Trash Can Poems

[itssambucci]

Mom life

The first day of school, a moment I’ve been waiting for nearly half a decade.

We see memes on the internet, kids back to school.

Mom holding wine glasses in pools, kids frowning in the background.

The funny posts we share as a diversion to what Mom is really thinking.

I see through the post, I am a mom and I can find poetry in anything.

I wonder if the mom is going to drink, not to relax

But to take the edge off.

As if she didn’t didn’t just buy a bullet proof back pack and sent her baby into a possible war zone.

216 days into 2019, and 250 mass shooting, Back to school should be a time of excitement.

Moms should be happy for a moments peace, children should be excited to show off their new back pack.

But now I wonder if the debate is no longer which back pack looks cooler.

Has it changed to which one is more bullet proof?

I wonder if when they pick their new clothes, do they buy more neutral colors?

If they wonder will hide it them better?

I noticed a lot of kids wear camouflage now.

I don’t know if it’s just trendy, or if it’s for safety.

I wonder if they pick out shoes, if they pick out ones that make them feel like they can run faster.

I hope what innocence they have left, they think they can out run bullets.

I hope to God they never have to, but the reality is I now have to to pray that they can.

I hope that the new shoes and back pack doesn’t make my son feel happy, but safe.

A thought I never thought I’d have.

I don’t know why I’m buying 6 packs of glue sticks.

I don’t remember the back to school list being so long, I wonder when bullet proof vest becomes a requirement.

And maybe I should buy him one, even if it’s not on the list.

I decided I no longer want to buy him bright clothes.

He has a neon yellow shirt I will never send him to school in.

A shirt I bought to make me feel safe, so I’d never lose him in a public place.

Makes me feel so scared that I will lose him in a “safe place.”

I don’t know what school supplies to make ME feel safe.

So instead, I buy a bottle of wine and a white board and markers.

Ill take a picture of my son, post it proudly.

Show his excitement for his first day of school, bulletproof backpack in tow.

Ill post a picture of me with the bottle of wine, as a diversion to how terrified I am of my sons first day of school now.

[itssambucci]

Cantab Recap For Wednesday, May 15th, 2024

Hey Cantab! Last Wednesday was filled with excitement, a crazy-packed waitlist, and as always, a ton of talent. We had regulars on the mic consistently bringing the house down, including Jarvis, Jack the Star, Edie, and Eli. Sam Bucci did an incredible, impassioned poem about working in the fast-food industry, and Kai debuted another horny-medical-professional … Continue reading

[thewriteside]

2002 (Anonymous Submission)

Growing up as a military brat was fun. We lived in Germany, traveled Europe and moved around. As a kid, Mom being in the Army meant “Mandatory Family Fun Days” and bike rides across Germany. Before 9/11/2001, no one talked about war. My dad had been in Desert Storm, but to 10 year old me that was “so far in history”. We moved to Texas in 1999, my dad drew the year in the concrete he poured for our front walk. We lived in the middle of nowhere. Cows were my neighbors. We didn’t mind because we still went for bike rides on Sundays and had family game nights. The only change was “Mandatory Family Fun Days” now took place at a lake with a water slide. What no one knew then was that my graduating class would have the longest in memoriam since Vietnam for our school.

On September 11, 2001 I was sitting in my 8th grade chorus class when our teacher made the announcement that a plane had hit the Twin Towers. Shortly after, the suspicion of a terrorist attack was announced, I was in history class. I remember Coach Jackson saying, “Ladies and Gentleman, pay attention, you are watching history unfold”, as we watched the news in class. That night my parents didn’t come home, the base had been locked down. At 14 I was in charge of myself and my 12 year old brother for the next 36 hours. We had no idea how much our lives were about to change.

In January of 2002 my mom’s company received their orders, they were shipping out. At first it was fun, helping mom pack her rucksacks. It was my job to stand on them to make sure everything fit. Five pairs of BCU pants, five jackets, ten shirts and as many pairs of socks as we could fit. The list was two pages long and the gear filled our entire living room. Once the last bag was locked with its small golden master lock they were set by the door. The orders had come, but no date was set.

