Wednesday, January 04, 2006

that broken families are a mistake
that love lasts and lives forever

that he will not leave
that she will not make him

that i won't be stuck
in between

that it is logical
that it is never justifiable

that hitting me will change me
that kissing me will change me

that time will make it better
that wounds will eventually heal

that i am afraid
that i will end up like my parents

that no one will notice
when i already have




amen

7 comments:

_Soulless_ said...

The strength is there, borne of an inherent will to survive. You have but to acknowledge that it is your own... And that, with each sensation of a cracked, fragmented self, you are still alive. Still alive to see that this, too, shall come to pass.

*hug*

B. Q. Chan said...

it is great to read someone who is living in the place where I was born and raised.

Anonymous said...

Dear Carr,

I love your poem. I really admire all of you for the positive attitudes you have. Keep it up and always put your chin-up no matter what. Always pray to God for guidance and the wisdom for all the decisions you will undertake.

We love you all,
Tita Tetel

blue rogue said...

one day at a time, bite your lip at that slow realization that changing is a part of what must be. And that when things have come to pass, as they always will, you can shrug and say "bugger you all..."

you take care.

cargwaps said...

thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments. i'm touched. truly. thank you.

AhSuah said...

I admire your ability to convey these poems.

And, thank you for visiting my site.

kulukoy said...

Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form--no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space--ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold--the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring's invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

-walt whitman

>hugs<, ga..:D