On Christmas I Always Remember…

Remembering Ray, my Stepfather who was better to me than my birth parents, I wish to recognize him by posting a poem I wrote inspired by a moment we shared that had a lasting impact on my life. Hope you enjoy every moment you have with friends and family. After all, if a loved one does pass away you will regret every lost moment you did not make them a priority. However, I promise, you will never feel any of the moments you did spend with them wasted.

“He Let Her Dance”

A girl,
denied her youth,
steals a moment.
Rain falling
Sun shining
Puddles forming
Believed her new umbrella
would be her only witness
as she danced without worry
just for an instant.

Hooray!
She finally felt the joy
of not trying to be perfect.
Shoes wet
Movements clumsy
Umbrella twirling

Her treasured moment
was shattered in an instant.
She had another witness.
A man she spied
looking out at her.

They have just met.
He married her Mother.
He was not her Father.
She already had a Dad.
What if she was bad?
Alone, was her bet.

She did not want this man to hate her
She knew, too well,
the hurt hate creates.
She tried really hard to act right
for every second,
in every minute,
in every hour,
in every day…
until this moment today.

All efforts to be perfect…gone.
She was caught
being perfectly imperfect.

Her dismay turned to delight.
Eyes did not belittle
Voice did not raise
Mouth did not frown

Her heavy heart lifted.
She felt a tiny seed of worth planted
and vowed to love him forever
in an instant
even though
she only
called him
Ray.

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Ugly Floral Couch (Sestina)

Sitting on the family’s ugly floral couch,

Little brother and I dared not fidget.

Knowing doing so would make Dad come more undone.

In situations like this, we found ourselves many times.

It was always best to wait till the old man tired.

This day, however, was worse than all the others.

 

As a family, we were looked down by others.

I’m sure they could not miss our house’s tension when sitting on our ugly couch.

Living the family lie was very tiring.

I longed for escape and it showed by my tendency to fidget.

To fidget was only one of many of our crimes. We were yelled at all the time.

Our parents, not known by most, were prone to frequently come undone.

 

Little brother and I came accustomed to living a life undone.

We were well aware we were not like all the others.

But being obedient children, we pretended we were all the time.

If we did not, we knew, we would end up sitting for a long time on the couch.

I don’t believe my parents knew amount of effort we made not to fidget.

These lengthy lectures about how much we were lacking made me so tired.

 

Even telling my tale now is making me feel incredibly tired.

Now that I am the age of them, way back then, I live in fear of becoming undone.

At least, I’m old enough not to be told to stop fidgeting.

In fact, at this point in my life, I don’t like being told anything by others.

In addition, as God as my witness, I will never own an ugly floral couch.

It appears what I will do and not do is how I spend a lot of my time.

 

I suppose, I should return to the topic at hand and talk about that time,

when little brother and I were waiting for the old man to tire.

I can not express the extreme distaste I sill have for that couch.

I must continue and reveal how the old man went beyond undone.

It really was worse than all the others.

Excuse me while I fidget.

 

Talking about that time, I always start to shake. Sorry, I always mask my shakes with fidgets.

As a general rule, I find it best, not to think about that awful time.

His marathon rants were usual. When he got the gun it became worse than the others.

When he said we all were making him do it and put the gun in his mouth…all I felt was tired.

I guess the old man really came undone right then.

All I cared about was going to bed…and getting off that damn couch.

 

What I am haunted by, is being so evil, that I dared to feel tired,

while my father, with gun in mouth, became more undone than any other time.

Ironically, since then, I spent a lot of time seeking redemption from others while sitting on a ugly couch.

Mother’s RIng

Billie A. Zahir aka "The Eye"

After being reminded of our Mother’s birthday,

I remembered the Mother’s ring she was given by us all

on some occasion I do not recall.

I do not know what her feelings

were

or are

about that ring

but I do know mine.

I remember growing up

being amazed

how all the stones were arranged

in a way that would make anyone think each stone,

right to left,

were not placed in order of birth.

September’s sapphires placed at either end.

The first was a son.

The last was a son.

Both turned out to be the daughter’s emotional rocks.

Always looking at the sensibility of living in a family unit

and enjoying

not having the emotional outbursts

that rocked the boat of our clan.

They have learned

if they walked away long enough…

all would be well when they returned.

Next to sapphires is the garnets.

Eldest daughter

Youngest daughter

View original post 266 more words

You Are Missed (Monody)

He was the toughest SOB that I ever knew.

Every time, before, death knocked on his door,

he knocked the Grim Reaper on the floor.

Sadly, this time, the hooded one was the victor.