I was 14 years old. Old enough to know how dangerous the desert would be for her, but too young to cherish the time we had before she left. Those rucksacks became a signal, if I came home from school and they were by the door, mom would be home by dinner. If they were gone, I wouldn’t see my mother for a year. Those huge green bags sat there by the door for over a month. I stopped worrying they would be gone when I came home. The rucksacks by the door became as much a piece of the decor as my dad’s ugly forest green recliner

It was a Tuesday, unusually warm even for a Texas February. They were gone. Over the next four years they stayed gone, more often than they were by the door. I felt a mix of relief and sadness. Finally, the anxiety of wondering when she would go was over, but now she was gone. My mother was in the signal battalion attached to the 4th Infantry Division. Her job was to go into the desert and rebuild the communications infrastructure that had been destroyed by the Taliban. She told us before she left that she wouldn’t be able to contact us as soon as she arrived and she didn’t know for how long we would go without talking. It was 3 months.

Over the course of my high school career I saw my mother only a handful of times. She was in Iraq for my first homecoming dance, in Egypt when I “fell in love” for the first time, in Germany when I felt my first heartbreak. Over time it became easier for me to ignore her calls than to answer. I knew she was a hero and I was and continue to be so proud of her service. But it was hard to not be angry. Being at the age a girl needs her mother most and not having her led to me feeling resentful of the career my mother was so proud of.

While my mother was across the globe, saving women and children from the terrorists, I felt alone. My mom was my hero,my best friend. Every time she said “Yes”, to Uncle Sam, it felt like she was saying “no” to me. How was I supposed to tell her I needed her more. More than whom? More than the Iraqis she was helping, more than the terrorists she was fighting? Living in a military town we were taught to be proud of our soldiers, be brave for them. If we complained we were only making their jobs more difficult. The problem with that sentiment, they never recognized, was that we didn’t ask for this. I wanted my mom but I never told her.

I can not tell you who my mother dreamed to be as a little girl, before she became a mother and a soldier. I can tell you she was the oldest of eight children, and that she is a twin. Veronica Lynn and Victoria Leigh, I only met mom’s twin once, she was nice but too quiet and she smelled like an ashtray. My mom, Veronica, worked in Westborough State Hospital when she met my father. We joke that they didn’t really work there but that’s definitely where they met. I can’t tell you how she felt the day she decided to enlist. I can tell you that she was the life of the party and we used to lay in her bed and eat junk food on rainy days watching some crime drama. I couldn’t begin to tell you what her greatest insecurities were. I can tell you that she was funny and she was always ready for the next adventure. I remember one night my mom came home, it was about 10 p.m., with an assortment of seafood. My brother and I didn’t eat seafood but when mom was in her “really good moods” there was no telling her no. That’s the night I tried shark steaks.

When I was in the 7th grade my mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, I used to help her with her medications and bring her cold waters. After her last tour overseas she was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. When I found out so much of my childhood clicked into place, she would leave to go to Walmart and come home with a new car. Or she couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time. Even on those crazy up or down days, we still laid in bed on rainy days and laughed. We could sit quietly for hours or never stop talking depending on the day. Serving overseas only served to exacerbate her symptoms. She was never quite the same.

Twenty years later, and our relationship is still strained. It is not completely one sided and if you were to ask her, she would say it is because I am just like her. Stubborn to a fault. To be honest, I never asked her to come home. I can not say with any certainty that she knew how I felt as a teenager. I also can not say she wouldn’t have retired the moment I let her know how alone I felt. I am now 33 years old, I have 3 children of my own and have built a life with the man I love. My mother has only met each of my children once. The last time she re-enlisted, I left Texas before she came back. I was living in Massachusetts for four months before she knew I had left the state. The truth is, I gave up on her. -Anonymous

[itssambucci]

“Omission of truth. It’s bullshit. Half truths are whole lies. It makes the person feel like they aren’t lying. Which is right you’re not. You’re just making a conscious decision to hurt someone you care about, because a flat out lie is some how worse than gaining trust on half truths.”

