Restart Error
My screen is stuck,
after countless times of restarting
an error message appears
“cut the chords”
So, I threw it out window
and never looked back.
The Kiss
His hands were warm
Upon my face
As he pulled me in
Each second frozen
In my mind
As I took it in
And then it happened
Just like that
His lips were on my lips
It was hard
And full of lust
Six months had built it up
It was worth it
To wait and wait
And now it was today
The taste was sweet
The touch electric
It was only him and me
Then it was over
I stood deprived
Needing more and more
I wouldn’t wait
Another second
I grabbed him and kissed him sore
Dead Poets Society (in memory of robin williams)
Despite the rain that day, I forewent the umbrella.
After everything, soaked clothes were the least of my concerns.
Watching them lower him down was the most painful thing I ever had to endure
But he’ll never know it.
I lingered long after everyone else had left.
I only wish he had the common courtesy to follow suit.
Now, here I stand two years later
with no idea how I made it this far without him.
Sometimes, I think about jumping in after him
but then I realize worrying doesn’t suit me.
I mean he brought us joy long before he took himself from us.
Why should now be any different?
ASYLUM
Poppers in the hair , cheer in the air
Glasses floated on here and there,
Dresses caressed and cheeks kissed ,
At the back , frowned and hissed.
Pride was held and pockets filled ,
Together they boasted and killed .
Cared for none , knew no fun ,
But stood out a setting sun.
Loner , he was , and,
Drowning deep down ,
Into the swamps of swank.
Stretched out no hands ,
Peeped out no eyes ,
For all was cheer and dear there.
December 22
Above all, I remember your purple toes–
a sign of the dead end you were approaching.
The seasoned nurse lifted the sheets
and showed me your long suffering digits
that used to bruise from toe shoes
in dance lessons in pink with ribbons.
Swollen and left behind, no longer required
to spin or point in first position.
Sister, I should have stayed beside you.
But your last anguish and your empty shoes
were more than I could bear to remember.
7am
Blinding sunlight
At 7am
I shield my eyes,
The lightness of my
Hands and soul and eyelids
Amazes me.
An unexpected sunny day
Breaks up my dreary gray
My soul finally awakes
And heals me with song.
I look out at the bright blue sky
Sigh.
Breathe.
Smile.
So This is How it Ends?
You.
It all begins and ends with you–and your loneliness.
There is a loneliness that is incurable,
as terminal as life itself.
It’s the one that tracks all the barriers,
feels them with the tips of the mind’s fingers,
palpable as the stone, plaster and wood masonry wall.
It looks like that small child peeking over that garden wall,
only his brown, mop head visible,
panic in his eyes.
It’s the underside of your smile and the fake interest in your eyes,
gleaming with all you can muster.
It’s the voices that you respond to though no one else hears them.
It’s that mad conversation you have alone with yourself,
in the darkest part of the night.
It’s the realization
that the one sleeping next to you for the last 35 years
is a total stranger.
It’s the one incident that threw you over the edge
of shifted perspective,
never to return again,
like when you discover your life-long mate,
the father of your children,
never did have any craving desire for you–
ever.
And you never would have thought that.
That’s the enfolding isolation
that can never be breached, penetrated or dissolved.
That’s loneliness.
That’s your loneliness.
And inside of it,
that’s where you begin and end.
The Flower
Our hearts divide which once were one and true
As love, a candle, flickers into black
What once was us has become me and you
Our paths diverge there is no turning back
You were a flower radiant and light
The ground beneath you shaping every thought
Yet simple tasks became a daily fight
I tried, but cannot love you as I ought
I took you from the soil in which you stayed
To have you as my own to keep and hold
But in the vase your love began to fade
The ground you knew was changed for waters cold
You change as now I slowly apprehend
To pluck a flower is to make it’s end
The End of All… Poem 1/24
1955 – the beginning of it all
my mother thought my baby face
was the most beautiful she’d ever seen…
her friends and family said “How cute!”
my father… I don’t know if he was present, lol!
whatever I was perceived to be, by whomever,
most words said were blessings and were kind…
but other words were spoken over my life…
about me, about who the ones that spoke them
thought that I should be…
words that I had no control over,
words that wreaked havoc in my soul,
and caused a vortex
of misfortune that scarred and dented
whom I was truly meant to be…
words that still scar me
and play tricks on my mind
and now, in 2016,
it’s my turn to say my say with words
to make undone what words have caused:
and I say: no more!
no more will other people’s words
cause me to tumble out of balance
through the vastness of the universe
this is MY turn – and I say:
“This is THE END of their story…
The beginning of mine”
Antoinette LeRoux ©2016
Rachel
She died,
Clinging to memories and thoughts of a sisterhood that never had a chance to unfold,
15 years old,
ambitions,
hopes,
dreams of a better time,
halted by the end of time–
Sisters who work in the garlic fields together,
A team of children living in poverty,
Struggling to eat each day — then —
we
became
me,
I reach out to you on nights when I wavier and you come to me,
Memories,
Rememeber the time when we sat down on a rock and talked about what we have never told the parents?
Your arm was bleeding,
scrapes and cuts so real that I see them today,
No one knows but me,
You asked me never to tell,
and I haven’t,
You fell off your roller blades, right?
15 years living,
15 years gone,
I celebrate every birthday,
Take off every death day,
and I remember you,
Memories,
Remember when you tried to sneak out of the house?
You came running back in,
“Someone is out there, watching me,”
Next morning,
A single sweater was drying on the clothesline,
You sweated that night, fear,
and blushed in the morning, embarrassment,
You never got those boots you were saving up for,
A letter in your hand writing,
Returned to me after grandma passed,
I re-read your thoughts all the time,
Stay close to me,
Memory,
I write a poem about my sister,
Her letter next to a picture of her and grandma,
Those were happy times in the struggle of life.
-End-