sister

Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born;

But I was repelled.


 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.


They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.


 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.


 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.


 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.


 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.


 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.


 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.


 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...


 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.


 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.


 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...


I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.


Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...


 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I was buying a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my autobiography.

My Sister's Paintings

My sister’s paintings are colorful and big; Every now and then, my sister starts a painting for her class. She has a different one every two weeks. Whenever someone visits our house they ask who the author of each is, we just say that a fine artist that is supplying us for selling them. Her paintings are really interesting, sometimes abstract, other realistic, but always optimistic. I see them everywhere, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the living room, in my grandmother´s house and also in my aunt´s. But that’s ok, because every time I see them I remember the first time I saw her, tiny and pink and gorgeous, a little baby that became a great painter, a cheerful and joyful painter, full of color, full of sentiment and patience. There is no time in which my sister stops painting, she carried paint to every travel we ever made; she carried paint in the car, she carried paint in the park, she even carried paint in our family trips; she carried paint when she was six, and more now that she’s eighteen. There’s no way you can take her painting away, not even if she’s mad or sad, even less if she is happy and shiny. I love my sister’s paintings but I love her much more, and above all I love her when she paints. That’s why my sister’s paintings are special to me, and to everyone I know, they bring happiness to our lives, they remind us the good days, the moments worth remembering. So there’s no wonder why my sister’s paintings are required, to decorate, to fill up spaces, to cheer your life and to show them off to everyone, to our family, to my friends, to her friends, in my house and in yours, because everyone enjoys them, the smart one, the athletic one, the artistic mind and the engineer, my dog, your cat, her six cats, and the bird that sees through the window. All of you should have one of my sister’s paintings, in your bathroom, in your kitchen, in your living room, in your grandmother´s house and also in your aunt´s, I think you should think about putting one in your girlfriend or boyfriend’s house, for the day would be better, and more beautiful and joyful, because my sister’s paintings will lighten up your day your night and whoever see them for life.

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100 reasons

I had a dream

That i asked you to date me

Before you answered you posed this

"why would I Date you"

I told you to ill read you this poem

Called "100 reasons "why i'd want too

 

Whenever i think of happiness

Its always has you

And when i feel love I see you to

I could give you a 100 reasons

Why you are amazing to me

Why you smiling is the only gift i ever need

There is a main reason why

You are my moon in the sky

Its because you showed me what love is

Through your heart and soul

I learnt of a wonderful feeling , i felt whole

Our hearts are connected like a wave of UV light

It can't be seen but can be felt

Its the warmth i feel when you in sight

 

I do love you this has always been true

There is a reason i met you

Your heart and soul are so amazing to me

Every day i'm left in disbelief

That a girl like you can love someone like me

And i know all you wnat is for me to be happy

 

So thank you  for opening your heart

It has shown me love right from the start

I know this is going to sound corny , but here i go

I believe your my angel

sent to watch over me on this earth below

 

Written almost a year after I looked into your eyes for the first time

I don't remember what I saw

I don't remember the first time we spoke

Most would say that the moment a foundation is set

(because you only meet a person for the first time once)

you're supposed to remember

 

But I'm going to take a turn for opposites and choose tails instead of heads.

 

The little things matter.

 

Here's what I do remember:

 

The first time I confessed to you 

something about me because you had just done the same.

201 closing shift, I think it may have rained.

 

The first time you told me you didn't succumb to networking norms because it has no purpose.

Disappointment, yes.

Reminder of what friendships used to be before requests, much more yes.

 

Our lingering moments in the shelves,

digressions of the nonsensical shards of pain life had rained on us.

 

Notice how it always seems to rain.

That's how we'll know we're okay.

Our beings survive every time.

 

The first time we talked about going in

Man. Women.

Not a moment too soon, no hesitation.

We knew.

 

Every time I made you laugh,

the first time I snorted,

the way Big Brother must have seen us in the shelves

and thought our brains were distorted.

 

Little do they know...

 

But we're more sane than any living part of nature

Our senses are accute

Our eyes on radar

Our hearts, deeply wounded

Covered in patches that need occasional changing

Because people like us see the world for what it really is

 

A mission.

 

Gather your followers.

Get rid of the strays.

Keep the few and live.

Live.

Breathe.

You're still here.

Grounded.

 

The first time we told our stories.

The way you listened and I knew you knew because even when I didn't know you, I knew you, but now not yet then.

 

Talk.

 

We rediscovered the beauty of speech.

I say I admire because in my mind you conspire with my emotions.

The voice of honesty.

The voice of reason.

Daily prescriptions.

Personal stash of self-help books

free of charge.