— Trash Can Poems

[itssambucci]

Still relevant

[thewriteside]

2002 (Anonymous Submission)

Growing up as a military brat was fun. We lived in Germany, traveled Europe and moved around. As a kid, Mom being in the Army meant “Mandatory Family Fun Days” and bike rides across Germany. Before 9/11/2001, no one talked about war. My dad had been in Desert Storm, but to 10 year old me that was “so far in history”. We moved to Texas in 1999, my dad drew the year in the concrete he poured for our front walk. We lived in the middle of nowhere. Cows were my neighbors. We didn’t mind because we still went for bike rides on Sundays and had family game nights. The only change was “Mandatory Family Fun Days” now took place at a lake with a water slide. What no one knew then was that my graduating class would have the longest in memoriam since Vietnam for our school.

On September 11, 2001 I was sitting in my 8th grade chorus class when our teacher made the announcement that a plane had hit the Twin Towers. Shortly after, the suspicion of a terrorist attack was announced, I was in history class. I remember Coach Jackson saying, “Ladies and Gentleman, pay attention, you are watching history unfold”, as we watched the news in class. That night my parents didn’t come home, the base had been locked down. At 14 I was in charge of myself and my 12 year old brother for the next 36 hours. We had no idea how much our lives were about to change.

In January of 2002 my mom’s company received their orders, they were shipping out. At first it was fun, helping mom pack her rucksacks. It was my job to stand on them to make sure everything fit. Five pairs of BCU pants, five jackets, ten shirts and as many pairs of socks as we could fit. The list was two pages long and the gear filled our entire living room. Once the last bag was locked with its small golden master lock they were set by the door. The orders had come, but no date was set.

I was 14 years old. Old enough to know how dangerous the desert would be for her, but too young to cherish the time we had before she left. Those rucksacks became a signal, if I came home from school and they were by the door, mom would be home by dinner. If they were gone, I wouldn’t see my mother for a year. Those huge green bags sat there by the door for over a month. I stopped worrying they would be gone when I came home. The rucksacks by the door became as much a piece of the decor as my dad’s ugly forest green recliner

It was a Tuesday, unusually warm even for a Texas February. They were gone. Over the next four years they stayed gone, more often than they were by the door. I felt a mix of relief and sadness. Finally, the anxiety of wondering when she would go was over, but now she was gone. My mother was in the signal battalion attached to the 4th Infantry Division. Her job was to go into the desert and rebuild the communications infrastructure that had been destroyed by the Taliban. She told us before she left that she wouldn’t be able to contact us as soon as she arrived and she didn’t know for how long we would go without talking. It was 3 months.

Over the course of my high school career I saw my mother only a handful of times. She was in Iraq for my first homecoming dance, in Egypt when I “fell in love” for the first time, in Germany when I felt my first heartbreak. Over time it became easier for me to ignore her calls than to answer. I knew she was a hero and I was and continue to be so proud of her service. But it was hard to not be angry. Being at the age a girl needs her mother most and not having her led to me feeling resentful of the career my mother was so proud of.

While my mother was across the globe, saving women and children from the terrorists, I felt alone. My mom was my hero,my best friend. Every time she said “Yes”, to Uncle Sam, it felt like she was saying “no” to me. How was I supposed to tell her I needed her more. More than whom? More than the Iraqis she was helping, more than the terrorists she was fighting? Living in a military town we were taught to be proud of our soldiers, be brave for them. If we complained we were only making their jobs more difficult. The problem with that sentiment, they never recognized, was that we didn’t ask for this. I wanted my mom but I never told her.

I can not tell you who my mother dreamed to be as a little girl, before she became a mother and a soldier. I can tell you she was the oldest of eight children, and that she is a twin. Veronica Lynn and Victoria Leigh, I only met mom’s twin once, she was nice but too quiet and she smelled like an ashtray. My mom, Veronica, worked in Westborough State Hospital when she met my father. We joke that they didn’t really work there but that’s definitely where they met. I can’t tell you how she felt the day she decided to enlist. I can tell you that she was the life of the party and we used to lay in her bed and eat junk food on rainy days watching some crime drama. I couldn’t begin to tell you what her greatest insecurities were. I can tell you that she was funny and she was always ready for the next adventure. I remember one night my mom came home, it was about 10 p.m., with an assortment of seafood. My brother and I didn’t eat seafood but when mom was in her “really good moods” there was no telling her no. That’s the night I tried shark steaks.

