soquiliquay Poetry (105)

You annoy me and I don`t want you to
Tiny pieces of you physically remain here
Like building blocks cynically laughing at me, saying
"He may have left, but he wanted you to remember."
Like the blood soaked sheet after a miscarriage
Like seemingly happy photographs with someone I didn`t love
Like the nauseating smell of something unfortunately familiar
You`ve left your footprints here in this place
To be almost angrily thought of, but never thrown out
For fear of getting rid of someone to blame for something that really needs no blame.

Your birthday is coming up, wow. Six years old. Before you know it, you won`t need me anymore. You won`t be there when I wake up anymore to wish me a good morning. Nor will you be there to say good-night. I can`t remember a day I didn`t feel you watching over me. And I know you`ve been there for your father, maybe inadvertently trying to bring us back together in some way or other.

I`m sure you spend a lot of time with your grandma, she`ll teach you the things that I can`t. Like what`s so captivating about grandpa, and how to spend equal amounts of time with family. Or maybe how to find that quiet spot where you can just sit and think.

You`ve been such a good boy all these six years, I couldn`t imagine any better son.

Picturing you in my mind, I see you with your fathers` eyes, something that attracted me to him when I first saw him. I believe like him, you`ve just as protective over those that you love. From me, I like to think you have my intensity for the arts and my sense of humor. With all of those combinations, I trust you`ll do just fine.

Sorry I haven`t written in all these years, son. I tried, but wasn`t ready. Just know, I know you`ve been there for me.

Love, Mom

You can make mistakes and still be OK.
Everyone has made mistakes.
Most of them survive.
Not everyone learns from them, though.
Learn from your mistakes.

You deserve good things to happen to you.
The only people who don`t get good things,
are those who don`t think they deserve them,
and therefore don`t let good things happen to them.

It`s good to have goals, but sometimes
they seem so far away.
When that happens, break them up into smaller steps
and stay focused on what you want.
Keep going, one step at a time.

Our fears can`t happen,
unless they get a lot of help from us.

It`s your responsibility,
but it`s not your fault.

The best thing people can tell us about
ourselves, sometimes, is the truth.
Just make sure they are telling you the truth
for your sake, because they care, and not just
because they`re dumping their
anger, or frustration, or unhappiness on you.

The best way to make friends is to tell them
good, positive things about themselves.
But make it real, and true, and not empty flattery.

When you`re not sure what to do, ask
yourself, what would your Dad do?
It might not be the best idea,
right for you, or the solution you ultimately
choose. But it`s a good place to start.

You must feel the joy of life,
just as much as the pain.
Life is about both of these things.

And remember, no matter what happens,
there is at least one person in this world
who loves you no matter what.

The snow clings to the pine trees like a baby to its mothers breast.
Clumps of this cold white blanket fall gently then with a deafening thud it hits the hard packed snow below, giving way for new fallen flakes to coat the dark forbidding trees.

We are like trees too. Out in the wintry cold we wear our warm heavy coats only to take them off temporarily inside. We`re always donning new `snow` by instinct for survival. A tree has no choice but welcomes it just the same. Says man to tree, "We`re not so different you and I."

We take, trees give. We move, trees stay. We live in greed, trees live in beauty. We destroy, trees create.

We both survive.

They say that love is life, but for sensitive people like me, it`s everything. The wedding bells that chime on the Entertainment channel send tears splashing from my eyes. The planning, the travel, the oo la la`s, I can`t help but hide so my facial expressions can`t be seen. When I see couples together, holding hands or laughing, I envy them. I want that. I want to laugh, to hold, to be. But this tiny little voice, so small that one must strain one`s ears, tells me I can`t. I can`t fall in love, I`m too plain, I`m too different, I`m too me. Sigh. They say it doesn`t matter. But they never had to deal with the pressures of the young adult who hopes to fall in love. But, I say…for sensitive people, there are sensitive tears. For those sensitive tears there are sensitive souls. For those sensitive souls there are soft hands that wipe away those sensitive tears.