This was the man who lived through a blazing inferno,

being in the line of fire during the Korean War,

and fell from an iron tower.

Yet, as tough as he was, with me he was always tender.

I never, called him Dad…yet he was the best Dad I ever had.

When the time came for him to go cause the pain was too much I cried.

But, just like he did, I did what I had to and told them to turn off the machines.

I feel no guilt for being the one gifted with the right to end his pain.

Mother’s Day 2013

As of a few moments ago, I hit a Mommy all time low.

I asked a girl, who is about my daughter’s age, to be my pretend daughter this year.

How sad is that?

This is not literary trickery,

this is my real life.

I know it’s something unheard of

to have a child who wants nothing to do with you…

but that is the reality that rips out my heart every day

and this Mother’s Day

will slam it to the ground and stomp all the blood out.

So, in reality,

my pathetic request of a young lady

who does not despise me and who,

I honestly believe,

believes I have some worth…

is an attempt to save my life.

I know one day

Baby of mine

will allow me

back into her life.

My only goal…

is to live and see that day.

That will be the day

I will be resurrected

no longer be this shell of a woman

you now see before you.

Begging

Born a beggar with hand held out.

“Pardon me sir, can you spare a hug?”

“Excuse me lady, do you have an extra kiss?”

Food, shelter and clothing
Were panhandling earnings. However, yearnings were for so much more.

Desire was great to be that one gift in a person’s life

that made them think THEY were not worthy

to be in possession

of someone

full of light fresh from HEAVEN.

This is the birthright this beggar was denied.

So here I am….a beggar with hand held out.

Mother’s RIng

After being reminded of our Mother’s birthday,

I remembered the Mother’s ring she was given by us all

on some occasion I do not recall.

I do not know what her feelings

were

or are

about that ring

but I do know mine.

I remember growing up

being amazed

how all the stones were arranged

in a way that would make anyone think each stone,

right to left,

were not placed in order of birth.

September’s sapphires placed at either end.

The first was a son.

The last was a son.

Both turned out to be the daughter’s emotional rocks.

Always looking at the sensibility of living in a family unit

and enjoying

not having the emotional outbursts

that rocked the boat of our clan.

They have learned

if they walked away long enough…

all would be well when they returned.

Next to sapphires is the garnets.

Eldest daughter

Youngest daughter

Both share the same dirty brown stone,

 loud laughs everyone enjoys hearing…

and little else.

The eldest found her path in life early and never thought to stray.

The youngest path is a wondering one

she has no want to find ”the path” but explore them all.

Both believe paths are ”right”

and never see eye to eye.

Both blind to their similarity

of freely giving bits of wisdom

out of love.

In the middle of the ring

 two stones that have no match.

Growing up,

I felt sad

about their aloneness.

Only after getting older,

and learning who the people were

did I see the connection

between the stones

and the persons.

The Diamond is rare

holds great value.

Worth of the pale stone

risks being forgotten

when surrounded by all the color.

This person,

like the diamond,

stands out

catching fire in the light.

She draws eyes

to the beauty of the stones

yet refuses to be outshone by them.

The lone emerald

the remaining daughter

just like in the ring

brings a sense of peace

and purity

to the collection.

Both beautiful enough to stand alone

but opts to bring he gifts to all.

I loved that ring as a child.

The ring is how

I knew my older brothers and sisters.

I hope Mom passes it on to me.

As long as that ring has us all in a row together,

I have hope

someday,we can do the same.

Free from past baggage

and learn to appreciate the beauty of each other.

Much love to them all

from this

dirty red

Garnet.

Not a poem just some free writing that will lead up to one with time. :)

I once got lost in the town I lived in.

It was the middle of the night not another car in sight.

Everything looked familiar yet strange.

Right when I ran out of gas and I laid my head on the wheel wondering if I would ever be found….my step-dad Ray knocked on the window.

To this day he has been the only man who missed me when I was gone enough to go that extra mile to find me.

That is a story I need to tell.

He Let Her Dance

A girl,
denied her youth,
steals a moment.
Rain falling
Sun shining
Puddles forming
Believed her new umbrella
would be her only witness
as she danced without worry
just for an instant.
She finally felt the joy
of not trying to be perfect.
Shoes wet
Movements clumsy
Umbrella twirling
Her treasured moment
was shattered in an instant.
A man she spied
who was not her Father
yet claimed he loved her Mother.
All efforts to be perfect…gone.
She was caught
being perfectly imperfect.
Her dismay turned to delight.
Eyes did not belittle
Voice did not raise
Mouth did not frown
Her heavy heart lifted.
She felt tiny seed of worth planted
and vowed to love him forever
in an instant.

