Scribbles the Poet

This world is big and scary, but we're all here together and might as well make the best of it. I write a lot of things and I just want to help anyone I can. I'm always here for anyone in need. Enjoy your day💕

[16tinyfrogs]

on watching a parent age

i saw somebody say “what if you’re gone and i haven’t become anything yet” and basically that broke me on a random thursday evening

[theriu]

OP, this is genuinely a masterpiece, three poems in one, moving and well craft. Please tell me you have submitted it to at least some poetry contests, and if not, please do so.

[scribblesthepoet]

Home

A small house in a suburban neighborhood where the siding colors change but the layouts are all the same.

We redid the hardwood and painted the living room a jewel toned green,

A color, Irene said, that reminded her of her grandmother Mazie's home.

The furniture we chose was brown like my mother has always preferred

And now it feels like four generations have occupied this space I find refuge within.

An apartment across the street from a university library with very old hardware and landlord white paint.

I never had a bedframe there and one of my end tables was just a cardboard box covered in a pillowcase,

But laughter was abundant in the living room no matter who came to visit

And when we took down the tapestry, before our lease ended that spring,

We both cried quietly realizing that our time together was finally up.

The foreclosed house on our street with a complicated past but an amazing price point.

We redid so much with just our own hands and the confidence of a seasoned contractor,

But what mattered most was the first night in those rooms at the end of the summer

When your eldest told us all how happy they were to be home

And we all went to bed with room to breathe in peace again.

The little blue house with the circle bed of lilies and too many cars in the driveway.

A bedroom and bathroom for the girls and a bedroom and bathroom for the boy,

The extra room for toys and books and space for kids to be kids.

Our bunkbeds are gone and my 70s style bedroom is now full of hunting gear

But the vanity mirror lights dad hung for us still shine brightest for homecoming hair and makeup.

Many different places and spaces but they all share something so valuable it cannot be bought.

It doesn't matter where I go or what amenities are available to me,

The comfort is found in the company I keep and the memories we share

Because home is not always defined by square footage or a floorplan

But by the air that fills us best and the warmth that we find with those we love.

[scribblesthepoet]

I'm 28 and sitting in my living room with scrambled eggs and toast.

It's hard to explain how this feels, to exist in this way right now. I never imagined making it this far or finding this kind of joy or peace or care. I graduated high school 10 years ago today and honestly was more relieved that I could quit on myself easier when I was away from home. I didn't think I deserved any of the praise or love I was receiving and hoped that I would finally just end it before the year was up. But then, life happened.

I met a boy, I made new friends, I found my voice, I got some help, I followed my passion, I grew in my confidence, I lived.

And now here I am, with eggs my husband made because I don't feel well and toast covered in apple butter I bought at one of my best friends' bachelorette. I've got one more day of work before summer break at a school where I feel empowered and accepted. I don't think about the future as a cold, hazy darkness anymore but instead a warm, fuzzy glow.

Some days are still hard, but that's the beauty I think. I'm finding myself again and again and learning how to be okay. And I think I like it.

[scribblesthepoet]

You are the Villain in My Story

Did he tell you how many times I asked if you were okay?

I spent countless hours then and now worrying that I had done wrong,

The amount of reassurance I sought from him was unlike ever before,

Yet I trusted him when he promised that I was completely fine.

We agreed the responsibilities lie with our own sides of things

Only when he thought something was unclear did he reach across the table himself.

What I had been told seemed clear as crystal so I didn't see a need for cleaning

Because again I trusted him when he repeated that things were completely fine.

Did he tell you how I changed the moment it was clear you were upset?

My heart was so excited about friendship that I couldn't stand the risk,

I started backtracking to find the exact moment I left the established path

So my apology could be delivered personally the second I caught up.

From then on the only moment my eyes left the trail beneath my feet

Was to flick up to the map and ensure I stayed right in line this time.

More than anything I didn't want you to think I had abandoned you in the woods

Or give the impression that I may try to do it again when you weren't looking at me.

