u/athenas__glory

I write to get it out of my system

I write to remove my anger, to expel my ugliness

I write to get over things, to let the past remain the past

I have written about you thousands of times. I have written poems, stories, letters, and essays on the subject of your eyes, your laughter, your soul.

I have written about the freckles on your face and your dolphin-sounding laugh. I have written about your sneakers and the intricacies of your heart. I have written your name on my notepad so many times that the movement is a second nature to my hand.

But you have not left. You are still there, in the back of my mind and the front of my heart. You are still there in every thought, in every hope and wish that I have. You are my life, my purpose, my meaning. Maybe I wrote about you so much that the poems, stories, letters, and essays have been engraved onto the hands I write with and the brain that I craft with. You puppeteered the strings of my heart using thread made out of the paper that I crafted you with.

I should've written you in pencil, not pen.

Comments:
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tja7wz/what_it_was/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tjck0p/bright_god/

Brownies. That is the word I’ve associated with a woman whose soul cannot be described in the mere English language. But I try, I try because I need to do something else in her memory than grieve.

After she passed away, I tried to find a substitute for her baking. The brownies at 7/11 tasted too sweet for my liking, and the two-bite brownies at Superstore always made me feel a little sick after eating too many. I even tried making them on my own, but they tasted a little off. Maybe it was the lack of walnuts? She always snuck a couple of those in. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it was her love that was missing. It was the love that lined the wrinkles on her hands as she mixed the batter and the love in her eyes as she watched everyone stuff their mouth with her sweets. It was the love she held in her heart for that frizzy haired, awfully nerdy, little 10-year-old girl. It was the love that the little girl felt when she tasted her food. It was that love that spilled out of her at the funeral in the form of heart-breaking sobs. 

I’ll never be able to taste those brownies again. They can’t be recreated. I have no idea what type of cocoa powder she liked, how many eggs were put into the batter, if it was a splash or a spoonful of vanilla extract used. All I know is that she loved me. And that's enough to keep me full.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tha9dm/tower_of_flesh/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1th0eu1/timeless/