Family
“Can’t you see?”
They miss-behave. You beg, you plead. That you don’t want to be this way. You hit, you scream. They’re not the one to blame. You’re the one with the guilt and shame. They’re innocent. They don’t understand. It was you who decided to run from Gods plans. So you’re on your knees, tears in your palms. You cry here to question God. The reflection of tears you hold in your hand. You finally see the pain your actions bring to them. You’re angry, broken, confused. You harbor grudges. Forgiveness is something you refuse. Your actions now are why they’ll say you have a few loose screws. Okay, you know his face when he lies. But can you know the real reason behind why your child cries? Haven’t you had enough of the disguise? You need to take accountability. And times that by three. None of your trees came from the same seed. Something’s you can’t take back, but you can claim. “Yes, I had faults, yes, I’m to blame.” Take that breath and release that debt. Breath now before it’s exploding out of your chest. And you didn’t find the time to change. You couldn’t leave nothing to their name. Your mother’s bad habits became your gain. You’re passing down the guilt and shame. You pour it onto your son and daughters. Who’s to blame if they look like their fathers? Look in the mirror; they shouldn’t look like you. They won’t live your life through their eyes. Why is it on them to live your life twice? Change so you can be better than this. Change so everything can be put to rest. Change so they can FINALLY have what’s best.
By Yalisa Matos23 days ago in Poets
The Little Things, Together
Animated Grinch Muppet Christmas Carol Small warmth in my soul On Christmas eve, we had take-out and the Great British Bake-off: Holiday edition for dinner, then curled up on the couch to watch the original animated How The Grinch Stole Christmas, narrated by Boris Karloff, followed by The Muppet Christmas Carol
By Natasja Rose24 days ago in Poets
“Jolly Jamming Holiday Despite the Blues”
The Ghost in the Café "As an independent journalist and poet, I’ve always believed that the most honest art lives in the space between the polished and the real. 'Jolly in My Own Way' was not born from a holiday card; it was born in my living room with a 12-bar blues riff, a white electric guitar, and the literal 'tweets' of my parakeet, Sweetie.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 26 days ago in Poets
