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Best Poems Written by Olivia Washam

Below are the all-time best Olivia Washam poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

taking care of you.
making your meals and snacks for you.
telling you " Good morning ", each and every day.
taking you to school and wishing you both a blessed day.
picking you up from school,
asking how your day went, and what interesting things did you learn.
making your nutritional assessments, and trying to introduce good foods to you.
hugging you both, and both of you hugging me.
taking care of you when you are sick,
comforting you when you don't feel good.
trying to make your ouwwies not hurt.
the time that we should get to, and should have gotten to, spend together.
the quality in living, that we are suppose to have together.
just holding you.
the tickle fights when you would both tickle me at the same time.
watching and helping you both make awesome artwork.
you both singing, with your beautifully flowing and innocent voices.
tossing you both in the air, only to catch you, while singing,
" I got Aubrey, I got Aubrey, my baby girl "
and " I got Micah, I got Micah, my baby boy "
seeing you both play and invent and build.
watching you ride your bikes.
helping and watching you skateboard.
playing catch with the football or soccer ball.
watching you fill your buckets up with innumerable worms.
just watching you try to catch those slimmy worms.
listening you you both have a belching contest.
listening to you belching the alphabet.
watching you make the armpit farts, and laughing, just like your Uncle Eddie used to do.
taking you both to various places, and to see the natural beauty.
taking you to the Ouachita river to throw rocks.
taking you fishing, and putting the worms on your hooks for you.
watching you hold on to the bobber while you throw the stick fishing pole into the river.
getting you both chocolate covered donuts at Jimmy's Donut Hole.
getting to teach you both good things.
mowing the grass for you to be able to play safely outside.
telling you to pick up your rooms, and to put your clothes in the hamper.
cleaning your rooms for and with you.
organizing your good toys, and throwing out the broken ones.
buying you new clothes, and giving away the ones you'd outgrown.
telling you that I love you, before you go to sleep.
wishing you blessed and peaceful sleep, every night.
But most of all, I miss you.
Each and every day, I miss you.
May you both be blessed,
by The Holiest of Holies Himself,
in every area of your lives.
Love Mom

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

Mc

I miss you, my sweet son...
I miss you every day.

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

Why Should Your Feelings Matter To Me?

So, now, you are telling me your feelings.
But you expect my concern?

Did you consider my feelings?
Each and every single time that you afflicted me,
with your knit-picking first; with your rudeness;
with your discriminatory remarks,
and while you created and allowed a hostile environment
that included two co-workers?
Or while you abused and mistreated me,
and allowed your two 2nd in commands, and your daughter, to do the same?
     Did you consider my feelings?
     After I shared one personal feeling with you?
     Only for you to throw it in my face, 
     with another subject heading?
     After you were demeaning to me; After your inhumane treatment,
     and your continual ignoring all of my good ideas,
     and my concerns within vast areas of the job?
Did you consider my feelings?
When I tried to have open communication,
only for you to hurryingly pass it all by,
and to act as though the valuable topics and advice that I raised attention to,
that you caused to be turned into complaints,
were unnoteworthy, except for your retaliation?
     Did you consider my feelings?
     When you socioeconomically abused me?
     When you cut my needed hours many times?
     The first time causing me to default on payday loans,
     that I never should have had to get in the first place.
     Also causing me to get behind on rent,
     as you became an accomplice to the unlawful and inhumane eviction
     that they wouldn't allow me to go to court on?
Did you consider my feelings?
When you cut my needed hours again?
Lying about cutting out the lunch shift, that you would work yourself,
as you then, hypocritically, had four employees cramped in that space,
after cutting my hours to three hour shifts,
causing me to get burned...
Like you actually cared that you caused me pain.

Or did you consider my children's feelings?
As you snidely told me, "Just take care of yourself".
Ever? At all?
Not to mention all the wrongs that you committed against my children...

But you have the audacity to expect my concern now?!!
When you ignored every previous concern,
only to turn around and treat me like crap,
like my feelings don't matter to you?
     Obviously,
     you expect from others,
     what you are not willing to give in return.

