Care

Cry In My Sleep

 

 I Lost My Ability To Cry
I'm Hurting So Much
I Feel Hurt
I Feel Pain
I Want To Cry
But Theres Not Tears
Theres No Emotions
Hold Me Please


Because I Can't Feel My Arms
I Can't Feel My Legs Anymore
I Feel Like Crying
But I'm Dying In My Sleep
Waking Up With Dried Up Eyes
I Don't Remember Crying
I Don't Remember Sleeping
Chill Runs Through On My Skin


Crying Out In Pain
I Wish I Could Cry
For My Body Can't Take It Anymore
Is This What It Feels Like
Why Must I Feel So Cold
Why Must I Feel So Emotionless
Pieces Of My Heart
Tears In Pieces


I Wish Again
I Could Cry
Just Once More
If I Could Hold You
If I Could Hug You
And Tell You One More Thing
I Just Want To Cry
I Want To Cry On Your Shoulder

 

 

If I could colour my words

Folder: 
Human

 

 

 

 

If I could color my words

I would paint them when I send it to you

 

If you were sad, I would send them in gray

you can stay in the mist as long as you want  

 

If you feel in chaos, I would send them in green

The only anser is in a garden

 

If you were happy, I would send them in yellow

It would give you wings

 

If you were in tense, I would send them in black

It would absorb your fear

 

If you were relaxed, I would send them in blue

You would remember the night at the ocean and moon in the sky

 

If you were fragile, I would send them in violet

It would remind you that calm in silence

 

If you feel free, I would send them in rainbow.

You would realize that you are not alone

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

All the feelings has some clours but we can not see.

But you see it in your heart.

So I tried to discribe them in words.


 

View sakura's Full Portfolio

Care

Care

By jfarrell

 

At noon my ‘parents’ went on strike;

Children’s home, NALGO union…

National strike…

Nothing to do with us…

The children in care.

 

They walked out at noon.

The ‘Suits’ came round;

Council officials…

“We have to move you.”

 

My younger sister…

Boarding school in Wales….

Me… only space we got is borstal…

“SORRY! NO! NOT MOVING!”

 

Throughout the afternoon - police amassed;

Helmets, riot shields, batons….

That ONE police van….

Rocking, with muffled barking…

 

A dark grey freezing cold afternoon quickly became….

Dark, overcast, scary….

I saw that van open and all I saw was…

Teeth, hungry teeth, million dogs gonna eat me, bite me, hurt me….

 

I ran…..

Didn’t know where to, just away from here…

My breath misting in the air….

So cold….

Smell of burning….

It’s nearly guy fawlkes night….

What do you expect?……

 

The ashes floating past me

Were my CSE ‘A’ s …..

My education, my future,

Racing ahead of me in the freezing cold night.

 

I didn’t know….

And if I did,

Was there anything I could do?

15 years old, my children’s home going up in flames.

 

this is CARE!

For a political dispute….

I cut myself off from my family, forever;

And didn’t see my future burn as I did it.

 

I was just scared and running away from the dogs;

35 years later….

I’m not a meaningful, productive member of society;

I phone my sister her birthday, she phones me mine;

That’s it!

 

At 11 I was taken into ‘Care’;

“the Care of the State”.

Knowing why I, and my sister, were here…..

They still went out on strike…

 

Has the ‘Care System’ changed since then?

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

my children's home was not burned down, but a lot of fires were started, no idea who by, i was gone

View suicideslug's Full Portfolio

In loco parentis

In loco parentis

By jfarrell

 

The October, before my CSE’s…

My ‘parents’ went on strike;

My children’s home was closed, overnight….

Very violently.

 

I cut my ties with my family, that night; forever;

And my coursework, homework projects and text books

I didn’t realise the ashes floating past me was my future;

I didn’t even know a fire had been started.

 

Who’d worry bout all the ‘A’ grades they were expected to get;

Who’d say goodbye, forever, to mum, dad, and younger sister?

Who’d be so arrogant? So stupid?

A 15 year old kid, scared of growing up to be his dad?

 

I have always been my ‘in loco parentis’;

You see a nearly 50 year old man;

I am 6 years old, trying to talk my dad outta beating me

Learning that the ‘very free sweets, toys and comics’ have a price;

 

 

My parents were not fit enough!

And the children’s home…. I need parents… politics? Strike?

In this world, this life, that has never made any sense….

How have I done? As a parent?

 

I think, I’d have had me locked up, long ago.

 

Not fit, to be near children….

Or anyone.

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wasn't much of a brother when our children's home closed... or long before then..

my staying away from her and her family now, makes me the best brother ever...

but, it doesn't make it right

and nothing ever will...

sorry..

this is poetry, not psychotherapy, or drunks are us....

i reeeeeeeeaaaaaallllllly love you... go on, give us a kiss....

 

;-)

 

A dream last night

A dream last night

By jfarrell

 

 

 

I dreamt, last night, that my mum had died;

I wonder if it’s prophetic,

The way some dreams are;

And I should be ashamed I feel no sadness, no loss.

 

I got taken into care when I was 11;

(“ and you probably deserved it; only thugs, feral children

And criminals end up in care; you probably deserved it”);

Is the unspoken accusation I hear, all my life.

 

My ‘loving, responsible’ mother

Poured a bottle of vodka down my 8 year old sister’s throat;

Then dumped her, unconscious, on the outside stairs,

When she collapsed.

 

I bet, when my nan and uncle were told about us going into care

There was no mention of alcohol;

I was always the scapegoat;

I was always to blame, every bad was my fault.

 

Hearing that my dad had died, did not release me from the pain;

I doubt my mum’s death will either;

And, 25 years from now I will still be cursing her;

As I do my father, 25 years dead now.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i've had many dreams, i'd describe as prophetic, ie in a sense they came true  - but i've never dreamed about my mother dying, though i've fantasized about it, often - does that make me an evil and wicked person, or just the same as everyone else alive?

