jonadine

A Petri dish of emotion, I fester and bubble, anyone crosses me, they will find trouble

It seemed too “un doctor-like” to say; “Her spirit has fled” So instead we offered to withdraw care To stop the drip-dripping of the drugs That were flogging her to keep going. We knew she was already gone Having seen so much death, As physicians we offer facts perhaps devoid of truth Her blood pressure is too low Her heart rate too slow You told me it sounded like we were ready to give up That you were praying for the miracle That God would take her When He was ready And not before What we knew and had not words to say: No battles left, the war lost, God-given free will in the form of Almighty Medicine Keeping her tethered to the earth To you perhaps she looked as if She was fighting for her life gasping for breath And it hurt you too much to let go While she was laboring so hard To deliver her soul What you saw was the struggle to quit Against the force of Medicine Keeping her breathing, her heart beating Blood sluggishly pumping Against its will I wanted to say “He has called her home” But the role of doctor had me wrapped up too tight And you kept your vigil Until she won the fight

I write because I have too. The shit wont leave me alone until I write it down. It keeps me up at night. I think maybe I need to find a way to write when I dont have the creative inspiration battering the doors down. i would like to publish my stuff someday, and waiting for the muse to strike doesnt seem like a particularly efficient method of generating a portfolio worthy of print.

Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was cored out With something sharp, like a paring knife The edges like barbed wire, bloody and metallic like chewing on tinfoil or licking the end of a battery And that is when I am afraid Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was burned out With a red hot poker, the edges charred, and cauterized I breathe in the ashes and they taste bitter and shriveled, like the alum my mother kept in her cupboard and that is when I get angry Sometimes the hole in my heart feels hammered out with a mallet, the meat tenderized and macerated and my whole heart feels like a bruise, Like it will never stop hurting, And I will slowly fade into pain and become nothing And that is when I feel pathetic. Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was torn out that feral flower trampled and shredded, my chest is tight with unspoken apologies and drowning in unshed tears like I am at the bottom of a well And that is when I despair Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was carved out with meticulous attention and bloodless precision planning deep and calm as a lake guiltless as a cloudless sky full of blame and rancor and that is when it hurts the most.

You suck. she said, like its your fate it pops my ears, the sucks so great. You suck forever and an hour, You suck 'til it's your superpower. If there were a sucking test, No question, you would be the best, Or if it were a sucking race You'd win the prize and be first place. You suck all day and suck all night 'til babies weep and crops get blight, You would suck if it were noon, you still suck out on the moon. You suck the birds and suck the bees and suck the leaves right off the trees You suck the clouds across the sky and suck the whole damn ocean dry You suck, she said, like I'm a girl, You suck so much it makes me hurl. You suck until your face turns blue, and suck until your dog sucks too. I feel, she said, that sucks so big that it will snap you like a twig, You'll break in two and then therefore after that you'll suck some more, You suck like you heard sucking's cool Like you learned how in sucking school, You suck in Noah and the Ark the Empire State and Fenway Park. You suck for real and that's no lie You suck so much that you might die, You'd suck if sucking didn’t exist You suck so hard I made a list. (Edited for flow and added content)

You suck. she said, like its your fate it pops my ears, the sucks so great. you suck all day and suck all night til babies weep and crops get blight You would suck if it were noon, you still suck out on the moon You suck the birds and suck the bees and suck the leaves right off the trees You suck the clouds accross the sky and suck the whole damn ocean dry You suck, she said, like im a girl You suck so much it makes me hurl You suck until your face turns blue, and your mom says, well who are you? I feel she said that sucks so big that it will snap you like a twig Youll break in two and then therefore after that youll suck some more You suck like you heard suckings cool Like you learned how in sucking school You suck until your dog sucks too and the rest of the animals two by two and suck in noah and the ark the empire state and fenway park You suck for real and thats no lie You suck so much that you might die Youd suck if sucking didn’t exist You suck so hard I made a list

Let me use your words? Mine are hollow bones. Yours are laughing, jumping sprites, While mine just drop like stones. My words are fretful, narrow things but yours are wide and free, mine starve in corners, where they lurk And yours are filled with glee. I need to use your words, 'cause mine don't work so well Yours are humming, living things while mine just sort of smell. I could use your words To say just what I mean, My words are used, wrung out old rags You couldn't use to clean. I cant use my words, for they have all run out. They are withered, sere and lonely And they just sit and pout. Let me use your words? Your words are strong and light. My words are crooked, useless twigs, and I really need to write.

What does it mean? That I dreamed you tall and whole. Strong, straight and well, with a practiced patter: sharp as a cutting remark. You would think it was funny, too, that you were gay in my dream. Completely, limp-wristedly, a flamingo in style, violently fashionable. You wore a silver jumpsuit, like a mirrored disco ball, and had a bowl haircut, (What were you thinking?) and grinned like a shark. What does it mean? That I dreamed you a future you never had and it was FABulous. Did I dream you an afterlife? A beauty school dropout, angelic frankie avalon heaven? Maybe it means I forgive you, But I'm sure it means I still love you, funny little brother, And I kind of hope the pearlygate smile and gossip benediction await all of us.

And I kind of hope the pearlygate smile and gossip benediction awaits all of us. *I wrote these two lines to complete the final stanza. I think it gives it a better balance.

I dreamed you tall and whole strong, straight and well, with a practiced patter sharp as a cutting remark. You would think it was funny, too that you were gay in my dream, completely, limp-wristedly a flamingo in style. You wore a silver jumpsuit, and had a bowl haircut, (What were you thinking?) and grinned like a shark. What does it mean that I dreamed you a future you never had and it was FABulous? Did I dream you an afterlife? A beauty school dropout, angelic frankie avalon heaven? I don't think it means I forgive you But I'm sure it means I still love you.

