To the Ones I've Loved... But May Not Have Loved Me
To the reader of my poem: I'm sorry you had to find me in this state. But, if you still wish to read my poem, the pleasure is all mine.
To the first:
My Guardian, my protector, my savior, my creator.
My father,
Whose last words to me were "Go to your room!" instead of
"I love you..."
To the second:
My friend, my adviser, my listener, my guide.
My step Mother,
Whose last act of kindness was a pat on the shoulder, instead of
A hug...
To the Third:
My annoyance, my playmate, my keeper, my sibling.
My big brother,
Whose last glimpse was a smirk, instead of
A concerned look...
To the Fourth:
My saint, my pretender, my second half, my adopted sister.
My best friend,
Whose last contact came through a text message "Kay" instead of
A phone call...
To the Fifth:
My passion, my desire, my lover, my heart.
My boyfriend,
Whose last touch was a slap, instead of
A kiss...
To the Sixth...
They tried to tell me you were gone...
Gone for good.
But I knew better.
Your there, I know your out there.
They tried to tell me you died, that you didn't love me, that you hated me!
They told me all these lies!
....But I didn't believe them....
To my mother,
...Whose last affection was a letter....
A letter a little like mine...
A letter, instead of the rest of your life.
The rest of your life, you could have spent with me...
Maybe I wouldn't have written this poem...
Or picked up the knife.
But, to all I've loved,
But might not have loved me,
I bid you a farewell,
For I am no longer a burden, an annoyance, a late night call, a regret, a dead weight, a mistake...
Now that I'm gone,
The world I left behind,
Is a much better place.
*******
As the family and friends read her words, they wept.
They wept till they were dry of tears, and even then,
They moaned and wailed.
The funeral was out doors.
And all those who were mentioned in her poem,
Wrote their own. I forgiveness poem.
And, in the back of the crowd,
Hidden among the tombstones,
Sat a lonely woman.
She wept the most.
She blamed herself.
She couldn't even talk to her Ex.
She called herself a bad mother,
But, somewhere, high in the clouds,
Her soul smiled.
She knew what she did,
She knew what would happen,
But now, they can fell just a little of her sadness.
For now.
To the first:
My Guardian, my protector, my savior, my creator.
My father,
Whose last words to me were "Go to your room!" instead of
"I love you..."
To the second:
My friend, my adviser, my listener, my guide.
My step Mother,
Whose last act of kindness was a pat on the shoulder, instead of
A hug...
To the Third:
My annoyance, my playmate, my keeper, my sibling.
My big brother,
Whose last glimpse was a smirk, instead of
A concerned look...
To the Fourth:
My saint, my pretender, my second half, my adopted sister.
My best friend,
Whose last contact came through a text message "Kay" instead of
A phone call...
To the Fifth:
My passion, my desire, my lover, my heart.
My boyfriend,
Whose last touch was a slap, instead of
A kiss...
To the Sixth...
They tried to tell me you were gone...
Gone for good.
But I knew better.
Your there, I know your out there.
They tried to tell me you died, that you didn't love me, that you hated me!
They told me all these lies!
....But I didn't believe them....
To my mother,
...Whose last affection was a letter....
A letter a little like mine...
A letter, instead of the rest of your life.
The rest of your life, you could have spent with me...
Maybe I wouldn't have written this poem...
Or picked up the knife.
But, to all I've loved,
But might not have loved me,
I bid you a farewell,
For I am no longer a burden, an annoyance, a late night call, a regret, a dead weight, a mistake...
Now that I'm gone,
The world I left behind,
Is a much better place.
*******
As the family and friends read her words, they wept.
They wept till they were dry of tears, and even then,
They moaned and wailed.
The funeral was out doors.
And all those who were mentioned in her poem,
Wrote their own. I forgiveness poem.
And, in the back of the crowd,
Hidden among the tombstones,
Sat a lonely woman.
She wept the most.
She blamed herself.
She couldn't even talk to her Ex.
She called herself a bad mother,
But, somewhere, high in the clouds,
Her soul smiled.
She knew what she did,
She knew what would happen,
But now, they can fell just a little of her sadness.
For now.