grief

Outsider

Folder: 
Band Lyrics

 

Verse 1:

Always on the outside, looking in.

I never knew love found me here.

Until you take me on,

Babe, I cannot do it without you.

For, you are my heaven.

Eternally your’s to keep,

You have my spirit.

Lead and guide me.

 

Chorus:

I am just an outsider looking in.

Do not judge me if you do not know me.

I have had my shares of issues and trauma.

Don’t break my trust

Once it is earned.

I can see no one but you.

Only you will do.

It’s you I see in my dreams

And in my future.

‘Cause I know, we’re better together.

‘Cause we’re better than ever.

 

Verse 2:

Since you were away,

Everything has changed.

Only the distance between you and I has increased.

Yet, it’s never enough.

I keep on wanting and needing you in my life.

But, now, it’s time to say our goodbyes.

For, this relationship of ours could have been something more

If only you’d given us a chance.

If only you’d make the first move.

If only you’d let me in.

If only you’d told me how you really felt for me.

You know me well

But, what is it that you feel?

 

Bridge:

If I already knew that 

You were mine to keep,

I wouldn’t have wasted time.

Now, it’s time for me to put myself into your hands.

Don’t let me go.

For, the grass is not greener on the other side.

I’ve been there without you

But without you, is something I cannot be or do.

‘Cause I know, we’re better together.

‘Cause we’re better than ever.

Always on the outside, looking in.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

New song 2018. 

My Grandfather's Pacemaker

Bright constellations shimmering against the ocean floor. My grandfather was born for the sea, or maybe it was the sea that had been brought upon him. He stared down to the blue and looked up at the twinkling stars and couldn’t ever imagine a world without these peppering kisses of droplets sprinkling against his freckled face.

 

Everything needs an engine. Even a mighty boat.

 

February night, cold air sneaking its way through the door that was ajar. Sneaking its way through his veins and all the way to his heart. Rhythm suddenly stopped, the beats were uncertain. A nurse walked in, called the doctor and made sure to close the curtain. It was under attack, his heart that is. The mother organ. Only physically though, his love and kindness still open. And that was it for a while, that’s what kept him alive for so long. Not very long but still longer than most.

 

Who would’ve thought that the young sailorman, the scuba diving king, would be depending on a machine to keep his heart beating and the summer air clean. But there It was and here we were and even though he couldn’t form many words, I still know if he could he’d be joking everywhere and finding a way, in his mind, to still crack a joke.

 

A pacemaker. Artificial life. But nothing artificial about it said my grandmother, his wife, because after all he was still here and that will was what mattered. Little did we know that his biggest dreams had been shattered. Yes, he loved us, and he loved being with us and his family visiting did help him recover but what is it that happens when your major interest is over? Would it feel like everything was out of order? My dad said he wasn’t sure, but oh boy I knew it. How could I put in doubt his love for the sea and fishing and doing? A hardworking man he was, you can’t just expect him to be okay and resting. Not when he’d rather be put in action and fighting and testing.  

 

A pacemaker, they call them. Those little machines that send electric shocks so your heart’s valves stay open. A pace, a rhythm, a beat. Could really help you live but, apparently, not to stay on your feet. That’s when I understood and that’s when I saw it; my grandpa’s heart didn’t beat to pump blood, it beat to imitate oceans.

 

We took him to the beach, to see it for one last time. The pacemaker seemed to smile, his eyes seemed to shine and everything was okay, at least for a while, at least for some time. Every heart beats to its own rhythm and that’s completely okay, you just have to find what is yours and what makes you brave.

 

September afternoon, the old man passed away, the pacemaker stopped. It was bound to happen sometime anyway but I still cried. It’s not easy to see someone you love die. My father sniffed and showed me his closed hand, I looked at it and he opened it to see what it had. The small object, that thing that kept my grandfather alive for so long. It wasn’t so away from him just hours ago. I sighed and closed his hand again, told him maybe it would be useful to donate the thing to some friend. A man so alive once, had depended on a machine and oh, so naïve I was to think it was only the sea that gave breath to his lungs and helped him feel free. But everything was okay now, it was time for him to rest. When someone is alive so much and has given his best it’s okay…it’s okay for them to just stay…and sleep and snore so deep. So deep as the ocean and the deep blue sea, dreaming to the beat of a pacemaker and to heaven to flee.

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A Single Ray of Sunlight

Walking in darkness,

sometimes we forget

that light exists.

 


We fixate on what hurts us

deriving identity

from our pain.


We look away

from the hands

that could rescue us.


Aching

Longing

Filled with regret

Alone

Lost


Our vision blurred

our perspective limited

our views tainted


Conflict.

Contention.

Crisis.

Our constant companions.


Forgetting how to feel,

how to love.

Forgetting who we are,

letting shame define us.


Fire

Anger

Hatred

Self-loathing

Threaten to consume us

Unquenchable

Unfixable

Unrelenting


Everything we believe about ourselves

and the world

and the people around us

is a lie,

Warped by our own twisted thoughts


This is OUR world

But it is not THE world


Change is possible.

For you, for me, for all who see

through darkened eyes.


