Causal pausation Assessment momentation Review, the second inclination, Then scrap-heaped, In much bad company filed Retained, reserved, preserved, For another go round, Another someday
You look at your hands, Telling them straight, Not good enough, Is not good enough Anymore
Do try, so try, Three lines, four stanzas, Elegies and funerals Don't become you, Go into labor, Write labored And birth free flowingly Knowing, That all knowing glowing, Of a poem child, Product of Good enough
All the family I have is a family of three. I will tell you all three, if only to be freed.
One of them is real and hardly ever ceased. Lies. Lies. Lies. Oh how it must die.
I told you one but the rest are still in the rain. This one is real, and caused by wanted heartache. Pain. Pain. Pain. Oh how it leaves me with unbearable strain.
The last one is real and its color is a deep red, filled so in harmless dread. Blood. Blood. Blood. Oh how it leaves people dead.
So strangers and lovers, you have heard my plea. Satan has got me, now set me free.
Driving down a windy road 35 miles per hour at seven thirty in the evening with flowers and balloons in the back seat shouldn't have ended with me being suspended sideways for thirty minutes while they tried to make it safe to get me out of what was left of my first car and no matter how many times i draw a bath i can't get rid of the feeling of my left hand covered in my own blood and the small slivers of glass that are still in my hands or the swollen over-sized bruises that adorn my legs and my face
And regardless of the scent of lavender and apples i cant look at my damaged body anymore
The first is the old sad looking man He lives in the group home I bet he's supposed to have a walker Perhaps he refuses to use it His body resembles a skeleton, and He always goes through the sad park The one that gives splinters The one with far too much garbage He follows the path all day, Usually pacing back and forth I said hello once, He did not hear me (or maybe he just didn't care) I always see him, even in the cold He is the most common of all
Then, there is me (the girl with the short hair) She goes nowhere in particular Dark clothes, tired gait I saw her light a cigarette once Although she never put it to her lips She never really says hello She just looks at you, Like “what're you waiting for? ” She walks in the middle of the street At midnight, all alone She steals flowers from her neighbor And carries them away To the tiny house on the corner
Lastly, there's the boy with the bike He has autism if i remember Alex with the sandy brown hair Blue house, chipped paint He never wears a helmet I am curious if his parents mind it When he leaves the house, Does he tell them he's going? He constantly talks to himself He said hello to me once, But called me by a name i didn't recognize He always bikes in circles Maybe he's looking for something.
Abide these three [creative writing assignment p.7]
I have learned three things in life. I have lost three things in life.
Faith- a curtain to hide behind, crutches to hold me up. Faith- a broken record of lies and hypocrisy, when I threw it away I could stand alone.
Hope- an intangible thing of optimistic beauty. Hope- pessimism is so much safer.
Love- promises, worries, caring, blind, deaf and dumb, not even minding. Love- remember the memories, throw away the promises, don't cross those lines.
Three blue trucks with discolored passenger doors Three huge steps to kissing under floorboards Three slighted moves to embracing under street lights Three backwards motions to remembering our small fights
