It’s Been 2426 Days Since I Dragged My Childhood Bedroom Across The Pavement
It’s been 2426 days since I dragged my childhood bedroom across the pavement
Almost 7 years since my love for my mother spilled from my suitcase onto the driveway
i still feel as if I could waltz into that house
Now belonging to strangers
Sit on my pink fluffy bed
And remember her screams
As if they were happening presently
The house is now home to an elderly couple
I wonder if they can feel the ghost of my younger self
Etched into the bannister
Youthful laughter in the backyard
I don’t know what part of me was left in that house
But if feels like not a day has passed since that crisp April morning
When my mother decided that I was not the daughter she had wanted
More Posts from Sundayafternoonsedentary and Others
oh lover,
how I miss us
things were simple
the world wasn’t so big
we didn’t have to be anything to impress
it was just you, me, and a sky full of newly named stars
will you turn my brittle body into poetry
when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse
will you interpret the path i skipped along
writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind
or will i be forgotten?
just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface
scribbled lines in the once lively flesh
it was never pen ink that cherished me so
if my name has not been lost
and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book
run to my tombstone
letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing
recite to my grave lovely words
soothing my wandering soul
remove my past from the chain around my ankle
let my image seep into the setting sun
allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime
an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body
permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being
but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence
please oh please let me be poetry
- sundayafternoonsedentary
i found myself ripping out my eyelashes
blowing them off my finger
wishing that you would find yourself falling in love with me
hoping that star that i pray to every night
would take pity on me
granting my wishes true
I'm not afraid of death
I am afraid of the minutes before it
When my bed of steel nails
Grow into roses
If petals could talk
They would whisper in pity
By their words, I'll bloody up my hands
With the wounds the size of torn rags
And I'll tear away the civilization I made
Count every grain falling through an hour glass
Till goodbyes erode away
Mountains stand short
Bring forth my old rivers
Drain them of glory
Count every grain falling through an hour glass
Till molten corpses fall from the sky
Bells A-ringing in chaotic serenity
Doves turn to face the weeping nights
To wish my old constellations goodbye
By their words, I'll bloody up my hands
Throw away my world, let it leave my grasp
If the petals could talk
They would whisper in pity
By their words I'll wash up my hands
Lay in my lush foggy blankets
Till my eyes flutter shut
And peppered kisses, end at the hands of my crumbling world
Divide my soul and body with bleach
I'll drink it until my body is pure and free
From sins I committed at their word
following a prophecy and commiting a sin,
is how religion is born, with its birth
Comes timed demise
I'm not afraid of death
I am afraid of the minutes before it
When cold blooded sins turn dove like, gentle
If petals could talk
They would whisper in pity,
"What a fool she was, to follow a prophecy to create belief. What a fool she was, to burn dynasties for their words. What a fool she was, what a fool she was"
(Repent for your sins to make those after you believe in rules, repent for your sins to turn unity into society, Repent for your sins to look at your hands to see the monster you've become, repent for your sins, repent for your sins)
i’ve witnessed the cavities slither their way into his brain
etching out the desire to get out of bed
rotting teeth were never so beautifully maddening
the poor man didn’t stand a chance against the decay in his mouth
-sundayafternoonsedentary
i was a daughter at some point in my mortal existence
now i am what’s left of a child
rugged-worn down being
who’s outgrown the wonder that used to course through her veins
i spend hours upon hours lying sedentary within my porcelain throne
filled to the brim with the tears of my past lovers
soaking in the glory of being alone again
~sundayafternoonsedentary
he finally told me he was proud of me yesterday
after i had given all of myself
searching in other people what he didn’t give me
selling parts of my soul for short lived validation
but you’re proud of me dad?
all that is left of me is my heart in your hands
what i’ve become is great he says
but i look in the mirror
and i see a few strands of hair falling from a broken down body
morsels to appreciate
but finally, he is satisfied
-sundayafternoonsedentary
Sometimes I write in my journal as if somebody a century from now is going to find it and suddenly become captivated by the old ways of life. After they finish reading it, perhaps they’ll start living life similarly to how I do. In the past. In another life.
i told you i loved the night we spent together
i wish i could have captured the grin you wore
so proud of the terrible things you did to me
how i love that smile
the same lips that grazed my skin not long ago
the same hands that caressed my body
the same hair that I tugged on as i made a show of your acts
it was only an act
all of the good things came to an end
the heavy breathing started
my lungs were collapsing
my heart forgot to beat
it was too busy aching to love you
wishing to be more than just a body
