Nelly Furtado –

Standard

When you’re
Promiscuous and a hopeless romantic,
The difference of what you need
For a long term fling
And what you want in that moment
Can get lost in the heavy breathing
And meaningless touching.
Afterwards comes questioning,
“What are we?”
Which is followed by nothing
But awkward laughing while exiting.

Father –

Standard

Thank you
For sticking around on days
You honestly didn’t have to.
For putting up with the terrible twos
And all the bratty attitudes.
For consoling me every time I needed you to.
These poems wouldn’t be written
And this dream wouldn’t be a thing
If you hadn’t encouraged me.

Closure –

Standard

These poems
Are meant to get personal.
And if you know me,
Personally,
Then please accept my apology.
These rhymes aren’t meant for you to carry my burdens.
These phrases and run on sentences
Aren’t meant for you to look at me differently.
Because honestly,
I am happy.
These anxieties only live between the pages.
They’re not carried with me everyday.
“Life isn’t meant to be lived that way”

Mother (spoken word) –

Standard

There are certain moments
When a daughter needs her mother.
However, in these moments,
mine couldn’t be bothered.
When the first unwanted boy walked in,
I needed her motherhood to begin.
When there was a bruise on my bottom lip,
She didn’t even see the difference.
My mother,
I so badly want to completely love her.
And I’ve been dreading writing these rhymes,
But mother,
Why did you let these issues go unfixed?
Why did you let me continue unfixed?

Statistic –

Standard

Typically, Children of Divorce don’t love so easily.
We have a tendency to find your flaws;
Your baggage,
Your family problems,
And paint you in them.
We cannot see you without this coat on.
You will learn to hate yourself, and feel our pain.
We will not love you,
Even after we train you.
I however decided
To not be this way.
I grew up seeing Mom in her room,
Dad on the couch.
I thought, “All parents slept this way”
“We’re all in the same house, everything is okay!”
And even after joining the statistic for
Children of Divorce,
Even after some these silly boys
Painted me with self-hate,
I refuse to be the same.