laughed and cried watching " Free Willy,"
"The fox and the hound" and "Alladin."
You brought joy to my life.
I learned that it is exciting to watch you play soccer,
I cheered and hooted and watched from the bleechers,
while you ran your little heart out,
I watched for signs of your asthma acting up,
but luckily you seem to outrun it.
On the first Halloween you were a little
smiling pumpkin that I pushed in the stroller,
but soon you were running with your buddies,
dragging a pillow case filled with candy,
and I had to scurry to keep up with you.
On your first day of school I was nervous,
I had to leave you with strangers.
Several of us Moms were hanging around the hallway
peeping into the door's little window,
until they made us leave.
Then came field trips, help with homework,
I was "room mother" to be near you and help,
and visited you in the cafeteria at lunchtime
on "Parent's day."
Suddenly, you are taller that me!
The braces came off, and you have a summer job,
and you are very good with it, I am proud of you.
You now have a Highschool Diploma and
are getting your driver's licence,
but you will always be my little boy,
and I will love you forever.
Love, Mom
“Speak from the heart”
What a load of crap
Cut straight to the point
did this all even matter?
From the start, the middle to that bitter-sweet end
A strange affair
A compilation of half-assed dates
Boring moments between two boring individuals
A couple of airheads
A blind trust formed by dimwits
Strangely normal, strangely plain
Formless wandering in a hollow husk
Dead, dirty skin flakes off my shoulders
Brain-dead is labeled across my head in bold
Casually tossing what remains out on the curb
I don’t seem to care
Remaining the same day by day;
“There’s always tomorrow,”
“I can’t reach the phone, try again tomorrow,”
“It will have to wait for tomorrow,”
“Today is not tomorrow.”
Monotony brought flowers to my door
You preached about Today when Tomorrow was yesterday
All those tears won’t get you anywhere
what made you sad, anyways?
Turning away from closed doors and shaken dreams
what were you fighting for, anyways?
There’s someone willing to bid a “Goodbye”
what are you waiting for, anyways?
It’s all so maddening, tumbling, waking, apologizing
Shaking my fists in anger
falling down a steep cliff
rising with the morning sun
crying on my knees
Was I ever prepared for walking this world alone; life is throwing a curveball and I’m no batter
Hunched over the bathroom sink, my eyes see something extraterrestrial
like a bad trip on drugs I can’t seem to break that nasty spell
Viewing life through a fish-eyed lens
the photo prints Hell
Oh, such a horrid sight but I can’t find the will to look away
Find a way to kill me
I can’t stand this any longer
Death is my only resolve
It’s all so maddening, tumbling, waking, apologizing
Shaking my fists in anger
falling down a steep cliff
rising with the morning sun
crying on my knees
Was I ever prepared for walking this world alone; life is throwing a curveball and I’m no batter
Hunched over the bathroom sink, my eyes see something extraterrestrial
like a bad trip on drugs I can’t seem to break that nasty spell
Viewing life through a fish-eyed lens
the photo prints dying
Oh, such a pleasant sight and I can’t find the will to look away
Find a way to kill me
I can’t stand the wait any longer
Death is my only resolve
When the clock strikes twelve
When the night is at its peak
When the dark has spread through the room
Striking down— a bullseye!
MESSAGES ( PT One )
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
THE MESSAGE
The room is black,
except for the faint glare of the TV in the background,
something to make me feel safe in some small way.
Hints of noise to drown out the silence--
such deafening silence, though not from within,
there's always noise within.
It's the kind of noise that keeps one awake
until early dawn.
No-- it's not the sound of the bathroom faucet running,
that would be a more pleasant sound--
(but what to do about that running.)
I slip into unconsciousness,
an unintentional state of suspended animation ,
very welcomed-- despite my objections.
Now the play begins.
The unfolding of the conscious mind.
What hides behind is much more revealing,
the actors are stacked and the story is unfolding.
Help in the telling comes from a unique source,
buried deep in the mind?
