Hey You Sonofabitch

Hey you sonofabitch.


Who do you think you are,
coming into my life
and sweeping me off my feet like that?


Who allowed you to knock down
that stone wall around my heart?


I did?


Well, there must have been a good reason for that,
why i did something so stupid.


Oh yeah, it was because you once said you loved me.


Wait, why am i so angry, you ask?


Was it because i allowed you into my heart?
Because i allowed myself to become so niave?


No.


Because you told me you loved me,
because you kissed me,
and showed me what it was like to not be so alone


and then took it all away.
[09/Dec/09]

Do You Ever Wonder?

This is a poem written by one of my best friends, and she inspired me to write Hey you Sonofabitch.


PureVanilla: You have just become my new favourite poet :)


Do You Ever Wonder


What it's like to Fly?


Your face reminds me of someone I think I once knew.
Here, take this passport into my heart and find him, will you?

Don't be afraid of the things you see. They're not real to you.

"Put down that daisy and look me in the eyes."

Just me.

What? It's too dark to see?

Let me light it up for you. No! Of course I can!

I am the Wonderwoman of this world, my friend.

I am capable of rational thought and saving humankind.

Just me.

And you?

Put down that daisy and look me in the eyes.

You found him, you said?

And he looks nothing like you?
What a peculiar world we live in.
But I guess I'm in better hands now
Because my world ends with you.

Misty

While I've never been a victim of child abuse, my mother and uncles were. My grandmother was  bipolar, depressed, wracked with anxiety and had suicidal tendencies. And though they were never beaten senseless - although, maybe they were, and I was just never told - it breaks my heart to hear of any other abuse that my own mother went through. It fills with anger, and believe me, I have plenty of that.

Child abuse of any sort is a perverted, repulsive behaviour, and those who abuse children should be thrown in prison. Children, especially infants, are so helpless and innocent. They do not deserve to be treated like dirt just because they were born.

So here is a poem, although not written as well as "I Went to a Party, Mum" is still a heartbreaking poem that gets the blood pumping for justice. The narrator, Misty, is a young child that represents all abused and neglected children. So through Misty and this poem, we are able to remember and think about the children who have perished by their parents/guardians own hands.

"Misty"

"My name is Misty,
I am but three."

My name is Misty

I am but three,

My eyes are swollen

I cannot see,

I must be stupid

I must be bad,

What else could have

Made my daddy so mad?

I wish I were better

I wish I weren't ugly,

Then maybe my mommy

Would still want to hug me.

I can't speak at all

I can't do a wrong

Or else I'm locked up

All day long.

When I awake

I'm all alone

The house is dark

My folks aren't home.

When my mommy does come

I'll try and be nice,

So maybe I'll get just

One whipping tonight.

Don't make a sound!

I just heard a car

My daddy is back

From Charlie's Bar.

I hear him curse,

My name he calls,

I press myself

Against the wall.

I try and hide

From his evil eyes,

I'm so afraid now

I'm starting to cry.

He finds me weeping,

He shouts ugly words,

He says its my fault

That he suffers at work.

He slaps me and hits me

And yells at me more,

I finally get free

And I run for the door.

He's already locked it

And I start to bawl,

He takes me and throws me

Against the hard wall.

I fall to the floor

With my bones nearly broken,

And my daddy continues

With more bad words spoken.

"I'm sorry!" I scream,

But its much too late.

His face has been twisted

Into unimaginable hate.

The hurt and the pain

Again and again.

Oh please God, have mercy!

Oh please let it end!

And he finally stops

And heads for the door,

While I lay there motionless

Sprawled on the floor.

My name is Misty

And I am but three,

Tonight my daddy

Murdered me.

Hello

Evanesence: One of my absolute favourite bands, ever.

They were my amongst my first rock loves, along with Linkin Park and Limp Bizkit.

This is the lyrics to their song, "Hello" which is on their first album, "Fallen." This is a sad, slow song which caught my attention because the lyrics aren't 'traditional', meaning that there is no chorus, just three verses telling a story in a different way that songs are nowadays.

Anyway, it's just a beautiful song, and Amy Lee's voice is gorgeous, with the awesome band playing the best music to form one of my favourite songs from this album...

"Hello"

"Hello I'm still here,
All that's left of yesterday."

Playground school bell rings again

Rain clouds come to play again

Has no one told you she's not breathing?

Hello I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to

Hello

If I smile and don't believe

Soon I know I'll wake from this dream

Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken

Hello I am the lie living for you so you can hide

Don't cry

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping

Hello I'm still here

All that's left of yesterday

The Storm

Taken from the book, "... And I never saw another butterfly" this is a poem written by Jirka Polak, who was one of those 100 children who survived the ordeal at Terezin concentration camp. Jirka Polak was born February 1925. He was taken from Prague to Terezin in August 1942. When he was 17, he was deported from Terezin to Auschwitz. This is his poem, "The Storm" written during his years at Terezin.
                  

