u/2kool4skool4sure

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Blue eyed 

 

He was blue eyed
Ocean deep, rivers never ending 
White was his hair 
From afar you could hear him singing

Weeps of sorrow 
Like there was no tomorrow 
Every tear made up the lake
Thunder was his mistake 

Forgetting to remember 
Where his home was 
In mother and father, Oh 
He was born in September

His brother was a shape shifter 
His father kissed the Thunder 
Wisdom was his mother 
But he was just another 

Pale white and blue eyed 
Sea cyan, his cry never ending
Long braided hair
From afar you could hear him singing 

Longing for another home
Resting on the tree of patience
Wailing loud and wailing slow
Dreaming of deliverance

__ 

 

What do you say to yourself when you feel like you have everything you need, but not the things you want? 

I used to be an overachiever. A goal setter. Money maker. Cigarette smoker. I am still those things; except I quit smoking 3 times. This time I’ll stay a coffee drinker instead. When people tell me to slow down, I feel like they should speed up. When they say I shouldn’t have such high expectations to myself, I think they are just lazy. I firmly believe in these principles of mine. 

Until I get convinced of something else. 

It’s easy to convince me. I’m that adaptable. I went from loving dogs and hating cats, to thinking cats must be smarter than dogs, to liking both animals equally. Those weren’t exactly my feelings, though. I didn’t actually hate cats. I just heard a cool girl say she did, so I did too. She didn’t even have to convince me, or the crowd. They were all mesmerised by her. So was I. And I hated the fact that I was. Did I hate her? No. Did I envy her? Yes. Did I want to be her? No way in hell. Did I actually want to be her? I don’t know, I can’t think that deep, and I’m not a psychiatrist. So I told my best friend that I hated her.

A couple of years later, I met the love of my life. He loved cats because they were smart. So, I did too. 

Adaptability is the conscious or unconscious way one can change, in order to fit into a given environment or given circumstances. – Anonymous

The word adaptability is a positive enforced word, whereas pushover, isn’t. How can one be adaptable if not a pushover? Was I not open to a different perspective? Was I not a good listener? 

Probably.

I can’t know for sure. Just as I can’t know for sure if the traumas I have are because I was being a pushover or I was being adaptable. I like to believe, that we never fully know anything other than numbers and maths.

Why does it feel unnatural to embrace what comes from nature?

The boy was born with a gene mutation in a family of pigmented people. He was the only person with albinism in the family, in his school, and in his town. Small town talk spread when he was born, and everybody would stare at him in his childhood. He got used to that. In his teenage years, he was used to being stared at. He was used to subtle whispers around him. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to show that he cared to be bothered. He was adapting. 

When he was just a child, he didn’t like the sound of thunder. His father told him stories about Thor, Odins son. How the boy was Thor and the dad Odin. He taught his son to love thunder by making him the thunder god. The boy’s sister was Loki, because he was a shapeshifter. The mother didn’t like these stories, as she already had to deal with the town talk. What if they start talking about their daughter being a hermaphrodite? A family of freaks, they’ll say. 

So, the boy proposed to move. Several times. But each time he’d get disappointed because something would come up. Are they doing this on purpose to annoy me. Why can’t we just move? How difficult can it possibly be to sell this house and move? Just get out of this shitty town. Nobody wants to hire a freak here. Out there, I am sure that I can get a job. I just want out. 

When I talk about the love of my life, he is the love of my life. He and I went to school together, but he didn’t quite notice me. I don’t think he knows that I even exist. I could write forever about him, but I won’t. Right now. Not because it’s painful, but because of the uncertainty. Even the uncertainty about it being painful. 

What is pain? And can you reduce emotional pain by the power of adaptability? Or will it make it worse? 