I had my hands on it just a moment ago, sturdy as cinder blocks and clinging like a barnacle to that rope hung over the cliff. That hard-won grip was the product of An ordeal of travel, The anxious feet and nervous fingertapping of a hundred headaches. I worked for it, and now that gnarled grip is frictionless the hemp turning to an eel in my hands its slipping, I can feel it And that freefall awaits me. What am I going to do?

I'd like to add "Make excuses for other people" to this list.

You are mine, my shopping friend with the tired feet with whom all things miraculously fit and are my style. You are mine, my laughing friend with whom drinking is perilous, For the contents end up exiting my nose more often then not. You are mine, the friend with whom I have eaten and drunk until I know all your habits, even exactly when you will go wash your hands. You are mine, the friend with whom I can be obnoxious, and know always that there is comfortable silence waiting for me. You are mine, my cake eating friend with whom birthdays are spent, the party is maaaahvelous, and the presents are your presence. You are my snuggle friend with soft blankets and scary movies, my friend who makes popcorn and sits on the floor. You are the scary friend, the mean girl born to make the lowly crawl, and behind your back I praise you constantly. You are my umbrella drinks friend, the Tijuana friend, the friend in Alaska who swears like a trucker. You are my coffee friend, barista friend, the one who drinks mochas deliciously. You are the sister of my heart, my tear-wet shoulder, my loyal friend and fierce defender. I am yours, your trip to the ocean, your sunny vacation, your silly road trip to nowhere in particular. I am yours, your loyal friend, the one who will always come when you call. I am yours, tested by distance, forged in faith, and tempered by time, these ties are now unbreakable. I am yours and I love you. For god's sake, don't die. 

I looked for you first around the corner from the by and by, and then in between the tightly wound yesteryear and in that big bag of fortnights. I searched in the long ago basket, and I tried looking in the piles of hereafter and the subsequent afterward. I thought I must have missed you in the current instant, that perhaps you had gone rushing to the immediate future or maybe got lost in the crowds in the recent past. And then I found you, my perfect new year, Snug underneath yesterdays plans and wrapped up safely in tomorrow.

I think this might be done...I like the rhythm.

You are mine, my shopping friend with the tired feet with whom all things miraculously fit and are my style. You are mine, my laughing friend with whom drinking is perilous, For the contents end up exiting my nose more often then not. You are mine, the friend with whom I have eaten and drunk until I know all your habits, even exactly when you will get up to go wash your hands. You are mine, the friend with whom I can be obnoxious, and know always that there is comfortable silence waiting for me. You are mine, my cake eating friend with whom birthdays are spent, and the presents are your presence. You are my umbrella drinks friend, the Tijuana friend, the friend in Alaska who swears like a trucker. You are my coffee friend, barista friend, the one who drinks mochas deliciously. You are my snuggle friend with the soft blankets and the scary movies, my friend who makes popcorn and sits on the floor. You are the sister of my heart, my tear-wet shoulder, my loyal friend and fierce defender. You are the scary friend, the mean girl born to make the lowly crawl, and behind your back I praise you constantly. I am yours, your trip to the ocean, your sunny vacation, your silly road trip to nowhere in particular. I am yours, your friend whom you shush in public places for being a little too loud, even though it never works. I am yours, your loyal friend, the one who will always come when you call. I am yours, tested by distance, forged in faith, and tempered by time, these ties are now unbreakable. I am yours, like a duckling, I have imprinted, and I love you. For god's sake, don't die. 

I almost didnt use the Echo, Penelope and Morpheus references, in part because I thought it made the poem too romantic. I did some research and decided finally, that they were the best fit, not only because they were the best allegory for how I felt, but my brother was a very romantic person, a very red roses and candlelight sort of guy when he was alive, so I left them in as a tribute.

You are mine, my shopping friend with the tired feet with whom all things miraculously fit and are my style. You are mine, my laughing friend with whom drinking is perilous, For the contents end up exiting my nose more often then not. You are mine, the friend with whom I have eaten and drunk until I know all your habits, even exactly when you will get up to go wash your hands. You are mine, the friend with whom I can be obnoxious, and know always that there is comfortable silence waiting for me. You are mine, my cake eating friend with whom birthdays are spent, and the presents are your presence. You are my umbrella drinks friend, the tijuana friend, the friend in alaska who swears like a trucker. You are my coffee friend, barista friend, the one who drinks mochas deliciously. You are my snuggle friend with the soft blankets and the scary movies, my friend who makes popcorn and sits on the floor. You are the sister of my heart, my tear-wet shoulder, my loyal friend and fierce defender. You are the scary friend, the mean girl born to make the lowly crawl, and behind your back I praise you constantly. You are my trip to the ocean, my sunny vacation, my silly roadtrip to nowhere in particular. I am yours, your friend whom you shush in public places for being a little too loud. I am yours, your loyal friend, the one who comes when you call. I am yours, tested by distance, tempered by time, and forged in faith, these ties are now unbreakable. Like a duckling, I have imprinted, and I love you. For gods sake, dont die.

There were two reasons why I used "melted" in that particular context. One, the wings Deadalus made were made of wax and feathers, and so it seemed true to the stroy to have the wings melt. Second, melted implies disfigurement, warping of a previously straight thing. I think you are right, that the blatant reference is unnecessary, but I like the way it sound sout loud, so I left it in.

I. Love. That.

Thanks, I appreciate your comments and your help. I like this one, I think it is tied up nicely by the final stanza and gives the feeling I meant it to.