Did he tell you how badly all of this hurt me?

I never claimed to be faultless in any of the missteps I took along the way,

But I was honest about everything that happened between the start and end.

The map he gave me was wrong and the reassurance you gave me wasn't helpful.

He cleared the path I took without telling you all the details and dangers he came across

And I followed it because he held out his hand when we came to the fork.

Did he tell you how much I worried about who I am?

My brain doesn't always work in ways that make sense to other people

And I won't pretend it isn't scary when others glimpse inside the worst parts

But I have always done my best to find optimism in the lower moments

And provide reassurance for those looking down at me in my abyss.

So when I worried my burdens were too much and tried to offload the odds and ends

I left those with someone I trusted wouldn't give them away to unsuspecting people

And who would tell their full story to anyone who asked.

It may have been foolish to follow his lead instead of trusting my gut

But he's the one who printed out the pamphlet and acted like the ranger

And it may have been silly for me to think you knew how to guide me into your world

But you're the one who made statements you couldn't possibly believe in.

So instead of trying to quantify how much I hurt you over all of this

(Especially when you cannot actually come up with the reasons for it)

Take that time to breathe and work through the things we all need to work on

And let me find some peace amidst the chaos please.

[scribblesthepoet]

I always cry at the worst times but never when I really want to.

When my chest aches and my eyes burn and breathing is damn near impossible,

My body still stops itself from opening up and letting things spill out.

I'll sob while I'm frustrated or trying to sing along with the radio

But I just can't seem to find that release when I desperately need it.

Sometimes I think that wall was built up for self-preservation

You get yelled at with tears in your eyes enough and your brain adjusts accordingly

But what does that say about those moments when I'm trying so hard not to?

If it was all just survival then why does it happen so often when I don't want it

And yet so rarely when I'm feeling safe and secure in myself?

If I built it for protection then how can it crumble so easily on accident?

Then I found a secret, one I hadn't thought about in so long it felt almost new.

It was a playlist long down the line and the memories that came along with it.

A pathway emerged and led me to the rotting wood of the gates where suddenly it all made sense again.

Behind the splintering planks I had pushed all these feelings and locked them away.

For years the key was buried in a ritual with this music as the background

But when I gave that practice up I hadn't broken the seal

So I was left to rely on building pressure and the hope that I couldn't rebuild fast enough.

Now I'm parsing through the texts and journals left behind from that time

Hoping to find a way to break the bindings my former self created

Because as easy as it seems and as much as nostalgia has colored my memory

I cannot return to a religion that thrives on my own self destruction

When I am so close to believing that I am worth saving after all.

[scribblesthepoet]

It's been two months but my chest still aches every time I see your name.

Part of me still hopes that one day I'll see a message from you, just sitting and waiting

An apology for lying and letting me believe none of this could happen

Your own plea for a return to the friendship we shared before this all went wrong

But the other part of me knows that's just a depressing fantasy.

I'm just the crazy one, staring at every voice channel and hoping for an invite

Rereading old messages and begging for any sign of activity.

I find myself up at night and wondering if you're on the other side, feeling the same.

Do you replay everything when you're alone and try to find a way to change it?

Have you written me messages filled with anger and regret and sadness all at once?

It doesn't matter at the end of it all but I still try to hold onto some hope.

Some shred of optimism for a future where we can talk about this openly

And find some peace to move us forward in our lives again.

[scribblesthepoet]

A Letter I'll Never Send

I want you to imagine someone set your home on fire

Except the fire is only burning in the walkways of each room.

The building still stands and everything you love is still intact

You just cannot enter or navigate the space with any ease.

Maybe you'll learn some new pathways and find other avenues

But the effort required makes the task so immeasurable hard

That you doubt you'll make them (and regardless it'll never be the same).

What happened between us lit that fire in the community I felt safest.

The only problem is that I'm the only one who can see the flames.

Everyone else (even you) is walking room to room unscathed by the heat

While my confused tears evaporate the moment they hit the ground

As I collapse at the doorway, exhausted by the thought of trying to figure it out.

