Captive

I cry for him, he does not know,

Though, while my tears flow, I worry

And curse myself for not being fit enough

 

At teaching him those things he should know

Better than to do

When away from home,

How to stay true to himself

 

When all others try

to encourage him to do or die

and mischief-make,

or get high.

 

Why is it that others help take

Away that innocence with which we’re born,

And throw us to the wolves?

-we’re torn asunder-

And it’s up to our mothers to mourn

 

Our loss,

So much more than just our physical state.

Those lines we cross

Are simply the bait used to capture

 

And enslave the soul.

 

*Youngest kid is having a couple of very bad weeks at school and I am reminded of some things I did at the same age which resulted in my mom and stepdad using a very extreme form of punishment (but very inventive at the time) to correct my behavior. They took me to the police station near our home and left me sitting in the car with my mom while she discussed why what I did was wrong. My stepdad went inside the building and when he came out he “confirmed” that they did take 7 year-olds to kids’ jail. What did I do that required such an extreme measure? I took some Kool-Aid and candy from the grocery store without paying. Mind you, my mom caught me before we even got out of the store and I had to apologize to both the store manager, whom my mom called over, and to the register clerk. Let’s just say I learned my lesson. But between Tornado’s behavior lately and remembering my own at his age it got me to thinking about how many kids don’t have someone who cares enough for them to help them. And so, their mother’s mourn their loss, both the innocence and the soul that had so much potential.

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Veracity

I hold back

The evidence that would betray me,

For it will bear witness to the truth

Of what’s been done.

 

And even though, perhaps,

The truth might make me stronger,

These fact-bearers would also show the cracks

And scars I carry

hidden away in darkness,

and the things I cannot say,

those agonizing thoughts,

become palpable

and then must needs be dealt with.

 

And I am not ready.

 

So I fight back the attestants,

Those warm, wet, and salty testifiers,

That would willingly tell my story

The moment they fell from my eyes.

 

*Day 4’s NaPoWroMo prompt is to write about sadness in a simple way. Well, I wrote about fighting sadness and losing that battle. And it’s not really in a simple way I suppose but then sadness is rarely simple.

Thoughts At 4 A.M.

The dog is having a nightmare and whimpers in her sleep

while the other feels lost and alone and unloved because I am

making him sleep in his own bed instead of next to me under the top blanket

where he feels safe and secure and warm.

The cat sleeps on my feet and moves to shove her head into my face

so I’ll pet her because for whatever reason,

 

4 a.m. is the time when

I should be awake to offer them attention.

And then I remember the paperwork I forgot to fill out and turn in to the

school counselor by 8 a.m. so it’s up and to the computer and finish that

-thank heavens for email or then I’d have to stay up-

(except that it’s due by noon and I see that only AFTER I finish filling it out)

and really, I should fill out the other form but what’s the use when I won’t be

approved for the assistance anyway,

 

and besides, it’s not so much to really need help

with paying after all, if only they could wait until mid-month.

Then there’s the bills I’m behind on and how much longer I can

get away with pushing them off until the next payday.

There’s the constant worrying over how my newly graduated son

is going to be able to be on his own when he is still so immature

and needs so many more skills that he refuses to learn.

How bad a parent am I that I haven’t taught him how to survive

…except even I’m struggling so how can I think I could possibly teach him?

 

Then there’s the growing tension between Him and I,

a constant bruise that never goes away. I struggle to not

fall back into a rut and fear that’s where He wants me to be again

while He tries to force me to be what He thinks He wants me to be,

and I can’t be that, and so the tension keeps mounting and I don’t know

how much longer it can go on when He keeps jabbing and poking and pushing

 

and accusing and saying things that aren’t true.

He’s trying to get a reaction,

-because nothing else makes sense and He doesn’t understand why I can’t make Him happy-

-because it’s not me who can do that, it’s Him and he struggles with this concept-

and when He does it makes Him angry and retaliative,

and it’s all just too much.

I’m going to break.

 

Adulting sucks and I don’t know why I was in such a hurry to grow up

when all my life I saw how hard it was in the example my parents set before me.