 

A bond is what is sent to you when you've overcome your battles

But the battle never ends because you live it in your head

So, before we know what's happening,

before we can understand,

we're assigned to each other

Glued, unremovable, roots to a tree

Before you can even stop and question

You have yourself another chance

 

But if I'm being honest,

I didn't see then what I see today.

A year ago I didn't know what I was trying to get to

A year ago I didn't realize how much more healing my deeply burdened soul needed

A year ago I was questioning every possibility

from here to world's end

 

I admire because you're unreachable to many,

but you let me grab on.

 

A year ago you let me stay

And I've never felt more okay.

 

 

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my brother

Folder: 
After Death

the first day of snow always means i miss you.

sometimes it feels like my heart controls the weather.

the ground looks like clouds.  does heaven look like winter?

maybe one day i'll find out when we can be together.  

for now i'll make snow angels and one can look like you.

and you can make cloud people and one can be your sister.

and if, at times, i feel your eyes look down upon me, brother, 

i promise i will strain my ears just in case you whisper.  

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Angel

They say that an angel watches over me
For this i hold as truth
As through my life i have been tested
Were there is nothing but fear and doubt

Yet somehow someway i knew
That you were there holding my hand
even through its been years since  youve gone
everyday in some way i make your memeory live on

Im not going to say my life as been horrible
It certanily has not
Its just some things have affected me alot
Some changed me and some made me look at life a different way
And in all my life has always been the same

That is always looking out for others first
Even though carrying there oain is my curse
But u chose to walk this road alone
Even though you walk behind me saying " dont't go"

Many nights ive let my thoughts get to me
and those night are things i can never take back
The things i said and the things i did
I can never forget what i have done
but i know it form the past i run

You have always played a role in my life
even though you my angel in the sky
Forever and always is were you will be
inside my heart safe with me

A poem dedicated to my sister
You will always be with me

My sister's golden necklace

My sister’s golden necklace.

 

My sister has a passion for collecting all kind of stuff. Her room is full with all kind of things and strange objects; she has art, vintage furniture and jewelry, photographs, bookcases full of interesting books and magazines, a closet full of the latest fashion trends in clothes, footwear and much more. Sometimes when I go into her room I feel I’m in another place.

 

I think that all objects in her room are important for her but there’s a special thing inside that “museum”: a replacement of an old and cheap golden necklace with a personalized name pendant. Anyone who doesn’t know the history of this necklace can consider it funny because certainly, in that room there are objects of much greater value. The necklace with the pendant was a purchase on one of her trips to Europe when she was a teenager. Since she bought it, no matter which was the occasion she always wore it. Parties, trips, weddings, the necklace was always there with her. I can’t even remember her without that necklace; she wore it even when she was sleeping.

Everybody asked her where she got it (because although it was cheap it looked great on her long and slender neck) and she told them the story which was actually very simple an unimportant, I mean, she just bought it in a flea market in Paris.

 

One day the necklace just disappeared from his neck and she was very sad and desperate because she couldn’t know where it was and neither understand how she didn’t realize when it drop off his neck, so I decided to go and buy her a new one but this time it will be an expensive one to make sure it would last forever. Obviously it wasn’t the same for her and I couldn’t understand why if it was a better version of his old golden necklace, until I realized that it wasn’t the material, the brand or the price of it, it was just that that old cheap chain had so much meaning attached to her. That necklace represented friendship, independence, strength and who she was. It wasn’t about the old chain with the pendant; it was about her losing herself.

 

She doesn’t use the new one everyday, perhaps she still remembers that old necklace’ or maybe she is afraid of losing it again; howsoever she would wear it once in a while to live new experiences and make new memories.

 

 

 

 

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Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born;

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I was buying a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my autobiography.

an ode to my mum and my sister

Folder: 
life

Hard wired is my mum

For the life she has chosen

Servitude, cooks and cleans

But at her age definitely

Should lead a more graceful life

Instead of wallowing in strife

 

She gets up every morning

Early, dad’s breakfast sorting

Then she cooks and cleans

From dawn to dusk: INSANITY

 

Boiling the good out of food

Not caring put inside of u

Any wonder my dads failing

Stodgy food hinders plain sailing

 

She’s 85 years of age

Should be winding down with grace

Used to think i was mad

Not having her life, truly glad

 

Shes created every part of her

Going the same wqay my sister

Too late to change for mum

Not for my sis, please hun

 

My sis please do the right thing

Put an end to all suffering

U don’t have to believe me

Ask anyone spiritually

 

Tuned with life, divine, gaia too

All designed to help you

But it’s your choice choose

Spirituality, win or loose

And a garbage life of servitude

Which doesn’t become you

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