That’s a typo but I quite like it
The title of the poem
I was going to write
I haven’t written it yet
Like so many things
I can’t right now
I’m dying again
Maybe tomorrow
Month: June 2022
Grief is a Weed
I am
Not a shrinking violet.
I am
Not a withering willow.
I like to grow,
Tall and proud and sure.
But this insidious, black coward
Whispering to my leaves
In the night time
This crafty repulsive rot
Oozing up from the ground
seeping into my roots
Strangling me from the inside
It’s taking over.
Father’s Day 2022
I think the same thoughts every day:
This is going to kill me if I let it.
Should I let it?
Then I get up, and live, and contemplate the difficulty versus the value
of living the next day.
It hasn’t killed me. Not yet,
not because I haven’t let it, really,
more likely it’s biding time. It’s to be torture rather than
anything quick.
Make me sick
With grief, with agony, with regret
It hasn’t killed me
but it feels every day like it will,
like it’s holding me
over a ledge, and I am waiting, indifferent, to fall.
To die.
Hanging here, still alive,
a new version of myself.
Not whole, not really recognizable.
Flayed wide open, for everyone to see
The breathing, bleeding dead.
A cautionary tale, a smiling, achieving, happy and gleaming
yet somehow
morbid and macabre display
Come one, come all,
Step right up you curious gawkers
Grievers, disbelievers
Step right up today
Come and see the girl who didn’t love her father
enough
for him to stay.
Attitude Soup 