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.

#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.

Less Than Ideal

Image result for broken things

Hold the broken pieces in your hand of the vase you bought,

So perfect, not quite the same as the one you really wanted,

But almost perfect enough that you glue the pieces back

Though it can never hold real flowers in water again.

 

So it holds silk flowers-

silver medal never gold,

Second best never good enough

As the first, the original.

Now it’s flawed forever

Scarred forever marred forever.

 

Can never hold water again.

Can never be whole again.

Can never be perfect again.

Can never be the one you said you wanted.

Can only be hidden, faced to a wall,

Boxed up locked up

Might as well be thrown away

For it’s not worth the effort

To recycle reuse repurpose

The pieces into something

more beautiful than the original.

 

It’s not worth the effort to love it more now

Than when you bought it…

Because it isn’t what you wanted in the first place.

Last Request

Now I lay me down to sleep.

For my bones, do not weep.

 

I do not lay here wanting grief;

In my rest I’ve found relief.

 

No more worrying over day to day affairs;

No more crying over unhappy cares.

 

In the earth I now have peace;

In the quiet all has ceased.

 

All my sorrows are washed away;

No more suffering, no more dismay.

 

Weep not, I say, for what is gone

Look to others, look to your own.

 

Care for those who continue to struggle,

Care for those who cannot juggle

 

The mind’s chess game with them as pawn.

Weep for the living, those who walk alone.

 

Turn your eyes and hands to them,

Let your love be their stem.

 

For it may be their life was spared

Because of you and those who cared

 

To see the pain behind their tears,

Who understood and calmed their fears.

 

Then come the morning and the rising sun

Come to me and say, “Thy will was done.”

 

And I will smile in my sleep

Because you did not weep.

 

*Probably a good idea to not snack too close to bedtime…you know, in case you wake up crying from a dream you can’t remember and the lines to a poem running through your head and neither will let you get back to sleep.