I really believed you when you held my hands through it all,

Promising me this was okay and that I wasn't the burden I felt I was

Reassuring me that I belonged there with the two of you together

Insisting that the friendship I thought them and I had was as strong as ever.

I trusted each pinky promise that we all were okay to mean what we said

And left with hope that anything broken could be repaired.

How stupid of me is it then to still be sitting here,

Knowing how much you lied through your teeth to me,

But still wishing I could reach out and just talk?

I want to scream and tell you just how badly my chest aches knowing that

Only to turn around and ask for warmth as we navigate renewing trust.

How tragically cyclical this all must sound

But for fucks sake, I just miss my friend.

[scribblesthepoet]

Anger is easier for me to hold than sadness.

Sadness feels like I've got cinder blocks chained to my ankles

Pulling me down into the water and choking out my cries for help.

No matter how hard I struggle against the weight

I keep sinking further and further away from the sunlight.

Anger though feels like chains I have around my wrists

They are still heavy but I am in control of how I wear it

I can wrap them with my hands and swing them with all my force.

Instead of feeling helpless against a building pressurw

My focus goes to strengthening myself to use them intentionally.

After a while though weight is weight and my body will grow tired

I cannot live in either of these states for long despite what my brain chemistry tries

But I'll still happily trade in sadness for anger

If it means I have a chance to find power in the dark space I occupy.

[scribblesthepoet]

If you're the one that fucked up,

Why am I the one who has to leave?

I know the answer but it still hurts

I'm newer, less connected, easier to explain.

I don't think I'm innocent in all of this

But I still don't deserve to have it all taken away.

I don't know what I want to happen

Or what else could really be done

I just know I finally thought I'd found a home

Where I could settle into myself for once

Yet now I'm sneaking out the back door

Hoping no one sees the tears on my face.

[scribblesthepoet]

Midnight

There is background noise and I am alone.

I can hear the fish tanks and the soft pulsing music.

The crack between the window and sill let's in the sounds of rain.

A car or two every once in a while and every half hour the ding of the belltower.

The fridge will kick on and my neighbors will come home.

There is temptation and I am alone.

I can see a razor blade and there's a box of safety pins near it.

The kitchen drawer is full of knives with easy to grip handles.

A box inside the art supplies has never-touched blades within.

The nightstand contains a well-worn piece with a knick in the corner.

There is numbness and I am alone.

I turned on a game but can't bring myself to play it.

The static along my body is familiar and terrifying.

A moment stands between me and making choices I might regret.

The hardest part is telling myself to make the ones I hope I won't.

[scribblesthepoet]

“I still think about you a lot Wonder how you might be doing Are things any better at home? Things between us will never be the same Life has just split us apart too much But I still do hope you’re alright I know the moonlight sometimes burns Whatever demons we’re fighting come out But I sincerely do pray that in the morning When the sunlight kisses your toes through the window Your coffee is just perfect and the road smooth Because even though we’re not friends anymore You’re still a human who I once adored And you still deserve good from this world”

—

[scribblesthepoet]

Can't believe this is still circulating???

[scribblesthepoet]

More

When you weigh two hundred and forty pounds people always think you want more.

They picture plate after plate after plate stacked at the end of the table

Each bite devoured sinfully by a gluttonous fool with no self control.

They don't seem to care that I've been begging for more seratonin in my system

Hoping if I can get the mental illness under control I might not eat to cope.

When you're a young person in a world led by upper class elders people think you want more.

They imagine you screaming for millions in payment for your entry level position.

Insisting my basic toils are worth mansions and movie star treatment.

That fabricated fantasy drowns out your cries for any sort of actual living wage

Crushing any hope we have for stable earnings as teachers, EMTs, and single moms trying to make ends meet.

When you're a woman in a world designed for men's desires people think you want more.

Picture women crushing men beneath their heels and taking everything for themselves.

Masculinity is criminalized and everyone is expected to cater to our every whim.

