Posts Tagged With: poetry

Poetry- “Bottles Aflame”

poetryMy biological father, Dave, was seeing, I suppose that’s what you’d call it, his frequent bartender who was also the mother of a friend of my younger sister. He was visiting the woman at work during part of my sister’s and my visitation weekends while leaving us with his mother. He began drinking (really girly alcoholic drinks) after his supposed recovery of his “attempted suicide” back in 2008. After the woman stopped talking to him and called off the “relationship,” he began drinking even more girly alcoholic beverages while my sister and I were at his house.  So, when the woman broke it off, he became more agitated and somehow even more reckless with his drinking. There were even several instances during the summers where he would drink when we would go to eat at Joe’s Crab Shack after a day at Six Flags Over Georgia with my sister and me, and he would then drive with us in the car all the way back to his house in Cherokee, AL. As you can see, he has been and is still a shitty father.

“Bottles Aflame” was inspired by this part of my history with my biological father. In the poem, it mentions him physically harming me when he really didn’t to my knowledge; he did, however, take advantage of me and use me to have someone take care of and pity him . It is also possible that he could have harmed me, because there are a lot of memories I have blocked out for some reason, but I won’t get into that. I hope you enjoy, and as always, please don’t use this without my permission.

“Bottles Aflame”

I’ve got all these bottles

of sadness, darkness, grief

And all of these bottles came from you

You put them all on the shelves inside of me

I drank every one and they kept coming

Because you kept bringing them in

I swallowed all of what’s inside them

Knowing all the while you are the one who wins

Later in the evening

When my heart is filled with flames,

Little did you know

I set every single bottle ablaze

Now you will always remember

My little ember and my blame

Will always be on you

I still live today

Telling all you put me through

And now I stand

Knowing that without me

You can no longer be a man

Unless you bring me down

And swallow me whole

Now you have no one to talk to,

No one to yell at or angrily hold

I live now without your bottles

of everything sweetly bitter

You no longer bother me

Nor make me full of your liquor

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Poetry-“He wishes he was my dad instead of what he is:an obstacle” & “Away from You (Once I’m 18)”

teaching-poetry-to-childrenSince I am in a poetry mood today, it seems, and this is helping my persistent headache, I would like to share more poetry, if that is all right. I would actually like to show a comparison of two works of mine, both about my great dislike of my biological father, Dave.

Dave is a man-child of sorts. He was happy only when he was brining my mother down by calling her names and manipulating her to his every whim. He was even less efficient as a father. He and the rest of his family never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do. This greatly hindered my abilities to provide for myself and do things I hate and/or fear. For example, I do not have my driver’s license, my ears pierced, or even the ability to ride a bicycle, all because Dave could not be a true father. Instead he bought me whatever I wanted, be it toys or games or Gothic jewelry or animals, which only fueled my spoiled nature.

I very nearly hate the man, but I frown heavily upon hate because it leads to destruction of the soul and of civility and peace.

Now then, to business. First is a poem I wrote when I was 15. This was around the time that my stepfather came into my life and helped change my perspective for the better. It was written shortly after Dave realized I had changed his name in my phone to “Dave” and my stepfather’s to “Daddy”, as is the traditional term for one’s father. The clown reference was from lyrics of a favorite band of his.  What is depicted in this poem truly happened, despite him theoretically being a 35-year-old man. The poem is titled “He wishes he was my dad instead of what he is: an obstacle.”

When he gives me attitude

He becomes uncontrollably rude.

Because he cannot handle himself as a toad,

He takes his anger out on the road

As he drives as reckless as can be

While I smile at myself happily

Because he cannot affect me

Or make me feel down.

He is a “retarded, disfigured clown.”

Instead of bringing joy as he should,

He does the opposite of all that is good.

He attempts to bring me down with himself

But I’m so happy and content with myself.

I simply ignore him and his sorrow

As I look forward to tomorrow

Instead of backwards like he always has and will.

I’m so thankful I have a wonderful new family that makes each day filled

With joy, glee, bliss, laughter, all of the above

These things he will never be made of

 

Now compare that to a poem I wrote a couple of years ago, titled “Away from You (Once I’m 18).”

 

Where I belong isn’t here

I know this from my tears

All my cuts and wounds of heart

From me shall never part

 

Thank you for all this

 

You have taken me from my home

You never leave me alone

You never harm me

At least physically

 

You were always one of the mind

 

You will never be forgiven

I wish for you to be forsaken

I have finally returned to my safe place

Where happiness is always present on my face

 

Because I will never see you again

 

Much better, is it not? Thank you for reading 🙂

 

*picture does not belong to me

 

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Poetry- “Away from Home”

SignaturePoetry and I have always had an interesting relationship. I cannot make a poem out of nothing, or else it sounds dreadful and choppy. However, poetry has to strike me first. When poetry does strike, it consumes my entire being until I put whatever it asks of me onto paper. I know only what influences my works, but I know not of when and where it comes from.

I began writing poetry when I was about eleven years old. A quote from the wonderful Rubeus Hagrid (from Harry Potter, of course)describes that period in my life perfectly, “they were dark times,…dark times.” Everything was dark back then, my parent’s marriage, my real dad’s sense of humor, my clothing, my hair, and even my personality.

Thank God I’ve blocked most of it out. But I digress.

I was especially fond of a certain Edgar Allan Poe who talked of lost loves and Gothic castle ruins in his poetry and stories. I was quite smitten with the man, and still am today for literary purposes.

I never went through losing multiple loved ones to tuberculosis as Poe did, but you could not convince angsty, pre-teen Ashlynn that her life was not so equally melancholy. So, poetry became another outlet for me alongside drawing and singing. I mostly wrote of lost loves, triumphing over abusive loves, and wanting to have my own love of my life.

Not much has changed, poetry-wise. I still write of winning over abuse and lost loves, but I do feel my style will only improve as I continue to be spontaneously visited by the muse of poetry, whoever he or she may be.

A poem I would like to share with you now is titled “Away from Home.” I wrote it a few years ago as my biological father drove my sister and me to his hellhole of a house. I have always been dramatic, and my desire to return safely home isn’t as drastic as it is portrayed in the poem. Here goes.

“Away from Home”

I’m trying to reach home

I don’t know where to turn

I just run and run

This passion to be home burns

I’m trying so hard to reach you

You’re so far away

End this nightmare

I’ve done all I can today

How much farther must I go?

(Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis)

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