Long Down to me Poems
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Am I invisible?
No, I’m not.
Sometimes I feel like I am.
Sometimes I wish I was.
But deep down I know I’m not.
Even if it was my deepest desire,
I’m certain it’d ever come true.
In this house,
I may not be invisible,
But my feelings definitely are.
Like they’re hovering,
far away from my body.
Where my family can’t see.
I soak in the words they preach,
When I become the outlet for sadness, anger, and grief.
My body moves mindlessly as
I comfort them.
Each and every person.
Even though it is never returned.
My brain taps restlessly at my skull,
Begging me to listen,
Begging me to acknowledge the twinge in my chest,
the tears building up in my eyes.
But I can’t.
I cant.
I lay alone in this bed,
Staring into the darkness,
Wondering why noone cares.
Shouldn’t I get some compensation?
Don’t I deserve something back?
Aren’t my kind words,
My selfless actions,
Deserving of something,
More?
I’m told to “keep it together.”
But why me?
Because I am stronger than them?
more mature?
more understanding?
And yet I am so young.
Can my heart keep beating,
With this many wounds?
My rib cage is torn open,
blood leaks from my chest,
dark crimson stains the world
around me,
and yet I still ask,
“Are you okay?”
Even if it is my life,
I will offer it to them,
For it bears no importance to me.
Surrounded by these people,
The ones I call ‘family’,
I am a counsellor, for all ages.
I wonder where I store it all,
All the trauma -
That’s been passed down to me,
Like a secret ingredient,
Measured by the gods.
A treasure to keep safe.
And I lock it all away.
Will I ever escape this?
Am I always to be seen as just another diary to dump words in?
Someone who will drink up the sorrow,
From her very household,
Just to prevent a flood?
When will this torture end?
I know I love them,
There is no denying that statement.
But I no longer wish to walk around with the label “therapist” stamped on my back.
Don’t you see the scales above my head?
Dangerously tilting,
About to fall?
I feel like sometime soon,
The bolts will loosen,
And all will fall apart.
I am breaking into pieces,
cracks appearing with each trauma untold.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t here,
I wish when they saw me,
I was seen for conversation - normal ones.
And sometimes I wish I was invisible,
Or maybe not even here at all.
" My mother shed her protective love around me and without knowing why, people sensed that I had value." ~Maya Angelou
" As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. " ~Kristin Hannah
“ I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind"
Born female, and upon my brow the magic mark ,
as my mother's mothers before me.
Red pigmented and shaped like a broken heart,
the very heart of my story.
From generations of wombs and bloodlines before,
I am chosen to take up these stones.
And being apart of this family,
I am yet destined to be alone.
The Amber, with whiskey color glowing within…
pumpkin tinged and power singed.
Giving its wielder healing power and
protection through the midnight hour.
The Sapphire stone, deepest indigo,
as the depths of the ocean's foaming folds.
Granting wisdom within it's warming light
and discernment of truth, of wrong and right.
And the third stone is a Ruby of red,
whose clarity muddles the mind and clouds the head.
Releasing passions once held in check,
while you see clearly, their pulsing neck.
Combined the three, passed down to me,
from maternal bloodline flows.
So now with these words and the heat of my hands,
I part the veil to long ago...
Though darkly, I see, far back through time,
this several great-great grandmother of mine.
And watch as she, undeservedly,
is made to lie in an early grave …
No knight in armour in this tale,
Herself alone she must save.
These stones that I now hold, she finds,
as in darkness they begin to shine.
All air is gone, her breathing stops
and the heart inside can beat no more.
Until the magic finds a home in a wronged woman's maternal core.
Then hearing
a weak pulse,
somehow
MISPLACED...
upon her brow I see
the red- pigmented mark,
the broken heart
Upon her brow,
BEGIN TO B E A T....
And now we know this history,
the story that began my own.
I await the rest of my family tale
from inside the stones, I'm shown.
When I know my true life's purpose,
when I am connected with all of them…
then my hearts blood will stop beating...
...but my magic heart beat will begin.
