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Alex Apr 15
You were not a small man.
Not quiet, gentle, or humble.
I learned that early—
in the way your voice filled a room before you did,
in the way silence never meant peace,
only waiting.

I remember the sound of you coming home,
entering the front door,
and you spoke like thunder.
Your presence WAS kind of like weather-
something I couldn’t predict,
but learned to live around.

You had your storms.
And I had mine.
And maybe neither of us
ever really understood
where they began.

You didn’t always know how to be close.
I didn’t always know how to reach you.
We missed each other in small, everyday ways—
in the questions we didn’t ask,
in the silences.
There were words we couldn’t find,
spaces between us
that neither of us knew how to cross.

Still,
there were moments,
shared unexpectedly.
A softness that showed up
without warning,
and left just as quietly.
“I feel like you’re the only person on my side today.”

You didn’t always get it right.
But you tried, a lot of the time, actually.
And I see that now,
in ways I couldn’t before.
Those moments
where you were soft
were rare,
but I saw the man you wanted to be.

You made a lot of choices,
and I,
I make a lot of excuses
trying to forgive you.
Sometimes I still can’t.

I’ve grown into someone
you didn’t quite know,
but you helped shape anyway.
And I carry you—
not always easily,
but honestly.
You were not simple.
Neither is grief.
But there is love here.
Always was.
Even if it didn’t look the way we hoped.

You didn’t understand me.
Not really.
I didn’t understand you either—
not the weight you carried,
not the damage you inherited and passed on
without meaning to,
or maybe not knowing how to stop.

But
you really did love me.
In your way.
And I loved you.
In mine.

I turned out alright.
Better, even.
And sometimes I feel guilty saying that.
like surviving you is a betrayal.

You were not all bad.
You were not all good.
You were a storm I came through,
and a story I’m still learning how to tell.

And I miss you.
Even now.
Even still.
Even after everything.
I miss you in ways
I didn’t know I would.

Before you left in December,
I asked if you had advice for me.
You didn’t hesitate.
“Just take one day at a time, sweetie.”
And then, when it was time to go:
“Be careful. I love you.”

I had the longest month of my life, Dad.
I turned thirty and you didn’t turn fifty-five and I still don’t know what to do with that.
I’m just taking it one day at a time.
Alex Oct 2024
first heartaches
but not an innocent
and gentle
introduction
to sorrow

first heartbreaks
of fists and claws
tearing fibers away
memories of stumbling, gripping
the threads together, so far from sewn

stitched heart strings
together, or tried to,
fire came, not right
but right on time, and blazed through
the twines and lines

first heart pains
not kind or lenient,
or considerate of youth.
ripped and burned,
and drained,
and i had only a child’s blood to bleed.
Alex May 2023
here, another night
writhing
I should be asleep, comfortable
I should be… normal
instead I writhe
or I lie so ******* still trying to pretend
trying to will it away
inside I am clawing to get out of this body
inside I picture myself flailing, jerking,
thrashing, punching, kicking
I visualize breaking my own bones with how hard I fight the pain
I see it in my mind, I let loose and walk away bloodied, bruised, all cut up… but I won.
in my mind.
in reality I have no energy to thrash.
i lack the spoons to fight,
and this,
is an unwinnable war anyway.

so I lie still.
or I writhe, sigh, and cry.
Alex Oct 2022
wait
where did you go?
all I can see is your ghost
but you swore that you loved us
so, so, so

please
tell me that you’re still with me
just out there somewhere spinning
even if you’re far from yourself
please don’t let that news hit me

help
I’m over here always angry
and you’d never even thank me
give you every chance you’ll take,
and you’ll always leave me hanging

maybe it’s not fair
I could never not care
I’ll curse your name
while I carry your pain
and a mostly silent rage
god, take us to an enlightened age
not your violent grave
Alex Feb 2021
I think it's really good that I can't write poetry anymore
Or is it?
Am I fixed or am I numbed?
Did she pull all the broken glass out of my mouth?
Did I swallow it?
Can you run from the wreckage and fall apart in the very first place you ever felt safe,
Does that make it okay?
My heart is a tragedy
Always sad, always awake alone at night
And I would not change it.
But
Why didn't I ever dream of anything?
Did I forget?
Jesus Christ
I didn't build this life for me
My heart was torn and stitched and ripped and sewn and sprayed blood over half the country before I sat here in one place to say
Am I fixed?
Alex Mar 2020
I wonder what you've told them about me
I wonder if you told them the whole thing hurt like hell
Alex Feb 2020
I run my hand across my skin and expect to feel my old body, it's a shock sometimes
This one is heavier, stretched, scarred and permanently bruised
And I don't know what I'll see when they flash the lights
But lately I'm stuck in the idea that we never fit together very well
It's like pushing two wrong puzzle pieces together and realizing it makes a better picture than the one on the box
"Robin's better than the perfect girl. She's real."
But how many times do I have to make the worst decision?
For once I want to be something... Quiet. Content. Restful.
How sobering it would be to sit and think
"things are good. this is nice. I will never
need anything else."
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