Why

Am

I

Crying?

We had our fun.

I know we did.

I wouldn’t have stayed in it for so long,

if we hadn’t.

But why can’t I remember

the good times.

The times you made me laugh,

smile,

feel happy.

I must have been happy,

right?

Even a little...

To have stayed so many years.

Why can’t I remember the good times?

happy

Mad

Fight

I give in

Break up

Beg

Threaten

I give in

No change

I give in

...repeat..

Dad is dying,

Mum forgeting,

my sister and I go, to move them to a home,

we pack all their stuff, efficient, brusque

cardboard coffins stuffed with paper and memories,

black garbage bags dumped in the charity bin,

books donated cruelly, like orphans by

unfeeling aunts, who turn and leave, releaved to be rid of them

then my sister finds a Bear, an old beat up thing with ratty matted fur and a broken

button on one eye, and now she is no longer

my ally, she becomes like my parents, emotional

confused, very childlike, full of tears

the tattered bear has a name,

as silly as his felt pink tonguse

she pets him, hugs him

reminds him of days

that smelled of cut grass

that sang like a Red Robin

that laughed like a little girl

that kissed like a mother.

she can’t recall his name

but somehow Mum

who can no longer find the mailbox

knows his name is Freddy Bear

And then she finds my Eddy Bear

and we laugh in the kitchen

and I remember who my parents were

and hug who they are now tightly, regretfully

I'm a girl

a girl who exaggerates her problems

just like everyone else

a girl who tries to fit in

just like everyone else

a girl who can't fit in

just like everyone else

I'm a girl

who is so much like everyone else

who tries to be so much like everyone else

that I don't know who myself is

only that I'm a carbon copy

of the next teenage girl you see walking down the street

except that I'm a carbon copy

that didn't turn out quite right

so in the end

I'm a girl

just a girl

a girl who tries but fails and keep trying because there's no other option

because not fitting in isn't an option

not anymore

because I changed from that fifth grader

who strived in every way to not be like everyone else

but I didn't change like everyone else

just enough to be on the outside looking in

a girl who can't hack it

not enough to fit in

a try-hard who can't try hard enough

so here I am

trying and failing and trying some more

because I have no more options left.

Beautiful rose

pink as doom

a timer is set before you explode

an hour prepared

to announce

death's other birth (grief)

You are such a beautiful rose

ready to bloom

The pollen grains in your womb

every beetle did pursue

nectar lost due to parenthood

in a matter of minutes

offsprings loom

My beautiful rose

so much you've grown

busting rich colours

with an odour of honors

I'm going to miss you

in every season of all days

I don't want to cry

my tears are not spies

they refuse to cherish the moment you fly

I do want to cry

say your name one more time

bury my heart where no one will find

Beautiful rose

pink balloon

you're going to explode

really soon

lean on my hide

before I go... Boom!

Loneliness is the color of that one shade of shorts you just can’t match;

It’s the color of the canvas that’s your only companion;

It is the feeling of dissatisfaction that creeps up;

Loneliness is the sinking feeling that grows stronger as the sun goes down;

Loneliness is the crippling realization that you only have yourself ;

But ;

Loneliness is also the color of the sky when you sit atop your roof stargazing ;

It’s the contentment found when singing in the shower without a worry;

Loneliness is found when your brush meets the canvas without distraction;

It’s heartbreaking and breathtaking all at once.