Across the room through the glass
I want to go in but I know I can’t pass
To hold you, to have you, to keep you with me
I would do anything just wait and see
To touch you, caress you, to breath in your smell
I would beg heaven and trespass through hell
The noise and the lights, the fear that bangs through
The chaos builds higher and keeps me from you
Too long have I waited, this can’t end in strife
To meet you has been the goal of my life
Hands pull me away they won’t let me stay
They won’t bring you to me and they won’t let me stay
I wait, and I wait, and... I wait for you
Praying to God that you’ll see it through
Has it been days or merely just hours?
Surrounded by silence and half dead flowers
The nurse has you wrapped in a blanket of blue
My fingers move softly to finally see you
It’s love at first sight I’ve waited so long
Hi baby boy it’s me, it’s mom
About the Creator
Kavi Warrick
There's a moment where all the words try to come out all at once, and it's either beautifully chaotic or decidedly blank.
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Dusty Dreams
Of all the things that slip away as we grow older, by far the one I mourn the most is the bottomless optimism of childhood. You come into this world looking up, always up. The people, the buildings, the sky, your head tilts back subconsciously and you fix your eyes above the half point of your height. We push and the world pushes back, and little by little our eyes drop, adjusting to our height, seeing where we are at, not where we could be. We stop looking up. The ideals that we held as children collect dust on the back shelf, emitting a musty odor of romanticism and naivety. In 2022 it’s time to dust them off and bring them out to the fresh air. Waving aside the dust of a decade, I can already tell that some pieces are too rough and outdated to bring into the light. Some ideals we were taught by adults that didn’t know yet the harm they would hold. This little flag pin used to mean pride in a nation not just mighty, but the mightiest. Older now I can see the jagged edges, cracked filling and know that pride does not mean being blind to the broken. I move forward with the knowledge that loving my flag does not mean loving all that it has/will stand for. The doll, with her porcelain skin, tiny waist and painted lips is beautiful, I wrap my fingers through blonde hair and happy memories. I know that her smile reflects mine, just as I know she failed millions of children who did not see their own reflection in her eyes. This year and every year after I chose to support children in my classroom, in my life, in my path, with toys and materials that reflect their eyes, hair, skin, and smile. I quietly promise to be kinder to myself as I put her away, knowing my hips are wider, waist thicker and face plain in comparison. Being kind to myself is new, a small seed pushing through layers of sod towards a warm sun. Secretly I am terrified each time the frosty remark of a stranger, the nibbling strain of family expectations, the buzzing drone of a world uncomfortable with curves, loom over the sprout. This is the year, the year I will see a bloom, because despite the layers, the frost, the nibbles and buzzing, the seed sprouted, the plant is growing, I am growing.
By Kavi Warrick4 years ago in Poets
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