Maybe?
I believe it to be much more spiritual in nature,
supernatural in it's feel.
Lucid are the colors, real are the people.
They come from places unknown yet familiar.
Some I know by name,
some I love-- they are missed beyond words.
They come with cryptic messages,
with stories of treachery, lies and deceit ,
mapped out in vivid imagery of objects--
with meanings that I am not sure of.
I would dismiss these things if...
it were not for the repeated fashion
of how they were told.
An object here, a relic there,
I don't understand the meaning of it all, at first.
Are these apparitions conceptualized by own mind?
NO! I know these dear ones,
they love me, still-- even though
they no longer roam with the living.
There are too many signs to digest.
I wait for morning.
Sometimes I awake with a jolt,
(always remembering what I dreamed
in the haze of the pitch black night.)
I piece the puzzle together-- bit by bit,
I must decipher through the cobwebs
of the mind with some clarity; a daunting but amusing task.
I will heed these warnings,
warnings that come to me in dreams-- and beyond.
I Plan to embrace solidarity--
leave behind the flapping of malicious lips;
cling to the gifts bestowed upon me
through the handing off of the torch,
which once shined so brightly
in my loved ones soul.
I will stay awake--
be aware of my surroundings,
yet step over the boundaries
I have set for myself.
Meditate in solace
while letting my essence flow through my pen
onto white journal pages
that waits for me...
on my desk.
By: Deborah Mills-Kelly
Bone-drained, there is no respite, no split second of peace. The “sundowner”, a hyper-active toddler in a man’s vehicle, never sleeps nor sits.
When I succumb to that one precious moment of rest; I am awakened to a furnace running full blast in a freezing cold house and on a nineteen degree night. A butter knife has removed a window; the culprit and dementia-mind panics; he’s terrified of being trapped in a fire. There’s no arguing with dementia-mind; it’s best to play along with the his ideas.
Another day of madness and I awake to a frantically screeching doorbell; it’s his nurse. I've revived in the floor. A migraine faint pulled me down; I’ve had no sleep for eight nights, you see. Sweet respite…she says she’ll, “sit with him”, so I can lie down a bit; a pleasant miracle; such happenstance is a rarity.
Dementia-mind has no solutions, only hallucinations, delusions; absence of mind and aggression for the “sundowners”. I watch at breakfast, as he pours his milk upon the floor; he has no clue of what he is doing or why;
he stares, mindless. When the eyes go blank it’s obvious; he’s not in there. A robot gone haywire, used to be my Father. The last thing to go, were his mathematical skills. Dementia-mind has forgotten so many people; how to swallow, but recalls numbers…
“Who is that man?” he demands, pointing at himself in the mirror. My exhausted mind briefly forgets and I mistakenly reply, “You dad.” The firestorm is initiated; he calls me a, “liar”. Self recognition has failed him now; the flame of his mind is burning low; soon to extinguish.
He’s fed and dressed, but I’ve no time to eat; if he should sleep an hour today; I must cook for the week. It’s the only opportunity I have…when and if he sleeps. I must not go to the bathroom; he’ll break something or fall. I must hold myself until my sister arrives.
The “passives” are painful to watch, as they deteriorate, but the “sundowners” are constant exhaustion. I was in the ER, almost as much as, he. You see, there’s no one to care for the caregiver, but themselves and when they can’t, exhaustion and malnutrition escalate. Dementia-mind is round-the-clock work and two doing the work of six people, takes its’ toll. The disease never discriminates; it destroys everyone.
(My Father died with dementia, a form of Alzheimer's in 2003, after a 15 year battle.)
.
