Groan

Birthed into black,
my head in a bag
unable to breathe
without feeling the
suffocation of your absence,
slowly spinning my eyes
backwards into the sky
where they cannot be
retrieved.

Raised on baby-bottles
filled with milked soured
by salty tears,
weaned by dirty pacifiers
and torn blankets,
with holes of your making
cut with the same scissors
that separated us
and my bellybutton still aches.

Grown and groaning
for the lost days
of light and fresh air,
your smudging hands,
and crocheted blankets
decorated with promises.
Offered to other
more fortunate babes,
that I will never be.

You ought to remember,
that I didn't choose you.

Runner

Her mother ran away.
like an ignorant child,
she stole away in the night.
On the hunt for freedom,
fear and adrenaline egging her on.

She couldn't stop the crying,
she couldn't force a smile,
and sooner or later
she was the one crying the loudest.

Her mother couldn't love her,
with her broken mind and incapable hands,
all she could do was leave.

Her baby in the crib,
the phone off the hook,
milk in the microwave,
and the door wide open.

Her mother ran
and never looked back.

Oak Avenue

It's raining liquid love
and pooling on the concrete
are the quizzical looks and hidden gestures,
falling from a broken sky.

The roof leaks on days like these.
Water on glass shards create a symphony,
drowning out the screaming,
covering up the cries.

A house underneath a heaven so high,
yet filled with the darkness only Hell could bring.
Even as the rain falls,
These walls will never be white again.

You couldn't wash away these stains if you tried.

Titleless

You asked me to stop loving you,
Because you didn't want to see the pain in my eyes,
When in reality the pain was always in them.
It's part of my genetic make-up.

You told me to help myself,
Because you can't handle my reliance on you.
You flatter yourself, because in all honesty,
I always knew you were far from a sure thing.

You're the one they laugh about at high school reunions,
Never grew up, failed at everything her hands touched,
And that's not my fault.
Not anymore.

You asked me to stop loving you,
Not because you were concerned about my pain,
But because of your concern for your own conscience.
I guess dead-beats have feelings too. . .

I forgot your name today, and I don't feel bad about it.