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

Refugee

When coming to, 
and arriving in,
Cali, 
August of 2008,
I felt like a refugee.
   Seeking a city of refuge,
   Sacramento,
   wondering if my healing would be allowed here.
Healing from inflicted damages,
from over 10 years of 
vast and extreme traumas,
that should never have been allowed.
   Trauma upon trauma,
   and the multifarious abuses,
   along with the insults and mockery that they added to the injuries.
Spiritually and emotionally
wounded and sliced the freak up,
physically...huhhh...
   Seeking the balance,
   the stability,
   that that hell-hole screwed off.
Seeking so much more,
humane treatment to start with;
I have since been disappointed, 
many times.
   Seeking a decent atmosphere,
   other than just when around family,
   or at a few bars, 
   where the people are far better than most...  
Should have already been working
at a full time job,
for an employer that doesn't demean 
and tread upon employees.
   Should have already been renting
    my own apartment, 
    a place of my own...
    A place to settle in, 
    to decorate to my comfort,
    and possibly, to feel at home...
Like I actually expect to ever feel at home again,
considering what all those beeches did, 
to me and my children, 
in our own home.
   And how the police would never protect us,
   never let me press charges against the trespassers,
   and how the "human services" 
   were unimaginably inhumane as hell...
   How inhumane people 
   can be in places of authority or position,
   much less, have awesome reputations, 
   is backwards as hell.
As my Babies' Daddy used to say,
"What's really goin on?"
And how could such foul-ass bs be allowed?
   And who the hell do they think they are?
   That they believe they can hurt people 
   for their enjoyment,
   from their self-superiorness, 
   or from their malicious motives? 
   And be in the right?

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

Do My Children Know?

Do my children know how much I love them?
No, of course they don't.
They weren't allowed to know.

Do they know how intense the pain is,
to go forward,
while not being allowed
to be their mom, or their dad?

No, but they know the intensity of heartbrokeness,
while going forward,
without their parents,
whom they should have never been taken away from.

They know the depths of lack,
that they were never meant to know...
They know the fears and the terror
that a "supposedly good place"
will unmercifully and maliciously inflict.

They knew the courage, as babes,
that grown-ass folk
won't walk in.

They know that you can't trust
the government,
or the agencies,
or the people in those agencies,
that are suppose to protect them
and their family units.

How could they possibly know
the depths of my love for them?
When they are still
stuck there
surrounded by people
who destroyed
their family
and screwed with their beginnings?

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

I Am Not As Though a Drowning Moth

I am not as though  a drowning moth,
within the flooding flow.
Hopelessness can have no place,
within the ones who know.

Who am I to give all up,
when tried and tested through?
He didn't bring me from where I'd been,
for me to quit this too.

There is a purpose for my life.
Breath was not snatched away.
No exploding heart nor bleeding brain
was in the plans he made.

I will not be overcome,
for my God is with me.
Nothing shall overpower,
Christ, who won the victory.

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

Dirty Beeches

Foul as Funk!...
   Stenches your honey-sweet words;
   Politically polite,
   as you perpetrate,
   ya freakin posers!

How can you be so disillusioned
   as though you are morally decent upstanding citizens?
   Directly after your verbal attacks?
   And your inflicted wounds
   that contaminate the emotional and spiritual realms
   within the already heartbroken...
   the enlightened living,
   in which you strive to kill?

As though others' views of you matter?
   How can you freaking stand yourselves?
   How can you go forward
   as though you haven't...
   Afflicted the afflicted?
   Traumatized the already traumatized?
   As though your insults,
   and your multifarious abuses,
   are humanely justifiable?

Foul as Funk!...
   You disgust and revulse me,
   you freakin beeches!

Screw you and your felonious freakin politeness!
   Dirty Beeches...

Details | Olivia Washam Poem

Justifiable, My Ass!

Calloused and cold-hearted,
merciless and inhumane...
those leeches who continually suck
the quality of life
from those who strive
for equality.

But they prosper?
Their every need is met?
As they steal
from the hard-working,
their plundering is ineffable!
The time,
stolen by being wasted...
The good desires in heart,
slashed until they die...
The visions of progress,
suffocated by barriers,
that beeches erected.

As they go against
the joy and peace,
of God Almighty,
against the blessings,
and the inheritance
of the truly righteous in Christ...
As they incessantly go
against American civil rights...

How could they possibly believe
that they are justifiable?