A whale in a pail is far more active in a gale or in copious amounts of hail. Putting money into sharks is a shifty act involving the shuffling of coats in cloakrooms. And clown costumes placed in the bowls of women's frames are reserved for the elite attire of lemmon lipped bowler heads whose acidic tongue holds the weaponry speeches of tomorrows gore. Pain is a painted potato placed with the pilots to place on a place numbered out and planned on maps arriving by facetious fax machines whose many layered buttons seek to halt a single growing grass level with a shard spoken key. Turning a keyboard to an angle one can visit the highest climate but coinage is best reserved for a large bull with a blue tie. Behind many layers. Many layers is not many lettuces it is merely many lanes. And lanes are lovely on a summer evening returning from the abbey to the house in eighteen fifty-three in long beautiful blue dress with fancy earrings and hair wound in a tight bun. Looking around it is unsurprising that history repeats in the timeless whorl akin to stirring an acre pan of stew or making sandwiches for two hundred people at a picnic. Societal swamps seek some swanky shuffle starting storms. And all the while the little pixies dance in the trees. The unicorns prance, the fairies fly round and round, and all other realmes folk sigh at the endless processions of humans making endless chain of woe. Cause no pattern to rise up from a paper print. For if you do your whole world and house will be prints causing visitors to arrive in many windows to create a karmic reaction and a reaction is a realism and a responsive reach but not a retch. Little frog hums in the kitchen cupboard. He is very bored today and would like to go visit the pond but the machinery placed there ensures it is not safe to hop and when hopping it often is the case that shots are fired from the artillery of the ant people in plastic helmets. They move akin to a swarm of kettledrums on a backlit of carbonised baking trays. Powder that then. Beetroot faced woman in that raspberry printed dress. And to encourage the wrath of a walnut is to embellish a multicolumn of static electricity. Wow. Mish mash mush then. Hahahaha the dancing in the bathroom door hahaha mixed-use mixers mingling mangy mincemeat. Xxxxxxx prese tart structure Paden tar xxxxxxx invertebrates z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z THAT;
Form:
As i sit on this bathroom floor,
gripping a blade in my hand, with it
firmly pressed on my left wrist. I
start thinking this thought that could
change everything.. End everything. I
think of the people who would miss
me. I think of the people who
wouldn't care. I think to myself,
"Should I be doing this", this voice
inside me says, "Yes. Why are you
living anyway? Nobody cares for
you, they wouldn't even notice you're
gone. They don't love you.. Come on,
do it.. End it now, it's the best way..
It's the only way. The sound of the
voice was so weird. Well I can't say the
voice inside of me was wrong. It had
been completely right about
everything. What if this was the only
way? I wish it hadn't been true. It is
the only way. I think to myself, "Suck
it up! It will all be over soon. Just
one, two, three quick slits and you're
done. Get it over with already, i'm
tired of thinking about it! Then all of
a sudden, a voice said, "Stop! What
are you doing? This isn't you." The
voice was so heavenly, so clear, so...
Beautiful. I didn't bother wondering
where the voice came from, because
it came like the weird voice inside
me. I told the voice, "You don't know
me! You don't know anything!" SLIT
SLIT SLIT. Crimson blood, running
down my arm. I feel calm and in
control, but the pain is unbearable.
Unaware of it, I start to feel tears
running down my face. I get dizzy,
the bathroom I lay in gets darker. My
heartbeat gets slower, then, I fall into
a deep sleep. Or what I think was a
deep sleep. After a minute, I get up
from laying on the floor. I look
around, I see blood on the floor and
something else.. Me. Still lying there
on the floor, unconscious. I looked
so relaxed. Then it came to me. "Am
I dead?" Where is hell? Where is
heaven? I committed suicide so
heaven is not an option. I sit back on
the bathroom floor.. Confused. I fell
asleep next to my body. Morning
came, I wake up feeling groggy,
confused. I hear people banging on
the bathroom door and yelling. I
stand up, stumbling. I look around to
see blood still on the floor.. But the
unconscious, bloody body was
gone.. I was gone. Am I alive again? I
cleaned the blood, put on my best
face and hid the scars. I opened the
door and a bright light hit my entire
body like I just stepped into heaven
or something.. Everything is just so
clear now.
