Chaos erupted in my brain, sending nerves in scramble, forcing the wall safeguarding my sanity to fall.
Memories flood in colours of black, brown and red, non-stop, as if the storage of seconds and hours were limitless. They rushed in with the whisper,
Sorry, sorry, sorry
for lashing out to Father when his words squeezed me until the only thing I could breathe in and out were his mockery and my anger.
He sprayed me with the hose he used to wash the car. My frustration manifested in the form of a wounded beast growling after being free from his cage. I punched Father’s head until it bruised.
Sorry, sorry, sorry
for not being the son Mother wanted who could zip and unzip his mouth only when needed, who understood talking back only caused the fire to spread. I wished my body was made from plastic and metal and the switch to shut it down was at my fingertips.
I saw and heard her crying, sacrificing herself in the middle of Father and me, pleading me to stop spouting toxic whenever he cursed at me as if I was a fly ruining his food.
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
The whisper persisted in my mind. I couldn’t bear it, so I went to Mother’s room to say, ‘Sorry, Mother, for everything I have done. Forgive me, Mother, for the sins I have made.’
It didn’t leave me. The memories kept filling my mind until my eyes were close under the moon, hand clutching my head. I could not end them; I could only escape.
"Writing, though, belongs first to the writer, and then to the reader, to the world.
The subject is a catalyst, a character, but our responsibility is, has to be, to the work."
Me: Okay, brain and emotions, round two is gonna be killer. Brain: Awwww yeah it is boii! Me: I need to write the best poem ever. Emotions, whatcha got? Emotions: Daddy issues. Me: Emotions: Me: Emotions: Me: FINE I GUESS
Entry for Round No. 2
Spoiler! :
X. the issue of blood
when you're born into home-brewed pride (or cut your teeth on cans of cheerwine and budweiser) there is a slice on your gums ___________________that never quite ______________ceases to bleed.
flesh and bone grow back, and doctors __________are wonderful people ______________with their bleached smiles, with their _____opinions on how to save everyone until they don't. _______________________[truth is, some people ___________________________are just beyond saving.]
my father always brushed off fear ____________because he felt it each day. _____and so he learned to crush dangerous emotions ___________with a sledgehammer, as his father taught him. ____________________[and this is the sin of the father, _______________________as i took all the shards into my mouth; ___________________here is the blood for infidelity, _______________________here is the blood for neglect.]
as the doctors used to say: the best way to rid a disease is to bleed it out, to lose every ounce of yourself to fell the plague. _______________________[so i'm waiting for a smile __________________________to tell me when i may stop.]
I am a forest fire and an ocean, and I will burn you just as much as I will drown everything you have inside.
-Shinji Moon
I am the property of Rydia, please return me to her ship.
(I'm scared but I guess I'm posting it anywayssss)
round two entry
Spoiler! :
Where once the night was dark and dreary, I breathed in the painted dawn of the new morn’, and tasted the sweet kiss of pastel skies, though my heart had hung heavy and forlorn. And while my hair tangled with dust and sand, I dreamed of angels flying down upon, this futile orchard, this deserted land, eyes on the halos the spectre’s had donned. And though my body was stripped and dry, the desert a suiting grave for my sin, a smooth hand reached down from the light-filled sky; I watched the holy sight and cried within. And as the sun crested the rolling hills, I moved on towards where the sun-light spills.
i. i used to think god lived in the menorah, candlelight it’s own sacrament dripping tradition
ii. there’s books hidden behind glass walls that whisper of tradition that has slipped through fingertips and we’re left with impressions tinged by nostalgia and musk and pages that never open.
iii. my mother has a mezuzah that lives in a jewelry-box drawer because it never quite made it to a door.
iv. in college i learned a meaning of shabbos and group dinners friday nights where fighting over challah and hummus and learning camp versions of prayers on the fly meant induction into part of something i never quite knew if i'd found or lost
Spoiler! :
I can't decide if I like these together or separate like I originally wrote them... ugh.
***Under the Responsibility of S.P.E.W.*** (Sadistic Perplexion of Everyone's Wits)
Medieval Lit! Come here to find out who Chaucer plagiarized and translated - and why and how it worked in the late 1300s.