~ (~) The journey towards home, yes quiet the tender longing, my soul, weary, inside inside-
out in between outside all about;
given the struggle, attention... being and remaining always seemingly to be quiet-and quite
the insidious, aspiration, perfection, whereas it would lie finally;
it stands-for-me-to be-yet-incomplete... yet and still forever-transfixed;
my peace, the simple fulfillment humble fruit, gentle blessing of this hope. (~) ~
~ (~) Such it is this journey for me, struggle... greatest-ambition... my joy full and
overflowing in the day of its fruition. (~) ~
~ (~) Just like a diamond in the rough glistening-there-lying in the snowdrops; given the
honest exclusions of my soul at-times covertly divided absent-growing-evermore-futile the
original vision of it I feel now, request far more... ! (~) ~
~ (~) Love I believe forever providing abiding beside the truth telling overtly of this —
conjured up all the remnants of fallacies-as-they-are I've-come-to-see will always try to keep
the heart mind in complete denial — as grace is the only hope as well I believe delighting
thriving there amid the-space-between... . (~) ~
~ (~) For all of us, mercy, these simple treasures are-what I pray do-remain, I mean imagine
if it were the-day-that-they-wouldn't-care-to-be — oh I know yes the quiet-separation, perfect
longing, confusion-within — oh-God yes Heaven-forbid... ! (~) ~
~ (~) I mean brogue-down beaten up-chartreuse black purple handed down to me my face...
grappling-I'm not yet crippled my soul lay opened amenable amendable-willing-now-desiring
only for this one-conviction the charity of-your Mercy... .. (~) ~
~ (~) Touched by this I was also though back in the day though nary I know the way it went
my joy it left me in my hate... . (~) ~
~ (~) Consumed I became like an angry wind by someone something else, but I too believe
as well and consider it today to be ultimately by the allowance of the merciful outstretched
hand of God... .. duly abiding-by-His-word, in-Faith... .. (~) ~
~ (~) And so I offer this one exclamation to Him hoping for nothing greater or less than this
result as I say for-another-time; "Okay God, you have my attention now, I am listening... !"
(~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4wojcSO9Ww&feature=related
How I loved spending a week of the summer holidays with my grandparents. Gramps would come and pick me up in his old pick- up truck, dad would bundle my suitcase into the back and I’d be on my way. Gramps would whistle as we wended our way along the winding country lanes until we reached their stone cottage. Grandma would be waiting for us to appear at the door, she always be wearing her checked apron which was flecked with flour. She’d scoop me up in her arms, and carry me into the cosy kitchen where the aroma of cooling gingerbread lingered in the air.
wheat from the old mill
freshly ground into white flour
grandma’s been baking
I would spend many hours in the garden with gramps, in the spring I’d helped him to plant lots of vegetable seeds and now summer had arrived they were ready to be harvested. Gramps would give me a ride in his old wooden red wheelbarrow, the wheel would squeak as he pushed me along the uneven ground and I would squeal with delight when we went over the bumps. In the vegetable garden we would pick perfect pea pods that were fit to burst with juicy green peas, bright orange carrots and creamy cauliflowers which reminded me of brains. All the produce would be placed into the wheelbarrow and I would help gramps to trundle it along the path to the kitchen door. Grandma would be busy in the kitchen and I’d help by podding the peas ready for our evening meal. I loved the popping sound of the pods as I pressed them to release the shiny peas.
from a tiny seed
colourful vegetables grow
harvest time arrives
Many years have elapsed, and sadly gramps and grandma are no longer with us. My father inherited their little stone cottage, which was eventually handed down to me. I now spend happy hours in the garden with my own grandson, and I’m passing on the gardening tips that gramps taught me when I was a small child. The red wooden wheelbarrow which I loved riding in is long gone; but I replaced it with a sturdy one made of shiny red plastic. My grandson loves riding in it to the vegetable patch and I love to hear him squeal with delight as I once did when I rode the same bumpy path.
the red wheelbarrow
reminds me of my grandpa
precious memories
Fiction write
For Your Poetry Journal Poetry Contest
Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart a.k.a Broken Wings
7/28/18
In my magical garden, I grow beautiful pink roses and white lilies for all to see. I tend to each flower with love and care, for dear they are really just for you.
Once it was your magical garden, now mine to attend to all day long. Your loving gardening hands, have been passed down to me.
"Roses rooted in the earth
Bud in rhyme and verses sage
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn across the patterned page."
