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Addysen Suon Poem
You toss them to the ground, they don’t beckon or call,
They’re a pair of jeans, and to the ground they fall,
They stay as long as you threw them,
Yet they could stand tall,
When they’re on you they suit you,
But not for a ball,
Not for an evening out,
Not for work, but for play,
And tomorrow may be a laugh,
So maybe tomorrow will be the day,
But the grass stains are seeping,
Night after night,
Letting the wrinkles foil,
Into the creases, as tight,
As it can be, it only tries to please,
To stay put together,
To stay for your ease,
For when you next need them,
For when it’s your time,
For your day of laughter,
For the next clock to chime,
8 am Saturday,
You were feeling like a kid,
And wore those jeans again,
But somehow they hid,
Under the rest of your clothes that you seem to like more,
More than the old pair you tossed on the floor,
at the start of the summer,
When seasons changed,
Or was it people?
Because we all know that those 4 seasons stay the same,
It’s the people that drug you,
Not the time, or places,
They made you,
Replaced you,
Hated you just for their faces,
They couldn’t stand you for being a size too small,
They couldn’t stand you for not being as tall,
As their growing bodies,
Even when it’s time to move on,
From your favorite pair of jeans,
Since you’ve gotten so long,
You’ve both changed since last summer,
Worn out and new,
To you it’s just a pair of jeans,
But it’s felt everything you do,
The rolling down the hills,
Toppling through fields,
A sprinkle of water,
A scratch to the heels,
Those jeans may just be thrown in the giveaway pile,
But every grass stain remains,
Worth to reconcile,
This denim has known you since you first put them on,
And tied a belt, looped it twice, and pulled the elastic strong,
Up until now, when the last button won’t stay,
Until they’ve turned into high waters,
Until they’ve gone astray,
Still sitting under that pile,
It breathes a heavy sigh,
It knows now, jeans,
It’s time for your goodbye,
It doesn’t know if it will go on,
To be a better pair,
For another bright day,
For another new year,
It’s not sure if this is the end of the line,
Rips tethered on,
A small stitch might help it shine,
A yard sale, thrift store, anything else but trash,
It doesn’t want to be known as the brand that everyone wants last,
It was a good pair, and it lasted good and well,
Well enough to stay with one human, who in spirit you could tell,
Was like that pair of jeans,
Sturdy, but kind,
Strong, happy, one who speaks their mind,
Not afraid to show their stains,
to display the rips for show,
To show everybody that they could live and be known,
That they weren’t made to be the toughest brand,
They weren’t made to be the most,
Durable, powerful, able to boast,
They were made to withstand any pressure of a kid,
They were sensitive but stretchy,
They were mindful of any skids,
Concrete couldn’t touch them,
Maybe a mark or two,
But the scrapes would never tear a hole,
It would never follow through,
The stains may still be there,
But the jeans are still washed clean,
And they may be older,
But they’re not like any jeans you’ve ever seen.
Copyright © Addysen Suon | Year Posted 2024
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Details |
Addysen Suon Poem
To have a home was always something I dreamt of growing into.
But it seemed to be out of my reach.
Each time I'd get close enough to reach out and touch it,
It would crawl back and stay there for me to seek.
I would try my best to catch it, keep it,
and hold it in my hands,
Force it there to stay with me,
like a Shepard holding a lamb.
But that home would roll away,
into the pitfalls of my many dreams,
And the tears I wept on my pillow would drop to the chasms
to make those tired desires gleam.
Immune to the thought that I'd always be lost,
and never find a home,
my poor heart was like a good nightmare,
that would never change its tone.
No matter how many times you begged,
your knees sore from the floor,
that stubborn soul would smile a little,
like taking delight in a heavy chore.
So, it stayed this way, that she would be,
but never be able,
to have a home, it was hers to make,
like a lonely cookie plate on a grandmas table.
Anticipating, that home might come,
without any strength inside her,
but forever ending in disappointment,
that young soul'd will was dire.
She never asked another to help her,
that heavy dream was hers,
until she could have it to cherish and share,
or the opposite; it would disperse.
And so, many years of moving around,
never a home but a house,
that tiny child found herself wanting to trade places,
with that "saddened-eyed" mouse;
The little rodent would get up every day,
and stretch from his straw bed,
make himself cheese and milk,
and brush its furry head,
Comb throughout its tail,
every tangle gone away,
excited for the same routine,
the same bright and cheery day,
To try for an adventure, to take the risk,
grab the cheese!
No trap could hold this little mouse,
it got away with ease,
it looked forward to everything in life,
the full belly, and the rest,
the final stretch and yawn it took,
to get the sleep it loves best,
The youngest dreamer of her family,
for the treacherous years that passed,
had still found time to make her dream,
not be one of the last,
she had many dreams,
and most were doable,
the simplest of all,
seemed the one that was doomed and dull,
it was just to have a home,
nothing more, nothing less,
but too much to ask for,
for a family that has to clutch their chests,
a group so tight their smells were alike,
the sweetness was only delight,
and when they went to bed that night,
they knew someone's prayers were with them tonight.
So maybe she never got her dream,
the easiest of all,
a home,never1/2
Copyright © Addysen Suon | Year Posted 2024
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