The heavens sense our burden:

the threat of future downpours

I carry on my back.

We are drunk on wine vinegar.

The nearing storm rouses me,

"The nearing storm rouses me,
it wants me to shake the world."

it makes me want to shake the world.
                  

We are an assemble of misery.

If our hands are bloody,

it is from the blood of our own wounds.

The grotesque scars

we bear on our bodies

testify to battles fought

that went unrecognized.
                   

But the next storm will unfurl our flag
and uproot the rotted trees!
The we, together with the gusting wind,
will scale Spilberk's* heights,
and stand victory on the peaks of cliffs,
our hair blowing freely in the wind.


*Spilberk was a famous jail in the Middle Ages in the city of Brno

Forgotten

This is a poem taken from the book "...I Never Saw Another Butterfly" [Second edition]. The book is a collection of poems, drawings and writings from children who were imprisoned at the Terezin concentration camp during 1942 - 1944 in which less than 100 children survived, out of a possible 15,000 children that pased through.

You wanton, quiet memory that haunts me all the while

In order to remind me of her whom love I send.

Perhaps when you caress me sweetly, I will smile,

You are my confidante today, my very dearest friend.
     

"Fly somewhere back to her and ask her, soft and low,
If she thinks of me sometimes with love."

You sweet remembrance, tell a fairy tale

About my girl who's lost and gone, you see.

Tell, tell the one about the golden grail

And call the swallow bring her back to me.
           

Fly somewhere back to her and ask her, soft and low,
If she thinks of me sometimes with love.
If she is well and ask her, too, before you go

If I am still her dearest, precious dove.
            

And hurry back, don't lost your way,

So I can think of other things,

But you were too lovely, perhaps, to stay.

I loved you once. Good-bye, my love!

--Anon.

Note: there are no errors; I copied this poem directly from the book.

What Love Really Is

So this is my first original poem on this blog. I wrote this because I was trying to figure out what the hell love is, and of course, there are different kinds of love. There's friendship, intimate love, family... the list goes on. So, here is a VERY rough draft of my poem. Enjoy :)

Love is...

the tears we cry

the emptiness we feel

the quickening of our pulse

the laughter

the smiles

forgiveness

and trust

 

the walls we build

around our hearts

the masks we wear

                        
the reason we walk in the rain

the reason we dance

and sing

you asked me once

what love really is

                
why couldn't you see

it is everything?

   
(sunday may 17 09)

Sylvia Plath

She's an amazing poet with a tragic history.
Here's her poem "Lady Lazarus". I'm writing about it for an English paper.


I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,

My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.


Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-


The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be

At home on me

And I am a smiling woman.

I am only thirty.

And like the cat I have nine times to die.


This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.


What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see


Them unwrap me hand and foot-
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies,


These are my hands,
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.


The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut


As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.


Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.


I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.


It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical


Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:


"A miracle!"
That knocks me out.
There is a charge


For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart-
It really goes.


And there is a charge, a very large charge
For the word or a touch
Or a bit of blood


Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.


I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby


That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your concern.


Ash, ash-
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-


A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling,


Herr God, Herr Lucifer,
Beware
Beware.


Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair.
And I eat men like air.

I Went To A Party Mum

This is one of my favourite poems, ever. I'm not sure who wrote it, but its freaking awesome! Such a simple and yet very powerful piece.

I went to a party, Mum,
And remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mum
So I had Coke instead.


I felt really proud inside, Mum,

The way you said I would,

That I didn't drink and drive, Mum

Even though the others said I should.

I made a healthy choice, Mum,
Your advice to me was right.
The party finally ended, Mum,
And the kids drove out of sight.


I got into my car, Mum,
Sure to get home in one piece,

I never knew what was coming, Mum,

Something I expected least.

Now I'm lying on the pavement, Mum,

And I hear the policeman say,

"The kid that caused this was drunk," Mum,

his voice seems far away.

My own blood's all around me, Mum,

As I try hard not to cry.

I can hear the paramedic say, Mum,

"This girl is going to die."

I'm sure the guy had no idea, Mum,

While he was flying high,

Because he chose to drink and drive, Mum,

Now I would have to die.

So why do people do it, Mum,

Knowing that it ruins lives?

And now the pain is cutting through me, Mum,

Like a hundred stabbing knives.

Tell sister not to be afraid, Mum

Tell daddy to be brave,

And when I go to heaven, Mum,
Put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave.


Someone should have taught him, Mum,
That it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his parents had, Mum,
I'd still be alive.


My breath is getting shorter, Mum
I'm getting really scared.

These are my final moments, Mum,

And I'm so unprepared.


I wish that you could hold me Mum,

As I lie here and die.

I wish that I could say, "I love you, Mum"

So I love you and goodbye.

Just to clarify, this is me. Not someone who died in a car accident.