You hold me at gunpoint a diaper-clad carrier with a rubber ducky side-kick, and complain that I am too childish.
That I don't care enough about you to do the grown up thing.
That I have no dicipline despite the swarms of you who I have thrown in jail killed in the streets cuffed and arrested and ignored.
I spit out hurtful words in retort it's your fault. I am not at fault. You're the one who pushed it. You're the one holding the gun.
You're the one who is crying out for attention and seeking discipline and control through these negative means rather than accepting that I'm giving you complete power, freedom to make your own choices and you chose to befriend the rubber duckies in the first place. You are at fault. Not me. You should -
You should -
But inside, my stomach knots as I realize you're still sucking on a pacifier, can't contain your mouth to your face for all it's yawning, wanting nap time and your brain is still growing learning to make choices, discovering what danger really means.
You're still immortal in your world despite our warnings, you're still imagining that heaven is real and maybe sending some people would be a good way to get in.
They could prop the door for you so you could join the bouncy house in the sky rather than living in this hellish world where adults pass you up, ignore you.
I'm sorry, for all the stupid people for the way we've had to set a time bomb in our electoral system, and we're waiting for it to explode just as you join our ranks just as you sign up for the duty to our adulthood.
It's not fair that we made these choices and you have to die the consequences. It's not fair that I was told "Life's Not Fair" as a motto for why my paper wasn't accepted late and you're learning "Life's Not Fair" because of Mr. Rubber Ducky.
Blood splatters Nap Time. Sleep in the corner, learn to dogpile
Quiet time means the thunder might be closer to earth than we hope it might echo in our walls rather than outside.
I'm sorry life's not fair, that we've already set our shock paddles to full and rubbed them as ferociously as we could together ready to press them on the chest of our nation
Revive the Revolt. Revive the Revolution Revive the Reason we're Really against Reds. We the people all agree that what we see is not what was meant to be, so we are taking our rights, our forefathers rights, and tearing everything to shreds. Start again.
My generation knows how to fix a broken thing Kick it, try a hammer, maybe pry at it with a screwdriver in any crevice you can reach and when you call IT, say you tried restarting it but finally do it again when they catch you in the lie.
Click and hold the power button 15 seconds. 17 lives. 10 lives. 28 lives. 33 lives. and all those single digits in between Click the power button on again.
See if the magic of a lack of power for 36 lives in 2018 so far will remind us that "our children are our future" is more than just a political slogan to get people elected. It's a promise to be there when circle time is stained red and rip away those toys revoke our rights to rubber ducky because clearly, we're not adult enough to be responsible.
This is why we can't have nice things. I need an adult.
No worries, @Izanami - thanks for letting me know!
Great job on getting the entries in so early guys! For those who haven't yet (and @fortis if you want to change yours) you have about 12 hours left so get to it! (Yes, I know, this includes me too...)
Ehhh I have two poems of about the same quality, I'll just pick the happier one.
Spoiler! :
Poem 11
April 9th, 2018
rattling
Pause when the green skies start to break, sparking from cloud to cloud like the messages you frantically send to a friend as you cower between the seat and the steering wheel of your pickup truck, and you'll find, just before the rain breaks the air and splatters the ground, here the shadows of the dead linger.
Peek out of your window to see the bodies crawling up the lightning rods, shirts charred, sunglasses broken, bony jaws exposed. And if they look back (it's hard to tell, but you can usually see a gleam from behind their eye sockets), they're judging. Are you worth joining their ranks, they fortunate enough to climb up to the world of the living and wait to come alive in the split second they reenact their violent deaths?
But they're fickle, because they were the daredevils, and they can tell when you'd rather stay in your coffin when the sky starts to boil again; all you need to do is crouch beneath the steering wheel, count to ten, and listen for the cracking of the storm's whip, casting each spirit, one by one, to where they came (Heaven or Hell, nobody quite knows).
Look up after the final bolt to see the rainbow spilling into your eyes, you who decided a long life drawn out slowly was better than the opposite.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
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