I Held Back

Folder: 
Personal

"It's been a bit,

since I've written real words, 

real verbs, letters lined up 

to litter the page 

 

with alliteration, 

metaphors, hyperboles,

other devices that help gain

your undivided attention.

 

It's been a bit,

I almost quit,

because the last time I was on stage,

I felt like a tripped.

 

I felt like I didn't perform, 

I knew I was pulling punches, 

because there was much to consider, 

but now it's got me a little bitter.

 

I held back.

 

I held back,

lowering my tone,

juxtaposed to my actual voice;

loud.

 

I held back,

because of the 

familiar face

In the crowd.

 

I held back,

instead of letting it rip,

taking people on a little trip

to recount how one's lid

 

was flipped.

 

I held back

because I was scared

that I wasn't hip

and I wasn't hop, 

 

when I was raised on Wu-Tang 

and Nas 

in a place where 

where rain constantly drops,

 

and I know how

the beat drops, 

the mic rocks, 

and how rhymes can make time stop.

 

I held back 

because the tone of my skin 

has people guessing 

wrong my ethnicity, 

 

if you think I'm white,

you're not right, 

and to be honest 

that's not point.

 

Because I come from a place 

where I was too nerd to be brown

and too chale be white 

and too polite to be hanging out 

with the gangsters 

 

stealing cars 

and shooting at other's backs,

and if you think

I'm talking about blacks

 

that's the problem,

assumption causes caution, 

because not only were those 

want-to-be thugs

 

of fairer skin, 

my only friends

were much darker kin.

In the Marines,

 

we call ourselves green,

and you're either 

dark green, 

light green,

 

and there's no disillusion,

you disagree? 

Shoot, 

perhaps in the Army.

 

And yes, 

the Navy too, 

there's no turning back, 

I'm no longer holding back,

 

what I'm saying is true. 

The point of this piece 

is to bring peace

to me,

 

that I was wrong 

to hold back, 

to withhold from the reader,

because how can I call myself 

 

a poet

if I'm not painting a picture? 

With your mind as the canvas,

and my words as the paint?

 

I watched poets come on stage,

deliver works of art,

things beautiful, 

and I saw a beautiful, torn heart

 

put her hand up in the air

to an artist work,

like it was gospel in the church,

with thoughts on me! I saw,

 

but I held back,

and what I provided last time

was a finger painting 

of child's skill.

 

I need to be real,

paint a real picture,

my motions and emotion

the finest paintbrush, 

 

now fluttering about

all over your mind, 

hopefully breathing to life

that I, 

 

a man,

 

am more than some accusation,

of being mean heart.

Of being a relatable object,

supposedly,

 

to a poem so eloquently put

'he broke my heart,

and called it poetry'?

Get out with that

 

hand raised in the air

while another poet

spills out her pain,

and perhaps next time

 

I won't hold back,

paint a picture 

of how her heartbreak

did become my poetry. 

 

Yes, I'm being specific, 

and context would make

for a much hotter piece,

 

but I'm over this, 

over being scared, 

I've conquered mountains

and crossed bridges.

 

Reader,

I respectfully submit,

give me another chance.

I won't hold back."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I had an open mic a few months back. A good friend of mine asked me to perform at her show she had built from scratch. I was eager to help, having performed at her show before (see 'Other Life') and had performed with (see 'Corpse Pose'). Anyway, I was there and I choked. I held back. I instantly wrote two new poems and read one decent poem, and another, lacking. I cursed myself for doing so. This poem is about that hesitation.

Hot Tea Cup

The moment she does bring,


The hot tea cup before me,


My heart melts like cheese,


I look at her so intensely.

 

 

She takes care of me,


As if I were her relative,


Extremely beholden I am,


Her concern is like a sacred sedative!


  

She has certainly been sent by Him,

 

For saving me from the ruin’s rim.

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio
tags:

Somebody's Pain

Folder: 
People

I Know How You Feel With Tears
But I Can't Understand Your Past
For Shoes Can Walk So Far
I Dont Think I Can Walk This Far
These Bones Ache
This Flesh Is Killing Me
Please Save Me Again
Im Losing It
How Long
Must I Wait
How Long
Must I Feel This Pain


I've Been Waiting A Long Time
I Can't Get Over The Fact
That I'm Still Weak
I'm Broken
And That I Can't Pick Up The Pieces
Especially Not By Myself
I Know I Need Someone To Lean On
I Can't Really Reach Out
And I Don't Feel Like
I Have A Voice In This World
But Honestly
I Don't Really Speak Out
Because I Have
No One To Speak To


I Really Need Someone
Somebody To Talk To
Someone To Lean On
Someon I Can Cry To
Someone I Can Laugh With
Someone I Can Be In Love With
Someone I Can Be Myself With
But In All Of These Times
I Just Feel Too Alone
I'm Just Too Sad

Fucking Lost Again

You Want To Bring Them
Some Sort Of Happiness
But Nothing You Bring
Makes Them Smile At All
Not Even The Slightest Bit


You Wonder What Went Wrong In Your Life
Sometimes You Want Your Life To End
And Sometimes You Don't Know What To Do
But You End Up Moving Foward
Because You Don't Know
What The Else The Fuck To Do


You Don't Have Any Talents
You Don't Have Any Skills
The Dream I've Had
Since I Became A Christian
Hasn't Moved Forward
I Don't Know What To Do
I Don't Know What To Say


I'm Just Lost And I Need To Be Saved Again
And I Need To Feel Lovable, Capable And Worthwhile
I Need To Know I Am Not Alone
I Need To Know I Am Loved Without Strings