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Saturday, July 6, 2013

pity


it was my playground, a simple apartment

across the street from strawberry milkshakes

over the hill from train watching

up on the roof observing all that ever was

in my little yellow room playing soldiers

down the darken hall questions lurked like mice

while in the kitchen stew smelled like comfort

it was a faultered-faultless childhood

a fitful-fantasy that kept me in hiding-wonder

would they ever stop quarelling

would my hands ever grow big like his

would my heart ever grow full like hers

would i survive in a world without them

as i listened to the chirping of birds out of sight

and saw the patterns forming i wouldn't brave

for all the frozen tears  i knew

for all the fumbled fears

for all the crazy questions

for all the delusions denied

i could not reconcile my outer growth

with my stunted inner

i only knew that whatever would befall me

i would tumble

out of something, into something

i didn't want to leave

but couldn't be trapped...

ever elusive peace, joy, happiness

now i've said the happy words

and regret i've shared the pity

5 thoughts:

Rebecca said...

I imagine that everyone is entitled to feel pity even if they don't mean to ask for it or want to have it or regret having done so.

You certainly have a heart as full if not fuller than anyone I know or probably anyone you know or knew in your life. I'm just guessing, of course. I don't think or believe you should regret anything you just wrote or felt or said.

We all struggle, Peter. Kind of ironic you posted this yesterday afternoon. Irony maybe. I just read it now. Maybe I'll write one called forgiveness or sadness. I don't know which. :'(

You always have a way with words that bring out the deepest part of my heart and soul, if I have one, if there is such a thing. I don't know. I can see the little boy and the man, but both hurting the same.

I am the little girl and woman who does too.

-me

Peter said...

i just meant i wasn't looking for pity, not that i don't feel it, although it could be questioned why i wrote it at all. i wrote this a couple of months ago, so the timing was ironic. pity. but thank you for your always open and heart-felt comment.

Rebecca said...

I don't think it matters when you wrote it. I loved the poem as I always love your writings. They are never a dull journey.

Peter said...

perhaps. with no destination :p

Rebecca said...

Those are always the best, except in my world because I'm entirely too OCD to not have a plan. :)