CREEPY HUGS (POETRY)

CREEPY HUGS (POETRY).

DADDYS LITTLE GIRL (POETRY)

Daddy’s Little Girl

I’m a woman maybe just a girl.

Play with my pig tales and tease the boys.

Daddy says I was bad.

He’s looking real mean that makes me sad.

Every time daddy gets that look.

I run to my closet and grab my book.

I’d hold it close cause it knew all that daddy took.

My book knows things no one else does.

Can’t jump rope with the kids or play in the mud.

I wanted to figure him out.

I wanted to hear him say.

I waited for so many years for that very special day.

It’s a yearning inside that wouldn’t go away.

And that yearning inside wanted him to pay.

The resentment inside wouldn’t let me heal.

The only thing I knew was the abuse was real.

I couldn’t for the life of me let go enough to heal.

My sister and I had this plan, to run away from this dark evil man.

But when my sister climbed down the balcony pole.

I didn’t want to leave my three brothers and other sister so I didn’t go.

Here comes daddy…big and mean.

Get in here, my daddy screamed.

My daddy does things other daddy’s don’t do.

The teacher took pictures of my bruises at school.

My sister is gone and I feel all alone.

Daddy says I can’t use the phone.

My nana worried about me being all alone.

My mamma was killed when I was a little girl.

Shot in the face she fell to the floor.

Mommy is dead and daddy is gone.

And even though he did me wrong.

I hate his guts but I love him so much.

I needed a friend so I created Jen my imaginary friend.

My life would depend if she would show to keep me a flow.

Daddy, nana, my sister and I went to court.

I remember it was the last week in July.

Daddy tried to deny but the judge told daddy we were going bye – bye.

I was so glad but things stayed in my mind.

I think of daddy, I think of daddy all the time.

All I want to do is be free.

Free from these memories and free from me…….

 

                                                Thank you, Daddy.

 

PARABLE (POEM)

Parable

 

Closed in a world of what’s to be.

Can’t you see it’s me in the distance?

Blank with resistance.

Hard to tame.

Sensation knows my name from past games.

Nowhere to hide.

Pain is greedy and the heart is needy.

Beauty is all over me…

But my visual is drowned out and hard to see.

Social anxiety.

Thoughts lie to me.

The truth and its reality.

Pain shared is pain lessened.

Living in the lesson.

Dressing my soul with dark cosmic coals.

Trapped in my mind.

Hiding from my own behind.

Because it’s time that searches for me.

If it’s too deep don’t let it creep into your rain.

Because it won’t sustain without at least a little pain.

Defined by the dark that exposes your secrets.

Keeps them alive and deprives the inner eye from freedom.

Don’t want them but I need them to remember what I tried so hard to forget.

A sliced memory.

Don’t want it to be real but it has this razor feel.

Sharp and precise.

I always crap out.

Cause I can’t play dice with this life that was given back.

Hard to see while using that…. NEEDLE POINT!

My fish died but I’m still alive.

Can’t say that for most.

Because the host is only a ghost try’na reappear.

Stay in the light it will disappear.

Don’t fear what is true.

 

 

The road is narrow but the path is sweet.

Don’t fret when you only see one set of feet.

 

                        Thank you, Healthy Fear.

 

 

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

Whims of a wanderer.

Whims of a supernova!

chanchalk

Sublimely magical words

Voyages

I'm just stopping by for a moment, so let's spend some time together.

Homespun

Spoken Word

Valentine's Fall

In a Manner of Poetry

new wave musings

thoughts of a full-time crybaby

I'm a teacher, again

To me writing is currently a release. I haven't quite decided to what degree it is I'm searching within my words, yet, I feel something matters somewhere, right?

Brave & Reckless

Reclaiming my inner badass at 50

Shahabistan

Vox clamantis in deserto

Shiny Objects

Rambling ruminations from an addled mind.

The Number 26

Stories about passengers travelling aboard the Number 26 bus from somewhere to somewhere

The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows: Storyteller / Authentic Mess

A Writer's Soul

"Diving into a writers soul is discovering the broken treasure and beautiful mysteries that make you gasp for air."

(CALIATH)

The poetry of ineptitude.

newtoneapblog

A Discarded Plant

Speaking Bipolar

Help to Successfully Live with Chronic Illness, Bipolar Disorder, and Familial Mediterranean Fever