He was blue eyed

Ocean deep, rivers never ending

White was his hair

From afar you could hear him singing

 

Weeps of sorrow

Like there was no tomorrow

Every tear made up the lake

Thunder was his mistake

 

Forgetting to remember

Where his home was

In mother and father, Oh

He was born in September

 

His brother was a shape shifter

His father kissed the Thunder

Wisdom was his mother

But he was just another

 

Pale white and blue eyed

Sea cyan, his cry never ending

Long braided hair

From afar you could hear him singing

 

Longing for another home

Resting on the tree of patience

Wailing loud and wailing slow

Dreaming of deliverance

He was blue eyed

Ocean deep, rivers never ending

White was his hair

From afar you could hear him singing

 

Weeps of sorrow

Like there was no tomorrow

Every tear made up the lake

Thunder was his mistake

 

Forgetting to remember

Where his home was

In mother and father, Oh

He was born in September

 

His brother was a shape shifter

His father kissed the Thunder

Wisdom was his mother

But he was just another

 

Pale white and blue eyed

Sea cyan, his cry never ending

Long braided hair

From afar you could hear him singing

 

Longing for another home

Resting on the tree of patience

Wailing loud and wailing slow

Dreaming of deliverance

The two comments:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/FYcpQwhhBi

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/24nJhpWE3h

Time feels slower

Your palms touch mine

Hold them forever

Your hands in mine

I see your vigour, child

In those tiny ears of yours

Those who are blinded

Will learn from you more

Listen to my voice

Never forget my embrace

My breath on your face

Feel my shadowy gaze

Lie on my breasts

And look up in the sky

Your bones on my chest

My love for you will never die

Keep your lips sealed tight

And your eyes open wide

They shall watch what you don’t see

As long as you love me

Your palms on my thighs

Your mouth open at night

Feel my lust on your tongue

Taste through your eyes

Oh child, I cannot love anymore

You have made my hollow chest sore

Run away from this chaotic despair

And wait until you hear my prayers

——

My own comments: I don’t have children and I am not attracted to them either. I just started writing again after many years and my style is provocative at times.

——

The two comments:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/03HScu90fE

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/h4q2CSAuT7

——

Jeg er sygemeldt og får hjemmeplejen 3 gange om dagen. Jeg er glad for hjælpen og kan ikke undvære den. I øjeblikket har jeg brug for ro, da mit nervesystem har været på overarbejde. Der er en af hjemmeplejen (A) der kommer om morgen og har en høj stemme, samt fuldstændig overgearet. Dette kan stresse mig - men det er glemt igen efter vedkommende er gået. De plejer ikke at være her mere end 5-10 minutter ad gangen. Generelt synes jeg at A er super sød og de gode ting opvejer vedkommendes “morgen larm”.

Sagen er den, at jeg nævnte overfor en anden hjemmepleje medarbejder (B), at vedkommende A havde så meget energi, og at jeg nogle gange blev forvirret om morgenen. Dette var nævnt da vi havde en casual snak, og det var sagt med en smil. Det var på ingen måde for at snerre eller skabe dårlig stemning, og jeg forsøgte også mit bedste på, at ikke få det til at lyde negativt.

Nu har vedkommende B så gået på arbejde og startet et sladder om, at jeg angiveligt skulle synes det var træls at vedkommende A larmede eller hvad helvede B nu har fået sagt.

Grunden til at jeg ved det, er, at B kom en dag med en lærling og fortalte, at nu havde hun været sød og sige det videre som jeg havde sagt, fordi “nu når jeg ikke selv kunne finde på at sige det, havde hun gjort det for mig”.

Der er to ting i det. Jeg er på ingen måder interesseret i at blive indblandet (mere end jeg nu er) i drama - især sådan noget hønsedrama. Jeg er heller ikke interesseret i at gøre nogen kede af det, som jeg sikkert har gjort ved vedkommende A. Denne person er super sød og jeg er glad for vedkommende.

Burde jeg sige noget og forklare vedkommende A, når denne kommer igen, eller burde jeg ringe ind til gruppens leder, eller skal jeg bare droppe alt snakken, så dramaet ikke breder sig og bliver til noget som den ikke burde blive til? Der er ingen der kan spå konsekvenserne og fordele og ulemper, men jeg er typen der ender med at gør noget dumt til tider og fortryder det bagefter. Så nu har jeg brug for jeres hjælp.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Pc4mkSBsJQ

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/s4gib4dWL3

Your sight is to her eyes

As this pen is to my paper

When you groove around her window

Waiting to sedate her

While the muse sings in the light

And snakes slither in the dark

Day by day, night by night

Her silhouette has left a mark

I’ll watch you today

And bury in my sorrow

Watch you watching her

Yesterday and tomorrow

She smokes cigars

But I drink whisky

Wears fancy scarves

But I’m not that lucky

A coincidence when you passed by me

I dropped my pocket knife

Only for you to discover

I had taken away her life

If the leaves are green - like your eyes,

and the trunk is brown - like mine,

isn’t it fair that I hold on to you?

