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Christina Rose Poem
Not once did i ever see my father tear up.
Not once.
Never did i see him get emotional.
Blue with haze.
He was scared.
But he never cried.
A tear had never once fell from his rosey toned cheeks.
Those rosey tones caused by a rush of relaxation.
A rush of forgetfulness.
Crushed cans.
Like his crushed feelings.
But never once did he cry.
Never once did my father take his glasses off upon his face.
Off his bright red nose, caused by the sun that he worked under every day.
The crimson sun, hard on these men’s life and back.
Never once did i see him rub his eyes.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because he took care of his emotions.
Buried down as far under his stance.
Past the ground where he stood tall as a man.
Rooted there like a tree that is rooted for life.
As the years show my independence.
As my growth away from the nest,
So far away i may become.
Never trying to at all show the blue.
Never in front of another eye.
Never in front of a sight.
Because you are weak.
You are so weak.
You are so weak if it spills.
Never once did my father cry.
Never once did i cry.
Never once did we not not care.
We cared.
As the universe crawls into the darkest parts of the world;
?Time never exists,
Experiences rather than time.
Things always consistently changing and happening for an untold reason.
Never once did he cry.
Never once did i cry.
Never once did we cry,
Until tonight.
I saw his tear,
His chocked up throat.
He saw my tears,
Hard, hitting the floor.
We stood there,
Face to face, tear to tear.
We cared.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
Because tonight;
I’m missing someone I’ve never had a shaking of hands with.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
It’s a painful process.
But the pain soon fades away.
A doubtful option.
Stay away.
Stray away.
No one thinks they can over come it.
So it’s the avoidness they wish to take.
I embrace it.
For I find an inspiration.
A realization.
A fast liberation.
Because I say, bring it on.
I like the fight.
I like the struggle.
And once I overcome that bridge.
All I see is fire.
Equalizing myself to be alone on the other side.
But being alone is the other way to survive.
I will survive.
I will strive.
Because the only one that I can fully trust.
Is me, myself, and I.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
I never quite understood the concept of patience,
Laying in the shadow of wait never seemed to put me in a content rest,
And that’s all that patience is, it’s waiting.
I will never wait,
I will never be content,
I will always inch for more,
Because when you take the most in, you’ll get the most out.
Life doesn’t wait for anyone,
So why wait when you know exactly what you want?
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
It’s the little things I love the most.
The beauty marks on your skin,
The roughness of your face,
The way your hair curls in the back.
And it’s these little things,
These little, so little things,
That I will always remember.
Forever, in my mind,
Undying.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
The buzzing;
The knocking.
Zero silence upon this bed.
Routine, it should bring silence.
But the shrieks from inside me makes yells.
Loud yells;
Without the screams within this head.
On the surface calm.
And on the surface, alive.
Yet the war inside my head consistently puts the tranquil on the sidelines.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
Running up to the runner up;
Side snear clusters,
Pearl smiles exchanged for admitting the lifelong denials.
Perfect, for what is perfect in the now?
Pressed on shirts and passed on frowns.
Speeding black shine for year long miles,
The get up to get up,
Grows fallen in the struggle;
Gold fades to brown,
Tarnished and soon to be mild.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
There is no I in you.
But the stares from across the bar question the mood.
Defeated, yet pretty.
Eye to eye.
Flickering sight starts to ignite.
You and I.
I and You.
Electric hold.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Christina Rose Poem
And I was my own monster,
In between the seconds and minutes of late July;
Restless upon slumber.
Interruption of the quiet dreams of what I tried to remember
Erased; for my own good or my own suffering,
Brave; or so it might have seemed.
To chase down the dark shadows of my dreams.
Yet the unrest gave stronger to my tiredly glazed brown eyes.
Tick goes to clock of late night regrets and subtle lies.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Christina Rose Poem
Because tonight;
I’m missing someone I’ve never had a shaking of hands with.
Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015
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