I look up from the light devoid well with it`s cracked bricks of old mortar
And realize I`m not really in the well but looking down inside
Grinning widely up at me was a perfectly miniature in scale bright white skeleton
But what`s this…I feel as if I was that skeleton too, sitting there in the waterless well
And from that vantage point, living in ignorant bliss
But still… I am confused because I am seeing the skeleton from above
Amidst a world of questions
My dear fellows walk around in life asking questions never ending
And here I am just complacent looking in the well
At a widely smiling skeleton that also is myself

It`s a crisp winter morning, and I venture out into the soft falling snow, and let the flakes tickle my nose, wishing someone was there to share it with. I make a silly snowman but no one`s there to laugh at his smiley face. I go to the movies, and to the coffee shop to have cookies and soda pop, and yet again no one`s there to share them with.
It`s spring and new life sprouts forth, I go walking in the fields watching baby animals, and no one`s there to see the beauty I see. I go to the poetry corner, and sit alone drinking margaritas. I look down into my glass and watch the tears swimming around. I go for a horse back ride one late night, and I can hear the sound of his hooves slop in the mud heavily, instead of a spring in his step. I know he picks up how I feel inside, and out.
It is Summer and I go to watch the fire works on a small blanket made for one, and I shiver in the cold, no one to hold me close. I go to the carnival but my friends aren`t there. I am all alone. No one wins me a teddy bear and smiles his warm smile at me. I sit on the back porch, and watch the first and last rays of sun-up and sun-down and no one to share this wonderment with. It`s too breathtaking to watch alone.
It`s now fall, and the colors are changing and I walk into the woods and look at the browns, oranges, and firey reds, and no one is there to see the rainbows I see. I hear the crunching under my feet, and breath in the smells, and wish someone was there to breath them in with me. Chickmunks and squirrels quickly scurry around carrying nuts and berries readying for winter to fall. I prepare myself, they enjoy it. I don't, I have no one to talk to when I`m alone.
Well……except for my shadow.

Don`t forget to take me to wherever it was you said you`d take me
Where I can feel Technicolor pain and tell pastel lies

I`ll look and see the night in negative hues
Daylight will no longer exist in this frequency

Everything will blend together and fade to black
But fear won`t play here
Not anymore at least

And what is left, will be the soft illusion of a bubble wrapped life
In a safe snow globe kind of world

Looking for an answer
Trying too hard to find it
What we`re really looking for
Is a way
To get through
Without asking

BOOM
And then it resonates through the sky being obscured by flashing lightning

BOOM
And it shakes the sky like an angry Greek god finding vengeance

BOOM
Electric energy courses through you from head to toe

BOOM
A Thunder pulse like the sky`s heart beat

BOOM
Opening the world for a torrential rain storm

BOOM
The lesser of the two but the precursor to the other

BOOM
In a race across the sky, the lightning falls short

BOOM
Giving way to the resonating pulse that builds in energy

BOOM
Like a surging race horse to cross the wire

BOOM
The Thunder Pulse has the power

Rude is in the fingers
They drip cyanide over the words of honesty on the yellowed pages
Written from a once whole beating heart that now lies like the pages, curling and warped in the cobwebbed corners.
Rude is in the fingers
Harshly dancing on the spine that once held me up
But now I am but nerves so pinched and eyes so lost and a soul left in the past
Tears so dry they could not quench a desert
Rude is in the fingers
That molded with mine in times of needing comfort and solace
Radiating warmth into iced recesses amidst a trauma laced smile
Rude is in the fingers
Walking through my hair as you say good-bye, I`ll be home soon
To go away and do all this to someone else who deserves it as much as I
Rude is in the fingers
That fly helplessly in the air when you beg forgiveness
Knowing I`m too weak to say I don`t love you anymore
Rude is in the fingers
Blow upon blow of fist and friends
Leaving welts and bruises an artist captures to prove sanity
Rude is in the fingers
Holding the semblance of your black heart in the wintry night
Finally surviving and letting go of days ago

Reaching to unpure souls like fingers to lips that tremble and hide, is the mind numbing howl of the one they call the "Rebel."

Over vast miles of flat ground the howl stretches to the souls, and clings to awaken lost fears and desires.

The main fear was seeing this rebel, for he had such power and motives to move one, to the point that he was treated as being higher than an alpha.

Sun piercing eyes glow from afar, as his physical form seems to blend into transparency.

Soon, his body emerges forth like a butterfly from its cocoon, and there he stood, awaiting fate and reason.

The nauseatingly bright sun cast bits of light upon his thick coat of rich maroon.

A soft creme was seemingly painted upon his face, to mirror a mask, and reddened to his paws.

Taut muscles bent with each step he took into the clearing.

His conformation showed good health and spirit although it was just that, his spirit that he liked to hide from others` scorning faces.

He was by no means an alpha, but he let his tail fly high with the pride of his heritage though he didn`t approve of looking proud about anything but his own failures.

A sly vindictive look spread across his face, as his eyes pinpointed a rocky ledge, which he complacently walked to.

Lying upon the cold hard surface, he yawns, exposing a deep blue stripe down his tongue, and closes his eyes.