Call Me Carefree
I wonder if you’ve ever had home ripped from you
You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry
You wanted to beat your chest
But you stayed stoic
It made more sense
You hadn’t been there for years anyway
It wasn’t really home anyway
You didn’t want to be pitied
It’s a tireless subject and I’m tired of it
It would be pointless to bring it up again
I’m not a real part of it
I didn’t live it
Far and away, that’s where I stayed
Watching the world pass me on a twelve inch screen
That’s where I’d like to stay
Every once in awhile it surprises me, though
I catch myself crying
Suddenly realizing
Why I feel so contorted inside
posted by Narisilme @ 5:14 PM
5 Comments:
To my favorite daughter dearest!
One of the reasons that your ma & I left the Big Easy was that we wouldn't have to hear, see and talk about this subject for the rest of our lives.
Yet everytime I find myself in a situation where someone is genuinely interested in "where are you from," I find myself waxing euphoric about growing up there and about the plight for those who have chosen to stay. This too causes me sudden sadness and a longing to go back in time to that different place.
I used to dismiss N.O. as not all that unusual and now it pains me to realize that it will never be like it was before.
Oh, my love!
My love...that is all I can say.
The tears that hurt the most are the ones you don't expect. I am always here to stay up late with you, cryin it out. I love you, I hope you are able to heal. Perhaps part of that process is fully grasping that it was home and you did love it. It will be a while, but you will heal... you will.
>----:*----<
Sweet girl. I feel it. I hate that it hurts. I hate that it seems useless but still hurts just the same. We feel. We are affected. Thank God for a capacity for pain and silently hope you won't feel it again.
Here for you. I catch glimpses of you heart and think it's just beautiful. Only functioning in short sentences after reading your words. But hoping you know what I mean and that I care.
C
Your meter is so gracefully and equisitely fluid, yet you still convey the sense of staccato sobs emanating from your voice. The lines ebb and flow, like the rush of the tide in and off of the beach, perhaps twisting and "contorting" the shoreline of your poetry and heart with a natural wonder.
I am quite impressed.
Post a Comment
<< Home