A/N Normally I do not talk about the inspiration for my post but this one I had to include. This poem came to me while looking at one of my friends creations. They had sewed together a bag that I just absolutely adore. Being able to see every step they took to making it. The energy, the heart, the literal blood at times, made me appreciate those who craft with their hands even more. Now, I am not gifted as they are, and even though I found some inspiration in what they had made, I had to show it another way. This is my creation and I am forever grateful for the support my friend has given me.
In return I am sharing Laurens work. If you like this poem please take a look at their Etsy page. They make custom work and are more than willing to work with people to get them that desire. Most, if not everything, is one of a kind. So if you like standing out and being unique, give it a go, if not, still leave them some love!! They will surely appreciate it.
A/N this will most likely be continued in another poem since I never actually figured out which version was the truth and which one was the lie. Clearly this has only one version show buuut I got more to say…I think.
Dedication to Nova, Fly with the stars you loved so much. If I am lucky we may one day meet again.
I forgot to be sad.
I forgot to cry.
I forgot to be mad.
Because I forgot why.
See a friend passed away two years ago but I forgot. Not her but the date that changed it all despite the fact that it still hits close to home and I remember her. Every fucking day I remember her.
But it is slowly fading.
The voices she used to make
I remember but they are fading day by day.
So I wrote it on my calender so I could remember when to grieve. How long I should let myself cry and the hours that will have gone by.
Since I said my last goodbye.
Since I told her to be safe on her trip only for hours later she dies in a fucking car crash. She didn’t have a car and we joked about that. I made a comment about how when I was learning to drive I nearly ran over my moms foot cause I smash it when she said break.
Made plans to get together and how we should talk more.
I made joke after joke about how we should talk more before ending it with
To bad my words weren’t enough.
She told me she would but didn’t.
Whose to blame for this incompetence!
She was the same age as me you know. Life planned and precious goals.
I remembered the excited whispers to my daughter that next morning. Showing her pictures of a friend that was slowly dying.
No that is not right she was already dead and the plans I was so happy to tell my daughter would only come to completion in my head.
I was told a story about something painful. As if death is anything but.
There are times when hearing about a person dying does nothing for me. I have watched gory videos and laughed over creepypasta post while drinking my herbal tea. I have sliced my wrist and burned sins into my skin in hopes that it would all go away. Honestly, death is nothing but a friend.
Yet, there are times when I find myself crying over it. I do not understand how my greater craving can be my nightmare. Death astounds me with its grace and yet, here I am suffering.
A loved one has passed away and I do not know what to do. I do not know how to feel….
I am just numb to it all.
But everything I write suggest otherwise. I cant concentrate on school cause I begin to think about him. I begin to miss a man I haven’t seen in years. A man broken by a war I wasn’t alive to witness. So much so little kids had to stay silent in his presence. I miss him and I do not know why. He was the kindest man but I can’t remember a damn thing he did. I barely remember his voice and yet I miss him.
I regret the fact that no one trusted me enough to love him.
Because I can’t say I love a person I wasn’t given a chance to know. I hate myself for never reaching out. But how could I when every sound I made took him right back to the battle field.
I think about death a lot. I think about how beautiful it would be once it all ended. I am to weak to do what needs to be done though. So many conditions would need to met. I am so close though, so close to being free. I am already alone. I am a burden to everyone. My daughter needs a better mother. I am such a shitty friend.
I like hate. It aids in the process. One of these days I will be free.
I told my daughter I wanted to be a flower. They are fragile but powerful. I hope she will be ok when I am gone.