It comes in small moments of clarity,

like a single ray of sunlight

slicing through the clouds


The road to peace

can be a long one,

but the journey begins

with hope.

Dear Michael and Alex:-

Folder: 
Children's Prose:

 


I am saddened by your sorrow; at the departure of your grandpa.

May he rest a while with doves of peace.

Residing now with his creator amongst the star.


From toil and ill health his eternal spirit lives on; by death's release.

So don't be disheartened by his demise.

Your grandpa will always love you still; and be guiding and guarding your way from afar.


Love never ending and that cannot marr:

Your memories of your loving grandpa.

Keep well, safe and live for life never ceasing:

Your loving grandma, Nan Anita.


By Anita Griffiths

Author's Notes/Comments: 

How to explain to the young the concept of death, ill health and disabilitating quality of life?

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In The Corner

"Sorry to hear about your loss"'s

Are wooden and rigid

Templates learnt and regurgitated

Out of the mouths of puppets.

 

There are the hard-eyed portraits

On the wall with nothing

To say. There are caricatures

Who never cease to stop.

 

"Are you okay?" trickles out

Of the mouths of the mindless.

Questions back me into corners and

I have no choice but to nod my head.

 

The false testimony that is "yes"

Is as wooden and rigid as the rest.

There are too many timber slabs

Around me - I want to burn them all.

 

Let me set fire to your words

Before you bother to let them out.

I am sincerely sorry that I have

A loss for you to be so sorry about.

 

May the match put an end

To your stilted statements and constant

Questions. Unless in that corner,

I can find my grandmother again.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I lost my grandmother recently, and it was my first experience of death in the family - an experience I was old enough to understand, for once, anyway. People I don't know as well have paid me their respects, people I know very well have said nothing at all. It's a very confusing and frustrating time for me, as I'm not quite sure of how I'm feeling or how to take people or how to do anything anymore. My first instinct, after being with my family, was to write. This was what came.

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We Own Not, Tomorrow

 

 

 

 

A blink, a breath,

A heartbeat away.

We own not, tomorrow-

Nor even, today.

 

Here but only briefly,

A mere moment of all time.

Will we ever grow old?

Or pass away, in our prime?

 

In the grand scheme of life,

It matters not, when or where.

But how we lived in each moment,

Of all our joys, and our despair.

 

So tell them, you love them-

While your heart is still beating,

For we own not, tomorrow,

And today...is so fleeting...

 

 

The Human I Loved Is Dead

If you had asked her how she thought she would die back when she had been alive, she would probably tell you she would meet her end by way of her untrustworthy vehicle hugging a highway median in a speedy and lethal embrace, or perhaps that one day she would grow weary of Murphy's Law dictating her every move in life, and would bid this unjust world farewell; 

leaving only a tipped chair and swinging heels as her last grand gesture before the final curtain fell. 

 

She'd no doubt punctuate the statement with a wry smile and slight laugh, and you'd be left feeling slightly unsettled and then nervous for her wellbeing, even as you chuckled along with her. 

 

But for all the made up scenarios she could have told you, she would've never guessed that her demise would ultimately be met by way of accident in the tiny rented bedroom of a house she hated living in.

 

"I feel like a ghost here. They're barely aware of my presence at all. Maybe I prick their ears with the sound of a closing door, or the muted padding of my footfalls to the bathroom or kitchen turns their heads slightly. Who knows. I think I'm forgotten as soon as that moment ends, though"

 

A particularly sleepless night, losing count of the sleeping pills entering her mouth as the hours dragged on. Plucking her eyebrows to the soundtrack of her favorite video game; tinny noises playing through the speakers of her laptop, passing the time. 

Two here, three there. Now two more because it's been about an hour and she works in the morning. 

And so the fateful night went.

 

I suppose if she surveyed the situation now, she would be sorely disappointed. 

 

"For all the nights- heck, all the DAYS- I spent willing my life to end in the worst possible way, wishing my body could at least spare a few tears to make me feel alive...and I die because I wanted to sleep? What a waste. Even in death, I was cheated" 

 

It took them 3 days to find her. 

 

The scene was strangely normal for all the turmoil she'd so often confided in me to be in. Turns out, she put herself through much more in life than was actually necessary to bring her to death's doorstep. 

 

Her phone was left unchecked on the charging port, alarm still persistently reminding her to get ready for work; countless social media notifications pockmarked the screen with bright red.

 

Her room was an eyesore and a mess: diet pills and piles of unopened bills collected dust together on a cluttered dresser top. Beauty products lay strewn across every surface, including the floor. Cardboard moving boxes with words like "Christmas Ornaments" scrawled on the side held dirty dishes, on the other side of the room, fruit flies congregated atop a pile of old food left abandoned on a paper plate.

 

Then there was her. 

 

Laying on her stomach in bed, a single sheet draped over the lower half of her eerily still form. Face to the side, head cradled on a mascara stained pillow with no pillowcase. She could pass for sleeping if you didn't already know.

 

In death, she looked neither serene nor troubled. Just lifeless. 

 

Near her head on the nightstand, sat the fateful empty bottle of sleeping pills and a glass of water which mere days ago, had held the liquid that would ultimately wash down her last meal.