When I was in the 7th grade my mom was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, I used to help her with her medications and bring her cold waters. After her last tour overseas she was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. When I found out so much of my childhood clicked into place, she would leave to go to Walmart and come home with a new car. Or she couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time. Even on those crazy up or down days, we still laid in bed on rainy days and laughed. We could sit quietly for hours or never stop talking depending on the day. Serving overseas only served to exacerbate her symptoms. She was never quite the same.

Twenty years later, and our relationship is still strained. It is not completely one sided and if you were to ask her, she would say it is because I am just like her. Stubborn to a fault. To be honest, I never asked her to come home. I can not say with any certainty that she knew how I felt as a teenager. I also can not say she wouldn’t have retired the moment I let her know how alone I felt. I am now 33 years old, I have 3 children of my own and have built a life with the man I love. My mother has only met each of my children once. The last time she re-enlisted, I left Texas before she came back. I was living in Massachusetts for four months before she knew I had left the state. The truth is, I gave up on her. -Anonymous

[itssambucci]

My bed is the size of ocean,

Full size pillow top,

Riddled with stains,

It takes shape to my body,

But I don’t belong here.

A professional cryer I am,

Like a surfer I’ve ridden the wave,

Then became one,

I’ve broken and crashed here,

So I drown myself in blankets and pillows,

But tell myself it’s a life saver.

[itssambucci]

It’s hard to fight an eating disorder when it’s the only thing you have control over.

[inritum]

reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

[ghostdog07]

OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT’S BACK ON MY DASH.

THIS SHIT WORKS OKAY, I AM DEAD SERIOUS.

The last time I saw this on my dash, I didn’t think it would happen, so jokingly I wished I could go to a fun. concert.

AND GUESS WHAT, I WENT TO A FUCKING FUN. CONCERT.

THIS SHIT WORKS, TRY IT.

[j-aws]

yay its back.

[moondoll]

so… I half jokingly reblogged this yesterday cos I thought it was a nice picture… and was like oh wow I only get wishes on birthdays what would I wish for?!?!?! how about gainful employment L0L … and like… I have a job now? That I never applied for? That someone just called me up and said “here, have this”? In a place I really really like? So like… h8ers gonna h8 or something

[words-unleashed]

Hey hey hey hey I don’t like writting in posts, but I need to. Because THIS. FUCKING. WORKS. And I asked for something almost impossible,

[cat-satan]

I reblog this every time I see it

[cancerleolibra]

plz plz plz

[heckingaesthetic]

Guys, I just saw this and I remember reblogging it before, and I wished that my crush would tell me his true feelings about me, and like five days ago, he confessed to liking me, and we started dating. This shit works. Thanks tumblr

[itssambucci]

People don’t understand how dangerous it can be to be lonely.

First it’s torture. The lonesomeness, the silent chaos. So many questions as to why you can possibly feel and be so alone in a room full of people. Eventually you have to do something to fill the time and that space.

Eventually it’s peaceful. Eventually, you don’t care about dates or friends. Connecting to the disconnection. You can bring your self out to eat, or the beach, or even the movies. Tell your self your pretty. Watch a million sunsets and counting stars. There is no one there to let you down or when you come back to that place or constellation. No one can ruin the things you love anymore.

Every once in a while though, even with all the peace and calmness, like a leaf dropping on still water, it creates a ripple. One that touches every surface. Then, like a wave, the loneliness crashes back when you have no one to share it with.

If learned when you fight the riptide, that’s when you drown. You can only go with it and drift out to sea.

But damn, it’s lonely out here.

[itssambucci]

I feel so alone

[kaprees-blog]

— Confidently Lost: a collection of poetry —

[quotemadness]

“Loving me will not be easy. It will be war. You will hold the gun and I will hand you the bullets. So breathe, and embrace the beauty of the massacre that lies ahead.”

— R.M. Drake

[theewildishwoman-deactivated202]

[rm-drake-lines]

[amortizing]

“She was never crazy, she just didn’t let her heart settle in a cage. She was born wild.. and sometimes we need people like her. For it’s the horrors in her heart which cause the flames in ours. And she was always willing to burn for everything she has ever loved.”

—  R.M Drake

[memento-moli]

I’m watching Modern Family and having a very good time

[itssambucci]

Just once, I wish someone could like me when I’m not all that likable.

I just want to be recognized for trying.

I just wanna feel like I’m good enough.