As I stand here in shock and amazement, roses once rooted in the earth and ghostly lilies cover your coffin.
Where did all the time go, seems like only yesterday you were in your magical garden.
Date Written:5/17/2021
2 Place
Choose Your Form 2 Contest Judged:6/4/2021
Sponsored by:Joseph May
From the heavens above you
were sent down to me
like a red peddled rose you
are beautiful and free.
Your long blond hair, and
your big blue eyes,
you look like an angel that
has been sent in disguise.
You have touched my soul
in such a deep way and you
lift my spirits each and
every day.
You are not only my daughter,
but the closest friend I knew,
It's obvious you were sent to
teach me something too.
You tested me on my
mothering skills
before you passed away,
these mothering skills I'd
never had known had you
not been sent my way.
It scared me for life when
you died that day it just
wasn't right he take
you that way.
Your pass was issued for
seventeen years, and now
that your gone my hearts
full of tears.
My darling child I love you so,
I miss you so much and
just wanted you to know
I believe in synchronicity and the wonders therein contained…
I believe in angels and miracles and the mystery of the unexplained.
Chrissy was a friend of our daughter…growing up their friendship was like glue…
I remember in high school they dyed their hair school colors…Ali orange…and Chrissy blue.
I remember one summer she came with us to North Carolina…that’s what good friends do…and in moments when we stop to think about her…Chrissy was our friend too.
It’s been a number of years since she left us shocked and mystified…since our good friend Chrissy…committed suicide.
Her life was filled with sadness…so much agony and strife…and, one day, when no one was looking…she ended her short life.
Chrissy was young and funny and beautiful…at least on the outside for all to see…she was thoughtful and creative…she even wrote poetry.
But inside Chrissy was a troubled soul who lived in darkness and couldn’t always see the light…this morning I was thinking about how I miss her smile and all those poems she’ll never write.
How we all wish Chrissy had understood…she had friends and family nearby…
who were willing to do anything to help…who weren’t ready to say goodbye.
On my walk I wondered how she’s doing…hoping she is happy and feeling fine…and I appealed to the Other Side saying, “Chrissy, if you’re happy…please…give me a sign.”
Just something to let me know you’re not sad and lonely anymore…
and then I saw it…a five dollar bill on the ground in front of my bookstore!
I picked it up, said “Thank you, Chrissy. I’m glade you’re well, my friend…and in my pocket I placed the five dollar bill…I never intend to spend.
Was finding that five dollars just a coincidence…or was it as synchronistic as it seems?
Was it a way for Chrissy to tell me she is safe and no longer hounded by her dreams?
Was it just a random five dollar bill dropped from someone’s pocket…or a sign sent from Chrissy down to me? You can draw your own conclusions…but I vote for synchronicity.
And I implore anyone who is depressed today…to remember you have friends and family near by…willing to help in any way they can…who are not ready to say goodbye.
988…IS THE SUICIDE AND CRISIS LIFELINE: HELP IS AVAILABLE
I’ve behaved poorly every winter
I can remember, my awfulness in each
separated only by degrees,
secrets piled like snowdrifts at the corners
of rooms I wouldn’t stay in.
Hiding was easier.
I stuffed myself in the closet
of our pit-city apartment—
walls infested with neighbors
tiptoeing through roach powder
caked like salt-circle prayers—
my sister above me, her small body
throwing up what little warmth
our family offered—a recipe of lemons
and gelled mentholyptus to keep us quiet.
Her vomit running from the top bunk
down to me smelled warm and too green.
I had to get out of there.
I disappeared
because the air outside was too full
of breaking—
vows shattering; locks snapping
too loud for lungs that barely held.
The familiar sound of domestic violence
brings a comfort
of knowing
what’s next.
Embracing the facts early and often
can help you put at least the length
of a teddy bear’s arm
between its sound and yourself.
Later, these winters of paying the cold
forward, before it reached me, translated:
stealing partners, and partners’ passwords,
eating nine boxes of pizza rolls to swallow
my sexuality, never finding the end
of a bottle, arguing against the brittle logic
of my own survival—
because proving I mattered felt better
than knowing I might not.
But let me rewrite these winters:
I pull my sister from the bunk,
our laughter is what breaks open the dark,
we are cherry blossoms bursting
through an imminent thaw,
we lie in peace across our bedroom sheets,
left to mature in a natural sun.