 

 

Death by diphenhydramine. 

 

 

"Good grief, what a silly way to go. I could write a story about that, you know"

 

Even now, I swear I can hear her voice in my ear. Laughing at me, correcting my grammar, telling me to lighten up as I write this. 

 

God, I wish you could've known her. 

 

I would give anything just to once more see the way her cheeks flushed when you complimented her, or how her eyes could hold so much obvious pain, yet her mouth could defy its existence and you'd somehow believe her when she said she was okay.

 

I never had the chance to see her happy; really, truly happy, and that has plagued me with tremendous guilt since I first got the call from her distressed parents.

 

I don't know if she would've taken her life by choice. I don't know that. I can't know that.

I know she spoke of it with an unnerving amount of frequency, but I always believed that the fire inside her burned just enough to keep her moving forward despite the misery she showed me, yet hid from the rest of the world.

 

Whenever the flames dimmed and only faint, glowing embers remained, I had made sure I was always there to softly breathe life into them, and sooner or later she'd find her resolve to keep going. 

 

But in the end, it only took a moment of my absence on an otherwise normal night, for a strong gust of wind to extinguish her flame completely. 

 

To smother out the delicate existence I had all but dedicated myself to preserving. 

 

The only thing I know with complete and unwavering certainty, is that night, the world was robbed of someone who had greatness in them that could have led revolutions. 

 

Yet she had tricked herself into believing she was worthless- 

 

"merely a cosmic dust bunny under the bed of this vast universe",

 

-and I think it finally caught up with her. 

 

All that untapped potential now lies buried under 6 feet of dirt in a stupid wooden box. She didn't deserve a box; she deserved the world and I failed to give it to her. 

 

Now I mourn that a man will never know what it is to love her, and a small handful of women will never get to experience what it really meant to call her 'friend'. 

 

She was so fierce and passionate about the real things in life- past all the bullshit and facades- she knew what was worth her love, and would do anything for those select few she held dear, even at the expense of her own wellbeing.

 

I can't make any more memories with her. I only have what she left me with, and although I've tried to keep them fresh in my mind, the years pass and I start to wonder what was reality and what is now merely fabrication of my experiences with her.

A feeble attempt by my aging mind to add years onto a life that was cut so short by the most unfortunate and preventable of circumstances.

So much time has passed, but some nights she still visits me in my dreams, and we just talk. Trying desperately to make up for the lost years she should've spent by my side in one night.

 

When I wake from those dreams, my pillow is damp and my throat constricts painfully as I come to realize I'm still alone, and she's still gone. 

 

There are so many unknowns, even all this time later.

Questions that will never have answers. 

It took a lot of years for me to come to terms with knowing that and also being okay with it. 

 

She was always something of a mystery, and the way she left me only further served to prove that there really was no figuring her out. 

 

I only know I miss her every day. 

 

 

"I'm tired of people trying to somehow solve me. You know, figure me out as if I'm a Rubik's cube or a math problem. You don't ask where the wind comes from and why it does what it does. You simply let it cool your face on a hot summer day, or admire how it bends the stalks of flowers and makes the leaves of the mightiest trees tremble at its touch. 

 

I am the wind" 

 

 

G. Bosquez 

6/13/2015 

3:03 AM

An Empty Grave'

Folder: 
Just a thought!

Standing at an empty grave, I pondered, who was it's intended?

Six feet down, covered in flowers, through the night I have defended.

Waiting on a family train to arrive with their fallen guest,

Time ticks on, no break in site, I stand watch to complete my quest.

Hours through an endless night, now daylight extends my grief...

I face the hole, and curse my soul, for a moment of relief'....

                                                                                                       

                                                                                                      

                                                                                                      

                                                                                                                                               

                  

                                                                                                                     


Author's Notes/Comments: 

"An Empty Grave"      ...or...        "Fully Dressed in my Sunday Best"                         

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Love's Puppet Show

 

My solitary justification for loving you was convincing myself I could actually survive in the secret fantasy world we had invented,

 

whispering dreams of grand escapes between sips of sweet wine and committing to memory the soft outline of your smile as we kissed,

 

Melting anxieties of the harsh world outside (that very same one waiting patiently on our doorstep) 

 

Naively ignoring that I was clutching to you with white knuckles and my grip was ever slipping,

 

Trying desperately to hold tightly to someone I knew I could never fully have; forever swinging perilously over a frothy, churning sea of jealousy

 

Yet when you held me, the raging storm fell mute; a faulty sense of clarity befell star crossed eyes bearing rose flushed glasses,

 

and in that frozen frame of time, I truly believed you were the only salve to mend open wounds and repair the damage inflicted by those before you,

 

 

No lofty commitments to doubt,
no heavy promises to halt this deadly dance we gladly swayed in time to,

 

just a pair of damaged humans with deep tears in their stuffing;
pasting patches forged from a strangers comfort over fractured souls in hope of healing,

 

Trembling fingers weaving taut stitching of raw, pink scars,

pulling together two broken lives and blindly believing it would hold.
"

G. Bosquez
3/20/2015