And no one else is up,

just me

and the noises of a sleeping household:

a whirring fan, an air conditioner hum, sprinklers coming on outside,

 

the hushed breaths of those lucky enough to find sleep

a dear friend who visits every night

while I sit here typing away trying to shut the madness of worry out,

and hoping I can strain enough of these teeming concerns through

a mental sieve

and let my heavy eyelids fall

and shut out the world.

 

*I’m participating in National Poetry Writing Month this year and this is my offering for Day 3’s prompt, which is to write a story or action that takes place over time. I wrote about the thoughts that go through my head during a time when I can’t sleep. 

Winter’s Shades

Walk with me through Winter’s woods,

Trees bare of spring and summer fashions,

For it’s easy to walk alone while the sun’s heat

Floods the air

And roses bloom in profusion.

 

It’s only when the trees disrobe

And the roses undress,

Their thorny nakedness

And broken veins exposed,

That winter’s beauty

Can cover them in sparkling jewels.

 

And if not for the biting cold

We would not cling together

For warmth

Or look to another for comfort

When the darkness sets in.

#OctPoWriMo Day 13-If I Were You

If I Were You

By Jesi Scott

 

If I were you

If you were me

Perhaps you’d see

Perhaps you’d be

The one I’d crave

The one to save

Save my life

Save my world

World in my heart

World torn apart

Apart from this

Apart and dismissed

Dismissed from here

Dismissed to disappear

Disappear from life

Disappear from view

View my hurt

View my pain

Pain everlasting

Pain forecasting

Forecasting to amend

Forecasting the end

End the history

End my misery

Misery of us

Misery in exodus

Exodus of the end

Exodus to begin

Begin again

Begin and feign

Feign these feelings

Feign these meanings

Meanings that lie

Meanings that cry

Cry a river

Cry and deliver

Deliver the package

Deliver the message

Message left behind

Message that’s over

Over and out

Over and without

Without a word

Without a doubt

Doubt you

Doubt me

Me in truth

Me so obvious

Obvious

Truth.

 

* Day 13: to express to someone your point of view using a Blitz poem, not my favorite form. I decided to put more thought and interest in it by making it rhyme as much as I could and to try and make it a little more challenging.

#OctPoWriMo Day 12-Tortured

Non-Disclosure

By Jesi Scott

 

You don’t like what I say?

Silence my words with your

                                Wicked twists.

Knife-stabbed heart through the back,

I turned and you were gone.

                                Blood-dipped fingertips

                                Leaving vermillion-dripped

                                Evidence along the floor.

 

Cut me down to your level,

Force-fed diamond lies you

                                Shove in my throat.

Ignore the damage you leave in your wake;

Hurricane hiding in an empty face.

                                Victim-played the lines greyed,

                                Oath-bound promises filleted

                                And arrayed on a silver platter.

 

Leave me bare now

                                Huddled on the cold, hard floor.

Black-bruised heart left scarred,

You turn your back and go.

                                Unrestrained lies contained

                                Leaving your blood-stained

                                Reputation maintained.

 

*Day 12 of the challenge brings us to feeling tortured. When things don’t go well in a relationship we tend to torture ourselves with thoughts of what we could have done differently. We go over and over the things we said, the actions we took, and we question if we did the right thing. For some the torture happens before things end. We walk on eggshells trying to make decisions that won’t make things worse. Putting out fires before they turn into an inferno becomes the order of the day; being constantly on guard is simply the new normal. In my poem I write about the emotional torment in a dysfunctional relationship.

#OctPoWriMo Day 11-Falling Through the Cracks

Manifest Destiny

By Jesi Scott

 

We mark the hours knowing

The sell-by date is coming.

We ignore the imperfections.

 

So what’s the use in complaining?

The future is already accepted;

We mark the hours knowing.

 

Little things we let slip through,

Those hairline fractures that mar the surface say

The sell-by date is coming.

 

Still we try to hold on to keep from breaking;

We glue the pieces back together while

We ignore the imperfections.

 

* Day 11-Falling Through the Cracks: day 11 deals with imperfections, cracks, letting your guard down, and the resulting fallout. What happens then? I wrote about seeing the cracks coming and holding on in spite of the omniscience. The suggested form is a Cascade.