Scruffy Angel With A Message

I want to share a story to show my gratitude for one of the best gifts I have ever been given.

The gift I hold so dear, was presented to be by a fellow junkie.

We had nothing in common besides our shared addiction and the building we were housed in.

We would kill time between therapy, smokes, snacks, and meals talking about this, that, and nothing.

However, during one of our one on one stress relieving sessions, I told a story that was always so painful and filled me with shame…

Even though I was only a child and the victim.

As soon as I started…

I wanted to stop…

but couldn’t.

Instead I told my sad tale like it was a joke.

I laughed at my pain so as not to burden this recent stranger with feeling obligated to pretend he cared and give me some token pity.

I wanted to end it with a final laugh and give him a Newport as payment for his time…

But to my surprise no pity was given. In its place I was given the permission to allow my feelings be first.

He told me my story was not funny and I did not need to laugh.

He knew what happened must have hurt…

The weight of my pain was less as he showed me compassion.

He said when somebody hurts me it should not be funny.

He gently put his hand on mine and said he thought it would be better if I cried.

At that moment that wonderful junkie served as a wittiness to my tears I always kept hidden…

When I already felt he gave me so much…he gave me one more.

I saw tears fall from his eyes.

How could a victim ask for anything more!

Soon after, we went our separate ways…

But I swear this on a stack of Bibles…his gift will always remain close to my heart.

And in my heart, I know this grand gift could never be given by a nice junkie unless God used him to teach me this life changing lesson.

I don’t ask why God allowed such a bad thing to happen.

Asking why does not take pain away. It did, and that’s that.

However, the pain I lived with for so long did feel less the day God used a kind junkie to give me the permission and compassion needed to make it easier to deal with. 

A Mother’s Confession

Time for mommy to come clean…and reveal her innermost thoughts.

They are not pretty

Voices in my head chant, “Shame! Shame! Shame!”

Beats of my heart thump,
“Let it out! Let it out!”

First, let me be blunt…I did not want the responsibility of being a Mom

Despite what the voices in my head say, I am not stupid…

Growing up, I was not given the opportunity to learn by example

AND

How could I love the creation of someone I hated?

I planned on spending my life finding a HERO who was willing to take on this ZERO

Afterall, I did not know what was missing….

As a child, I always did as instructed…

I was to watch the world around me…

Active participation was forbidden!

I always delivered the lines I was given…I was dumb, I was lazy, I was thoughtless, I was dirty….

I always observed other players with awe and envy…

Why did they always get top billing?

I felt the HAPPY, PRIDE, CONTENTMENT, and SECURITY from them as they walked by…and felt empty inside…but they NEVER took a second look.

I figured they were instructed to over look.

Throughout it all…a whisper would occasionally tickle my ear, “Take the smile off.”

Occasionally, I was embolden enough to follow that whisper’s instruction

Alas!

Parental, family, and religious correction was always swiftly given

The primary rule, me and my siblings were given, was always keep our smiles in place because ANY form of happy kept secrets HIDDEN…

Any secret revealed would mean the end of our world and WE ALL would be left with nothing

Long story short….

At 17 I knew I was of age to explore and find me…

However, due to lack of guidance at the time it took awhile to find what I was instructed to keep hidden.

I found myself playing a role of a good for nothing person who had no worth

This was the role I was playing when I got knocked up by a guy I now refer to as, “Her Father.”

Despite the handicap I was given, I knew, some way and some how I had to do better than I was given.

I had to figure a way to use the information I gathered watching others around me…

I grand plan was put in place…

The plan had only two  goals in mind…

My daughter would know she has a VOICE and given the POWER to use it come what may…

I swore, these two things I was denied she would have.

Don’t get me wrong it was a hard task to under take.

You see, it’s hard for a broken to raise a whole…

Turns out God was on my side and the desired end result was accomplished

However, my sorrow runs deep the price paid for this grand designs to be seen to futation is steep.

The price paid for this nobel plan of action was the Mom being seen for what she is….something to be left behind.

It’s expected…

I taught her to expect the best walk away from anything less.

I showed her all my flaws cause the only way to teach her what to be was to show her what not to be (which was me)

Yes, I wish I could turn back the time and show her by being the person I wanted her to be….

I wish we shared more hugs and kisses….

But with heavy heart I knew raising a child was not about me.

I am proud to say my daughter is perfection.

Looking back I now realize the process of raising her was also the process of raising me.

Perhaps in time, she will desire to know the woman I never knew untill recently myself.

But if not, my tears are wiped away by the knowledge of my success in raising a whole while broken myself.