1. Non-fiction
The bathroom faucet gushes nectar
drowns my hands in never-laughter,
"Sorry" is a specter
when you told me "0" I felt disgusting,
hopelessly deluded,
naked.
Last night I dreamed
that New York City was nuked,
another Twin Towers Lost,
everyone radiated.
But then I dreamed of you,
in a tight blue dress,
glaring,
cute pout,
"Is this right?" you asked
as you flawlessly played
Beethoven's "The Tempest."
I smiled. "Perfect."
I hardly smile these days.
2. Satisfaction
Deflection of your image is essential.
The closer I get, the more
those spiders right there
don't you see them
slipping on the stucco wall?
They remember the feeling
that satisfaction brings
of outsmarting us all
as the sky reflected in my fingernail
is a storyteller of love's plastic rings.
Is it summer yet?
This doesn't feel
adventurous, heart-warming,
sunsets, beaches,
grandfather, innocent crush,
my eyes in sugar rush,
and the books that told me much
so that I could die one day in your hush.
3. A Loss of Inspiration
Midnight's soon, the day's been wasted
thinking of worlds aside from This,
the walls' three dents from my broken fist
and the postcard she forgot she posted
in this odd room I fill
with jackets, wisdom, thrill,
come sundown I rush into wishes
that my jealousy could be just,
yet it's "brand-new in a landfill"
restoring your horrified webcam look.
Since you've gone and my love has died,
this pen's bloodstains have been my pride.
4. Medicine
Maybe you don't realize
you've crushed that tiny bug.
His funeral will not be held,
not until the walls cover their ears,
and blood diamonds ask for fears.
A refill
and a terror,
I can only see your purple sweater
bending once for all my vice;
Maroon Dream City is waiting for us.
These med heavens.
So addicting
until I relapsed into your eyes,
I'm still sick of it all:
the horizon never reached
and darkness perched and ready.
Stop confusing me already.
5. Hideout
Hey, why did
I miss you
Your smile from last June
And no girl will ever
I wonder
I wonder
Slow down, run me over
And laaaugh
Come walk beside this faster incompletion
On a chilly night of sirens
Hey, why did
And my head pounds from lack of
Hey, if I were to go forever
Come to me in my hideout
and I'll kiss your scream
with eternity.
It took many years for me to love me
For rich or for poor the body keeps the score.
Society is always on the go no time to be still,
no time to chill, we are expected to go with the flow
To be authentic, eccentric quirky, society resents this
to be different in society’s eyes is a no.
Present in the present everything must be fast no time to be slow.
It took many years for me to love me the way the I in the word individual
Deserves to be loved.
Society has a way of making one feel trapped and detached.
For all the math equations, anxiety frustrations the I in this individual
Has gone through subliminal it has took many years to find out that the
I in this individual never needed to fit in. Because I all ready fit within
The F and the T in between the word FIT.
For the love Individual I deserves is the IT in the word FIT.
The I in the individual already exists in the word LIFT
As the I begins the journey of elevation.
It took many years for me to love me the way the I
Deserved to be loved by a better half as if part of me was missing.
Half a man stumbling through life unsure about his place in the
World that places labels upon your existence twisting and breaking
You down expecting you to stand with a smile when life calls from an UNKNOWN NUMBER
the voice message reads “You better not frown”.
Don’t show your broken places, fractures or fragments.
This society’s systems can slow you down watch you drown and remain stagnant.
It took many years for me to love me
As if the I in individual was broken.
But the greatest love story I ever lived
Wasn't written in sonnets.
It was whispered in my bathroom mirror
At 3 AM when I finally said,
"I see you. I hear you. You matter."
The greatest love story started
When I stopped apologizing
For taking up space,
For laughing too loud,
For crying too hard,
For being too much
Or not enough
For anyone else's comfort.
This body has carried me through heartbreak,
These hands have created magic,
This mind has survived storms
That would have leveled cities.
These scars are not failures;
They are proof that I fought
And I'm still here.
