Dee

Here's some stuff, poems, prose and ramblings. Maybe you’ll relate to my monologue into the void.

[poemsbydee]

You are so easy to love

your plain existence is a joy

You are so easy to love

there is no hardship in this

You are so easy to love

easy like breathing, it feels so fresh

You are so easy to love

always have been.

[poemsbydee]

A second draft of this poem, a good while later:

You are easy to love

your plain existence is joy

You are easy to love

how your love does buoy

You are easy to love

simple and clear

You are easy to love

as the blue sky is clear

Your wit, your wrinkles,

your humour, your pimples.

Your nails and your skin, your hair,

both for lack of it and what much is there.

Your weird habits and hopeful desires,

your anxious taps and often crossed wires.

The good and the bad and the weird and the scary,

the ugly, the crying, the painful, the wary.

The hopeful and joyful and laugh 'til you cry,

the lovely, the pleasant, the bitter goodbye.

You are easy to love and always have been,

instead of writing it on your skin,

this poem I bring.

[poemsbydee]

Every winter

I forget how the night air tastes in spring

the promise it will bring

every winter

I forget how warm the dappled light through trees

feels on my cheeks

every winter

I forget

that I forget

but I could never hold it against winter

or damn her,

because every spring

I remember

for the first time again.

[poemsbydee]

There was a guy just north of stix

who liked to eat grilled limericks

and oft professed it without doubts.

'What' said everyone, 'you have weird schticks.'

'Have you run into a wall of bricks?'

They never understood his shouts.

But for them it didn't click

he often confused the limericks

With trouts

[mellifexfarm]

behold my littleboy

[poemsbydee]

I don't know why-

That's not true.

I do know why

I make art.

I do it

because what else would I do

what else could I do?

I do it

plain and simple

to survive.

As long as I create,

I am alive.

In my creations

I am alive.

Will they

[poemsbydee]

I don't know if I have it in me

to work for it

to preserve this moment.

But might I have it anyway?

Might you gift me this?

Just this one thing?

To keep the breeze the nightsky carries,

or will I have to close my window against it?

Can't you freeze a peaceful moment?

Do I have to close the windows against the smell of food a moment later;

do I have to choose sleep?

Why do I-

Why-

[poemsbydee]

Im so tired

Im so tired

And I can’t even make art about it because

Im so tired

[poemsbydee]

You are so easy to love

your plain existence is a joy

You are so easy to love

there is no hardship in this

You are so easy to love

easy like breathing, it feels so fresh

You are so easy to love

always have been.

[poemsbydee]

I look at myself in the mirror

and it’s me

still,

always has been.

When I look again

It’s me once more

but a different me than before.

I know who that is

in the mirror.

It’s me.

But it’s not the me from where I was then

and it’s not the me

that I will be.

I look in the mirror

and back look two eyes.

They’re the same as ever,

and yet the skies

in them

have changed.

I wonder,

if with every passing day,

theres more of me

in them

or less.

Does it help

to stress

that I like them?

[poemsbydee]

I will persist. I will stay and I will get my worth. I will become more authentic and true by the day and it will be exhilarating and lovely. I will take the hurt and fall back on trust, on love and it’ll make it okay. I will be okay even if it’s only out of spite. I will be okay even if it will hurt and I will persist. I will persist.

[poemsbydee]

My father told me he was proud of me

and it’s nice.

To be someone

to be proud of.

I just wish

he’d also told me the same thing

when I tried taking it easier for the first time;

when I finally went to get help for the first time;

when I allowed myself to breathe for the first time;

when I was learning to be me

instead of a hollowed out ghost.

It’s nice

that he’s proud.

I just wish it was I that made him proud

what I liked, what I cared about.

Not something

I had to do

to survive.

[poemsbydee]

My mother is happy

when I visit.

For her

it means her eldest daughter

has come back.

She does not know

that daughter

has not resided within her walls

for many years now.

She does not like

the person that visits very much;

or rather,

she does not like them

for very long.

They are annoying and demanding,

a burden.

They are opinionated and passionate,

too loud;

too loud

about so many things

my mother tries hard to bury.

My mothers daughter

is sweet and serene,

'a pleasure to have in class'.

She is lazy and stubborn,

but doesn’t care too much.

I haven’t told her

I am none of those things.

The perfect eldest daughter

my mother wishes for,

is dead.

[poemsbydee]

When I was seven, my grandpa died.

When I was seven, my grandpa died and I didn’t feel sad. He’d been sick for a while.

When I was seven, my grandpa died and I was proud of myself for not feeling sad. "I shouldn’t," I said to myself, "I never really got along with him that well anyways."

When I was seven, my grandpa died, and I sat in church, looking at the little booklet they make, with his picture on it. Smiling. All the names of family closest to him, me included. I looked at it and I felt sad. It felt like it was someone else and it made me sad for their family members who were listed as loving children and grandchildren. Surely they had loved him very much and were very sad.

When I was seven, my grandpa died and I thought to myself, I shouldn’t be sad. So I wasn’t anymore. It’s not like I got along with him anyways.

[poemsbydee]

When I was almost as old as I am now, our cat died.

When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I felt sad. I didn’t tell myself not to. I didn’t stop it.

When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I couldn’t go see him. I didn’t know what I would have done if I could have. I never knew how to care for the sick and not have it be at my own expense.

When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I am still sad about it. But I am okay with it having happened. It was inevitable and I have loved him to bits. (I hope he knows.)

When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I will forever know that he loved me too. And I think that might be enough.

[poemsbydee]

When I was seven, my grandpa died.

When I was seven, my grandpa died and I didn’t feel sad. He’d been sick for a while.

When I was seven, my grandpa died and I was proud of myself for not feeling sad. "I shouldn’t," I said to myself, "I never really got along with him that well anyways."

When I was seven, my grandpa died, and I sat in church, looking at the little booklet they make, with his picture on it. Him smiling. All the names of family closest to him, me included. I looked at it and I felt sad. It felt like it was someone else and it made me sad for their family members who were listed as loving children and grandchildren. Surely they had loved him very much and were very sad.

When I was seven, my grandpa died and I thought to myself, I shouldn’t be sad. So I wasn’t anymore. It’s not like I got along with him anyways.

[poemsbydee]

Does the universe hate me? Does it revel in the tragedy of my struggles? Or does it look on in indifference, ever impassionate to my woes?

[poemsbydee]

u r my baybie I lov u so

u r my babie, u had to go

i miss my babie he was so smart

i miss my baby, my cat, the little dork

i miss my babie, u had to go

i still feel ur soft fur on my fingrs so

i miss my babie, I never said goodbye

the last thing I told you was

“I’ll be back, it won’t be a long while.“

i miss my babie, I lovd u so

i miss my babie

he had to go

[poemsbydee]

i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will b-