Categories > Original > Poetry


by I_Mean_This 0 reviews

about my grandparents/ frustration at myself

Category: Poetry - Rating: PG - Genres: Angst - Published: 2007-03-01 - Updated: 2007-03-01 - 668 words - Complete

I was there
Running through that field, on top of that hill, peering through that jungle,
that grass that towered above me in a green blur
And I feel like I could go back
Cause it was mine once.

The wildflowers, yellow grass
the lupins of my past are buried,
sacrificed to hold more broken souls
and it hurts 'cause nobody asked.

Taking a deep breath, I exhale the memories
painting the past on that dead end street with my mind
Where that field used to be,
imagining the way it used to be
before my dad got sick of us
and before my grandpa's thirst consumed him.

It all seemed so huge and I dared myself to walk there alone and when I came back I felt my chest fill with pride with each step and I

Drive past it
remembering every skinned knee
every bruise,
every stubborn tear from my childhood.

And I remember walking up those steps into the stale air...
That warm, invading air, squeezing my lungs with the familiar, comforting smell of cigarette smoke and she
Sat in the dining room taking a drag,
the smoke curling up to the yellow cieling and

It was all there...but in the angst and pain of puberty it lay forgotten...and sometimes I'd walk over there
Dressed in black in 90 degree weather,
I was so fucking cool and

He was gone then,
he'd been gone for years.
The memory of his blue and red blotched skin, thin as paper is all I can see
And I
see him walking through the living room, hunched over and I
Hear the tinkling of ice cubes and I
remember his crumpled hand in mine,
that day at the hospital as he wasted away from the drink and
I was 9

And I remember the guilt.
The guilt I felt as I watched the bruises spread across his soft skin like a disease,
like it was my fault.

And now I struggle to remember
before the silence.
Before the oxygen tanks and harsh realities..
Sitting on his lap when I was so small and afraid of the world
and bursting with such painful innocence it makes me wanna SCREAM .

And she would brush my hair and I would cry
and sometimes I'd fall asleep on the floor and wake up
with a blanket and I knew that I was loved...
And I was 7 or 8 or something and I didn't know what love was yet.

But it's empty now.
We cleaned out the closets, giving away her t-shirts.
Their memory
to Goodwill.
And it's funny but on the day she died it rained, like the earth was crying too
And I gave my thanks for her days earlier
And it kills me that the smoke killed her.

And there's nothing left in that house.
The memories seem to leave with the furniture.
And all I have left are thse family pictures
And this shell built by determined hands...
And I don't want to let it go.

But still I
Can see it all in my mind
Like flipping through a photo album,
A blur of smiles and faces.
Trying to place the past on the present,
Putting these broken dolls back on this
Cracked shelf.

And all that's left is that empty house
with that little girl inside
on that dead end street.
And I wish I could take you there
but its gone.
There's nothing left anymore.
There's nothing left but memories and broken dreams
And thoughts of the way it should've been.

And these ghosts....these whispers from the past
Their voices, their smiles
They're all ghosts
and they're inside that house,
And inside of me.

And they'll give it away...and I'll drive past ti...
Remembering every skinned knee...
And how it used to be...
And how it SHOULD'VE been.
And I'd take you there
But I can't.

There's only ghosts and memories.
And it hurts that nobody asked...
'Cause it was mine once.
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