I learned to fill my cup with kindness towards the boy I used to be
Now, when I love her, it over flows as we come together scars and all
on this journey called GROW.
My children came into my
Room one winter afternoon
My daughter softly said
Mama we tried to tell you this
Sometime in the middle of June
We have all decided that we
Have our own life to live
Somewhere down the line
Something had to give
We have decided to take
You to a home and we
Hope you like it there
Nurses around the clock and
People that really care
I can’t began to tell you
What I felt in my heart
Everything I lived for now
Suddenly torn apart
I saw no regret as I
Looked in their face
My son said mama learn to like it
Because here you will spend
The rest of your days
They picked me up and tossed
Me around like a rag doll
I could feel the heat inside as
My blood began to boil
Two months in that home
My worst fears came to pass
Orderly slapping me around
While others stood back and laugh
They rolled up a newspaper
And hit me on the head
When I needed to use the bed pan
They laughed and said use your bed
I had no strength in my legs
To carry me to the bathroom
Because of that I laid in
My own waste all afternoon
A young girl came to my room
Carrying my dinner tray
She took my urine poured
It in my tea, and said
Drink and eat hearty today
Where are my children
Must this continue be
What did I do so wrong
For this to happen to me?
I heard about the treatment the
Elderly endure while living in
This place they call home
But I always knew that in my
Heart here I didn't belong
My worst fears in
My whole entire life
Has finally come to pass
I have no more strength
Don’t know how long I will last
There’s nothing I want more
Than to be release from this torment
When I asked my kids to get me out
It turned into an argument
My children said they couldn't
Care for me they rather be alone
And that I should try to get
Use to my brand new home
They have children and what
Goes around will come around
As they will plainly see
And they will someday regret
What they didn't have to do to me
I am going to see my Lord
He won’t let this go on
Soon I will be from earth bound
Settling in my Heavenly home
When I see Jesus it will be
Worth the suffering and the pain
My worst fears will have died
And eternal happiness I will gain
Form:
A boy. Short. He goes to school and cowardly hides behind every corner, scouting out what lurks behind the next turn. Always shoved and disregarded, he seemed to have no friends. He was bullied everyday by this monster. Someone who terrorized him since day one. “Why me?” was his battle cry, just before every black eye.
A boy. Alone. He was adored at school. A big jock. He hated his life, his choices. He picked on this kid, a rather small kid, who was simply pathetic. He would catch glimpses of him, cowering behind corners, and hiding in bathroom stalls. It was this kid that made him popular. He did not hate this him, but simply saw him as an stress reliever. Anger reliever. He was praised at school, abused at home. School was his safe haven; his home away form home, but no one knew what truly went on behind that strong, muscular smile. Divorce. Abuse. Shame. His mother was a prostitute, sold every part of her just to manage to keep him alive. His father was a drunk. Abused every inch of him to relieve him of his intoxicated wounds.
A mom. A prostitute. As a little girl she was very bright. Did well in school, and even managed to get into a good college. It wasn’t until that one night she mad a stupid mistake. It was one of those fraternity parties. “All the cool kids went, right?” She would tell her self. That’s all it took. One kid. One rufie. One sip. Next thing she knew she was pregnant. She dropped out of college. Told her boyfriend it was his kid. Got married. And had a beautiful baby boy. It took five years until she told her husband the truth. The truth about the conception. He left. She was alone, receiving no support. No money. It took her one month until she found herself in the back of a strangers car in an alley way for $200.
A frat boy. A stupid hazing ritual. “Host a party. Drug a girl. Have sex.” Only he made a mistake. He got drunk. Too drunk. He had no control over his actions. The demon residing within him took over, raped a girl, and impregnated her with what ruined her dreams, his dreams. In frustration he went to get fresh air. And made one more stupid mistake. He was conscious of what he did, and knew he could not live with his mistake. Police found him hung from the fraternity balcony the next morning.
This is in dedication to all those who suffered from something that was no in there control.