It’s okay.

I’ll only hold on to you because you and I look so good together.

We suit each other, don’t you think?

Today and tomorrow, my dear.

I will be with you forever.

I will always be there for you.

But you want something else, don’t you, my love?

I can see it in you. You are sad.

Don’t you remember the times you embraced me because I didn’t want to feel the wind?

I was never cold - all because you gave me your warmth.

That is why I place you above everything else.

So you can see the whole world.

In the soft rays of the sun.

With your beautiful green eyes.

Come back to me and tell me everything.

But now you don’t want to be with me anymore.

You’ve already prepared us both

for your goodbye.

Can’t you wait a little longer?

Maybe we deserve another chance.

Don’t you think, my love?

When you leave me,

you leave me completely alone.

I will stay here

in case you change your mind.

I thought you were different,

but you are like all the others.

They all leave me behind.

And here I stand

stripped of love, pierced by sorrow,

cut into a thousand pieces,

only to be put back together again.

Polished. Refined.

Because now I will be someone else.

I mean…

I am myself. Of course I am myself.

Just… renewed.

I bought myself a makeover

in exchange for my soul.

Look at me!

Now I have four legs to walk on.

Now I can see the whole world too

just like you could.

You don’t have to remember anymore,

because I don’t want to either.

I can’t, to be honest.

My love for you was in my soul.

My grief for you was in my soul.

My care was in my soul.

My devotion was in my soul.

And now,

I have a makeover instead.

They call it Alzheimer’s,

but it’s just another name

for my new love.

I am still the same.

It’s me.

You can trust me,

and I will be your chair.

I promised you

I would always be there for you

even when you are no longer here.

You live on in your children.

They are like you.

They love the sun.

And like you,

they have left me.

Left me behind.

They want a new mother.

And even though it is taboo for me,

they are right.

I got a makeover for you,

even though I try to convince myself

it was for me.

There you are!

Look, my love

it’s spring again.

I thought you had left me,

but you’re right here.

The ones in white coats say

you are no longer here…

but you are.

Right here.

As beautiful as your green eyes.

Love me.

My love.

⸻

I will link to my page on Medium in the comments. Please visit and read the poem there too! 🙏🏼

———

The two comments to peers’ poems

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Pc4mkSBsJQ

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/s4gib4dWL3

Jeg har længe skrevet mine tanker ned omkring de ting som jeg gerne vil sige, men aldrig får sagt. Og ting der egentlig ikke burde siges højt heller. Det kan handle om alt fra vreden om den ene person der mobbede mig i folkeskolen, til den ene person som jeg kan være forelsket i. Det er ikke en hverdags ting, men det kommer i perioder hvor jeg får lyst til at skrive. Er der andre der gør det samme? Og hvis i gør, har i nogensinde overvejede at sige det højt?

Her får i dagens skriv:

Kære dig, kæreste dig, du, min, dig…

Hvor skal jeg begynde at snakke om dig? Dine øjne. Dem vil jeg gerne tale lidt om. Eller din mund. Din mund er nok den jeg burde starte med at tale om. Den er fyldt med kærlige ord, kærlige ånde og kærlig-hed.

Når jeg kigger på den, ser jeg en bjergkæde. Fra den ene side til den anden. Venstre til højre. Højre til venstre. Nogle bjerge er små, andre er store. Men bjerge bliver også bløde som vand når du kysser mig. I mine drømme. Om natten når jeg sover, og om dagen hvor jeg drømmer. Om din mund. Når den bliver til vand - ligesom dine øjne.

Dem kan jeg ikke tale om lige nu. Jeg samler mine hænder og dykker i dem i stedet for. Dykker ned. Langt ned. Længere ned. I min drøm. Om dig. Kære dig, og kæreste dig, du, min.

Dig.