mausoleum

after october the world feels

too much like a crypt  

or a sealed off catacomb so

cold cold and i never see the sun

so i lose sleep

in this tomb inside me

curled up on veiny marble in

a stone coffin

half-decayed or so it seems

yellow parchment bones jutting from

every crevice

poking through almost flourescent skin

i long for something other

than this heavy alone-ness

in a dark mausoleum where 

my words are lost to

shadowy corners and frigid air  

i can't see my breath because i have

none left

but in a few months

vines will overtake my grave

and overturn the coffin lid

i will gather my bones and  

put myself back together

filling the spaces with 

old dirt and new life

and i will smile

leaving the land of

the dead until

november

returns 

~~~~~

Author's note- seasonal depression sucks :( Sorry if this poem was really depressing, but the theme is death, sooooo...

But the part about spring until November is uplifting!

Admin

i. it's niggling

in the back of my mind

it's gonna happen soon

and we all know it

so why doesn't it happen already

so mom can come home

from the hospital

ii. okay

it happened

how am i supposed to feel?

i'm more sorry

for her

than for me

iii. she's back

yay

and no one talks about it

she focuses on the memorial

make a website

make an obituary

i assume she's sad

but how am I supposed to feel? 

--

This poem is about my feelings before and after my grandfather died, and about my mom's feelings.

A History

I love her

Loved

I feel sorry for her

Felt

I am inspired by what she tells me

Told

It is a struggle

To stop talking about her

Like she's still around

Because 

Death is 

The changing of verbs

From present tense

To past tense

Even though it's hard

Tears will also be in past tense. 

So I posted my first slightly more narrative poem on the regular poetry thread and got some super sweet feedback, so I wrote another more narrative poem. 

Predestined 

Abba, Father, 

today your world is dripping with murder

as your Predestined are shattered in their molds

today the train whistles by the factory

that blows holes in the sky 

today is broken into unproved theories 

like words I can’t pronounce, they 

are layers of thick paint stuck to my tongue

glazing the truth

and truth falls into a trap

that no one meant to lay

somewhere among the shadows

I am who you made me to be

yet I keep falling through open

windows of darkness

framed by change and rebellion

we are tumbling into a new kind

of revolution

smothered in rights

that you never gave us

we yank at our chains until 

chunks of the surrounding walls

begin to crumple 

wouldn’t it be easier to have them cut? 

Abba, Father

today your world is dripping with murder

and somewhere, I am who you made me to be

you made me to be a witness 

in an age of rights

you never gave us. 

Here's something I just wrote for this. I tried a sort of new style, more open, almost like telling a story, I think. I call it 'eternal'. I hope you can see the meaning behind it:

Eternal

I. ever wonder 

why it's 

so hard

to say goodbye

II. not just a simple

hug

‘I miss you already’

(It's hard too,

don't get me wrong)

but real goodbyes

ones that are

“forever”

III. you know the tearstreaks on their faces mean that nothing will ever be the same

IV. the words spill out between broken syllables and 

splutters through tears

it hits you like a tidal wave

knocks you over again before you can stand back up

as you try to sort out

what just happened

V. pick up the pieces of your life

put the puzzle back together

forget, move on, but

when you remember again it's only more painful

VI. change is hard, but good

that's what they say

I don't believe them

none of us like change, really

because when you think about it,

things were never meant

to change

just like we

were never supposed

to say goodbye

VII. this goodbye is not forever

we were made to be

eternal

as i fade away

—

i. i am a whisper on the lips

of the ghosts of your past

ii. it was never a question of if

but when 

iii. you say you will remember me

but time heals all wounds

iv. i have no control

who lives who dies who 

v. tells my story 

~~~

Last lines credit to Lin Manuel Miranda  

One of the Christmas presents I made involved me cutting and pasting all sorts of stuff onto a notebook cover to make a sort of collage (which I'm not very good at). I cut up stuff like RPG posts, ADSOM quotes, 6 of Crows quotes, the music for a Murder on the Orient Express song, notes me and my friend passed back in forth in class, fantasy character's signatures we made, a valentine, playbills, and much, much more. It doesn't look that neat, but neatness has never been my specialty.