We remake the closet into a fort,
walls drawn tighter not to trap us
but to keep us safe.
My sister’s eyes aren’t buttons anymore,
she isn’t puking synthetic cotton,
I don’t use her small body as armor.
Outside, the snowlight waits,
soft as her hand in mine.
We step into the cold and make it ours,
reaching for the frostbitten branches
and claiming them as swords.
No harsh realities or words can follow here—
and if they try,
we let them land,
then split their heads like seeds in the muck,
each fracturing skull
a shot at a promise of something
that finally grows.
Not so long ago your heart was irreparably broken
You didn’t want to hear his name spoken
Your misery was so all-consuming -
And you were full of dooming and glooming -
That the threat of self-harm was bandied about
Just for attention, of that I have no doubt.
Yet here we are just a few weeks down the line
It seems to me that you’re doing perfectly fine
Professing yet more undying adoration
To the object of your latest infatuation.
I’ll give it a couple of months at best
Until he works out that you’re an unbearable pest
And like those before him (me included)
He’ll realise that you are emotionally deluded
He won’t want you clinging on like a limpet
He’ll be wanting, quickly as possible, to forget
That had the misfortune to learn your name
And became embroiled in your sick game
Because a stupid game is all it is to you
It’s the way you work; it’s what you do.
You create drama in your sad and empty life
And engineer all the stress and strife
To garner all the sympathy you can get
Whilst painting him as the worst one yet
Oh, the pain, the hurt the misery!
It wasn't how it was supposed to be...
Until the next unsuspecting guy comes into view
To be zeroed-in on by predatory you.
Then the whole charade will start again once more
But your game is tiresome and you’re a bore.
There’s a chance that one day the tide will turn
And that you will finally come to learn
That love and relationships are a two-way street
And that you will somehow, someday meet
Someone who will refuse to play by your twisted rules
Just to end up on your List of Fools.
To see beyond your artifice and manipulations
And develop for you true and strong emotions
It may come to pass, who can tell
Meanwhile you’ll put through hell.
Your latest beau has yet to experience
The depth and extent of your malevolence
When you take umbrage at an imagined slight
And manufacture yet another fight.
It’s not down to me to save him from his fate
Besides it’s probably already too late
But, what the heck, he’s made his bed
He’s believed everything you said.
You’ve dug your claws in, good and fast
Which guarantees that this relationship will not last!
From now on, I depend on God* for my salvation
Jesus Christ is the only way to heaven’s mansion
He, thru His blood, paid for my redemption
As He reached down to me with His compassion.
Thus, I possess His eternal life geared for transformation!
From now on, I rely upon God for my growth’s progress
The Father feeds me with His provisions without stress
He leads me along His truth and righteousness’ fortress
As He nourishes me by His wondrous grace and divine caress.
Thus, I advance for His business, never His will to suppress!
From now on, I trust God for my pursuit toward holy living
The Lord cleanses my filthiness that makes my soul starving
He sanctifies me from my worldly, vain and carnal craving,
As He assures me that my sins He is constantly forgiving.
Thus, I, for His name’s sake, keep on virtuously striving!
From now on, I lean on God for my stability
The Savior strengthens me by His tenacity
He assures me His presence amidst any calamity
As He upholds me whenever I’m into adversity.
Thus, I’m clinging to His unwavering capacity!
From now on, I cleave to God for my contentment
The Spirit fills me with peace and encouragement
He satisfies me by His Word’s empowerment
As He secures me thru His perfect settlement.
Thus, I now rest in His promised victorious commitment!
From now on, I obey God in my stewardship and service
The Master called me to work in His great office
He guides me with wisdom that can biblically police
As He rewards my diligence with sacrifices’ pumice.
Thus, I’m now enjoying my labor, moved by earnest practice!
From now on, I entrust to God my welfare and future
The King fulfills His plan for me so I can virtuously mature
He prepares me well for heaven’s glorious grandeur
As He excites me on what to happen during the rapture.
Thus, I now await His coming in my spiritual adventure!
*Psalm 25:5 Lead me in thy truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee do I wait all the day.
May 9, 2018
Edited on May 23, 2018
5th place, "From Now On" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron; judged on 6/9/2018.