Missing
Deep down,
I miss my father the most
The man he used to be
Before a cruel addiction
Took over his mind
Once cheerful, always joking,
He was a happy man
He was far from perfect,
But he truly cared for us
These days, he still jests
But I find no humor in it
He still smiles, even laughs,
But it seems hollow,
As if he's merely an empty shell
The sudden change in him
Has forced this family through hell
In the end,
I miss my father the most
Because deep down, I know
I'll never truly get him back
Regret
The joy of laughter
Untethered by the weight of indiscretions
A conscience, clean
And void of all transgressions
A youthful innocence
Unknowing of the darkness
A heart
Without the scars and fractures
I miss most
The wasted opportunities
At the crossroads
Of right and wrong for me
The chance
To choose a different path
And leave my heart
Unscathed by evil's wrath
But so it is
A curse for generations
Passed down
Since beginning of creation
And though I miss
Falling short as long I live
I have the gift of the love
That my miss finds it forgives
Space
... and time,
could be considered a rhyme
ever divine,
but who is to say
how we live, work and play,
when all the world is a cage,
and not the so-called, grand stage.
If I stand in one spot,
on a day very hot,
and another stands beside me to cool down,
I quietly think, this is my spot, you clown.
Find your own place, go in haste,
and leave me to my single joy,
is what I would say to a girl or a boy.
The world is filled with many a person,
chiefly put, it's like an immersion,
swallowing water filling my soul,
knowing there is nowhere to go,
for each place turned to,
another body is right in front of you.
Whatever happened to the old wide-opened spaces,
where we could be neighbors at a distance regardless the races.
Whatever happened to the days of old ...
it's called the future, so I am told.
But space one day won't matter for me,
when my headstone lies under an old oak tree,
and if someone wants to invade that space; better think twice,
for the smell won't be nice.
______
1/11/2019
9:56 p.m. - 10:05 p.m.
Getting Somewhere
She doesn’t know quite yet
Who she wants to be.
She doesn’t know quite yet
How all her pieces fit together.
But she knows she’s getting there.
She knows she isn’t standing still anymore.
She knows she can’t let anything or anyone
Stop her from living
The life she’s always wanted.
Behind her blue eyes
And her forced smile,
She has a dream.
And finally,
She’s done giving up her dreams
For people who don’t really want
What’s best for her.
For the first time in her life,
She has a plan
That she won’t change for anyone.
For the first time in her life,
She won’t be standing on the sidelines
Watching everyone else
Find their happy endings.
For the first time in her life,
She knows it’s all going to work out.
Too Late
Haunted by depression
Being attacked by anxiety
Together they make the perfect storm
Suicide.
Ending it all
Scary how fast I could do it
How little time and effort it would take
But there’s a part of me
That knows it could get better
Suicide tells that part of me that it’s lying
Still
My finger hovered over the hotline number
They’ll think I’m a freak
But they deal with people like me everyday
Lost in thought
I hit call
An automated voice came on
Thank you for calling. The estimated wait time is 45 minutes
Don’t they know
That in 45 minutes
I could do it eight times?
Don’t they know
That I’m already dead?
-Z
This is unfortunately a true story. It sucks how many people need help and want it, but there’s not enough people to give it.