We're just asking for more safety when we choose to exist in a public space

Praying today won't be the day we become another victim for the system to ignore.

When anyone asks for more it shouldn't be assumed they want it all

Instead we all could stand to look for more peace and gentleness within ourselves

Believe that we're all hoping for more windows down, purple tinged dusk moments

Or perfect coffee in the morning and an extra ten minutes with the love of your life

[scribblesthepoet]

It is nearly 2am and I am home.

Not just the place where I live but the place where my heart slows down.

He is beside me in the bed and his breath is soft and rhythmic.

I am awake though.

I've been lying here for almost 2 hours since he drifted off.

My thoughts haven't stopped racing since before he came back.

It's picture after picture of the bad that I've done and the hurt that I've felt.

There's a familiar ache in my skin that longs for the one thing I've tried so hard to leave.

Depression does not care that I am safe and warm and comfortable.

She does not bend because I am in a better place all around.

Her call comes when I least desire it and begs for things I should not do.

I know I could wake him to help ease these feelings but.

Something stops me.

He wouldn't be angry or upset in the slightest because he knows she comes to call at night.

He would help me through this storm til I could sleep again.

But.

She has a nasty habit of making me feel like I am trapped.

Like no matter how much he loves me, he'll leave eventually because I can only have one.

As if I'd choose her willingly when so much more happiness lies with him.

But I am making progress in tiny steps along the path.

These poems will suffice til I can break down the wall she built.

Tonight she'll slink back into her hovel.

My victory is depression's defeat but only for a little bit.

She'll be back again with new visuals and new recordings.

But I will not stop my journey and maybe next time,

I'll wake him so together we can conquer these nights.

[scribblesthepoet]

Cigarette Smoke

I never liked mama's Marlboros or the way they made the house smell

But now when I inhale the smell of someone else's Camel cigarette

I feel a wave of comfort wash over me from my head to my tippy toes.

See my baby smokes Camels and though I can't say I love tobacco

I know I love him and anything that makes me think of him

Makes me feel warm and soft and finally okay.

And one of my best friends, he likes to light em up sometimes

So when I get home from a night of laughter and friendship

My hair and shirt are intoxicating with their scent of cigarettes.

I'm not saying tobacco makes me feel at home

Or that smoke has to be the trigger.

I'm just saying some things become so entwined with what I love

That I can't help but feel something when my sense come alive.

[scribblesthepoet]

Good Days

When I say it's been a good day, I don't always mean good things happened

Yeah, sometimes I'm talking about getting that job or acing that test.

Maybe the weather was nice and I spent time with friends.

Sometimes it's picnic food and watching my fiancé play kickball

So I guess it can be good things happened.

But a lot of my good days are about all the bad that didn't happen.

Like some days that screaming in my head takes a nap

I only thought about death maybe once or twice?

The sun felt like warmth instead of a spotlight for my scars.

Good days are hard for me a lot of the time.

I don't get them very often 'cause my serotonin's wrong

But man do I try to live them to their fullest.

'Cause ya see, good days are more about the fact that I am alive,

I can breathe and feel and touch and see and know,

Than what really happened in 'em that was good.

So I keep on hoping for those good days when I wake up

'Cause without them I wouldn't have made it this far

And without more I wouldn't want to keep going.

[vomitingwords]

I knew

I deserve

someone else,

but please

remember that

there were

moments in my life

when all I wanted

to have

was you.

Not anyone else

but you.

Lost Chance//ma.c.a

[scribblesthepoet]

Week to Week

I never thought I could crave another human this much

But honestly these weeks always hurt when the sun goes down

You're not here to curl up next to me in bed

I'm not there to help make the day seem less exhausting.

Do you know how badly I miss feeling your arms around me?

It's only a week between each meeting anymore

But that's seven days stretched into an eternity that keep us apart.

Every night I wait for the call so I can at least hear your voice

A video chat is all I can ask for to keep my longing at bay

But I never can let go of how badly I want to feel you near me

How much I desire your presence to calm my anxieties

And how hard it is to go these days without you here.