The Poetry Marathon

Poem 18 “Dear Heart”

I come to you with my worries so often

Pull

It looms

I am buried in its shadow

It moves not

Towards me, but I towards

It is unscalable

I teeter a mere inch off the ground

But that inch is hard-earned

I reach above my head

Fingers balancing on a narrow rock shelf

And pull.

HOUR 18

The moon is a demon
your mouth is a sink
slurping up my words and my ink
desire spills out like semen
brain beating so loud I can’t think
the stars are pinholes in stockings
it’s called research, not stalking
I might miss something if I blink

The walls are the whale’s stomach lining
The sunrise a declaration of war
The trick is in the timing
I don’t remember what you said
but I remember what you wore
nicotine pixie, morphine whore

The storm cell is a sacrament
lightning sparks baptismal fire
My body is sore, my soul is abstinent
I sink to get higher

Life After

The morning I heard

I was at work

Doubtful at first od the source

Confident it was just a rumor

My heart plummeted

When the truth spoke up

I tried to run, to leave, to flee

But my legs failed

And I fell to my knees

A horrible cry escaping from me

Tears blinded all I could see

I haven’t been the same

Since that day

I miss you more and more

With the passing time

They say it gets easier

Learning to live without them

But I’m still waiting

For my heart to stop aching

For the familiar scenes to stop replaying

For people to stop expecting

That nothing’s changed

The day you died

You took the person I was

And left someone in my place

Expected them to clean up the mess that we made.

It’s been almost 4 years

And my life is quite different

The world didn’t stop

I had to keep on living

But for just a moment

The world stopped spinning

It left me held, suspended

Ever since, I feel upside down

This isn’t the dream we shared

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way

Survivor’s guilt is all that accompanies me

It’s the worst part of death

That I hate

How you just get stuck

Fantasizing

What it’d be like

If they were still living

Preventing yourself from moving on

I’m still just hanging here on a moment

Praying I’ll see you again

And you’ll hold me close

Just like you used to

And finally,

Everything will feel alright again.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad in 1999,

By this time you know that I’m coming, you’re probably excited. Well, I hope you’re excited. It will fade. Still thinking about names? I think you could’ve done better than ‘Courtney.’ I hope you know that I’ll get your forehead and sense of humor, but that’s really it.

It’s funny, I still don’t know whose nose I got. Mom’s is thin, yours protrudes a little (not to be mean). Or my lips.

I want to ask one thing of you, just one. Please, think before you act.

I understand that you came from broken scotch bottles and silent dinners. You came into this world under hazy circumstances and unclear intentions. I will soon do the same, but won’t know for a few years.

I will never grow up to be ‘Daddy’s Little Princess.’ I won’t understand the notion that a father is supposed to be a girls first love. I will stumble and fall, and you won’t be there to catch me.

Had it been out of your control, I may have understood. But you know what you’re going to do, it’s sitting in your brain, festering. A harmless text to a coworker. Casual night out with a few friends. But soon you’ll stop coming home. You’ll let me and Nicholas sit there, a birthday cake we made you in hand, wondering when Dad will be home.

There will be boozy nights with screaming, crying. Being told to pack our bags, because we’re leaving and Mom won’t be coming with.

There will be a day, where I, at the ripe old age of 6, will grab you by the shoulders and shake you. With tears streaming down my face, I will plead with you not to leave.

But you will.

And then days turn into weeks, months, years, a decade. Being fatherless will become my normal. I truly can’t, for the life of me remember a time in my life where you were there. Problems will arise for me, lack of confidence, a surplus of anxiety, waves of deep depression. All the while you’re summering in Italy and taking trips to Cuba.

I will verge on homelessness, giving up, running away. And you will remain unavailable.

And so here I am, writing to a version of you that no longer exists, pleading like the 6-year-old version of me that doesn’t exist anymore either. Don’t let me be born, save yourself the time, child support, the energy. If you don’t want to be with Mom anymore, leave. But do it right. She still loves you, you know that right?

Do the right thing, Raymond.

Sincerely,

Your Daughter

 

19~15

Tick tock Tick tock… 

Time is running away~

The gates are closing!

Key inserted… 

Wait! Don’t turn it~

Someone’s coming!

Blurry drops of wet fall down… 

Key is moving~

Hurry! Hurry!!

Hurry Up!

Almost there, hand is reaching~

Grasping for the…

 

*click* 

First Fight episode 1 hour 6

First Fight

Evil Teeth the man-shark
is ready to strike!
He has hired an assassin
To kill the mighty heroes;
Agent Dasher, the mighty hero
is the first on the list!

An assassin is chosen by Evil Teeth
Assassin T8.
Assassin T8 challenges Dasher
Fist to fist contact
But he shoots Dasher in the leg.

To the child who struggles

To the child who struggles:
    When I see the smile light up your face
    It makes my heart sing loud
    When you accomplish a goal in your daily race
    My hands start up clapping, proud.
    A bite of yogurt goes in your mouth
    A word like, “Hello!” is released by your tongue
    Colours, letters, numbers, shapes
    Are things you struggle with, but they’ll come!
    Your tiny little body has been through so much,
    But I am here to help you learn and grow.
    Never give up, you will be just fine
    Your courage and humour will help the flow.
Much love,
Your D

Dear Little Self Whose Mother Did Not Love You

It wasn’t you.

It wasn’t ever you.

You feel so lacking,

so somehow not enough.

Third child of five,

Lost in the crowd.

Invisible, just one more kid.

Stairsteps, I heard us called.

The Smart One, at least.

She did do that for you.

Not The Pretty One.

Not The Artistic One.

But The Smart One.

Hold onto that.

It will serve you well.

Hold on also to your books, little self.

They are your lifeline.

You will grow, little girl.

Know that you are worthy of the world.

Believe in the goodness of your dreams.

She was wrong, little one.

She was wrong.

Prompt 22 Hour 18

Dearest Sleep,

How I have missed you so. I hear your beckon in the wee hours. A familiar tone of rest and hope.

It won’t be long till we meet again. For I cannot survive this life without you.

 

Always missing you,

CC