u/mandz33

​

My eyes fixated on that fleck,

seen clearly though just a speck,

falling slowly with no flare

through the night’s crisp cold air.

~

Everything surrounding seems so still

as I lean in against my window sill.

Echoing sound from the rockabilly ball,

hardly heard by me at all.  

~

There’s no control as it falls,

allowing the air to push and pull,

changing shape, new from old,

as it floats in that night so cold.  

~

Then my mind jolts up, forward,

leaving me a thought that’s quite horrid:

Am I a snowflake? Can that be true?

Do I allow the outside to change me too?  

​

My eyes fixated on that fleck,

seen clearly though just a speck,

falling slowly with no flare

through the night’s crisp cold air.

~

Everything surrounding seems so still

as I lean in against my window sill.

Echoing sound from the rockabilly ball,

hardly heard by me at all.  

~

There’s no control as it falls,

allowing the air to push and pull,

changing shape, new from old,

as it floats in that night so cold.  

~

Then my mind jolts up, forward,

leaving me a thought that’s quite horrid:

Am I a snowflake? Can that be true?

Do I allow the outside to change me too?  

​

My eyes fixated on that fleck,

seen clearly though just a speck,

falling slowly with no flare

through the night’s crisp cold air.

~

Everything surrounding seems so still

as I lean in against my window sill.

Echoing sound from the rockabilly ball,

hardly heard by me at all.

~

There’s no control as it falls,

allowing the air to push and pull,

changing shape, new from old,

as it floats in that night so cold.

~

Then my mind jolts up, forward,

leaving me a thought that’s quite horrid:

Am I a snowflake? Can that be true?

Do I allow the outside to change me too?

​

I caress a rubber band

gently between my fingers,

smooth, yet there's still texture.

Lifeless, but there’s still warmth.

\~

I squish, twist, and fold,

shaping it how I want.

\~

Stretch it taut

to its full tension

hold it there

waiting

\~

it snaps.

I don't flinch.

\~

Now it lies split,

jagged on the floor.

Damaged

beyond repair.

\~

I was my father's

rubber band.

​

I caress a rubber band

gently between my fingers,

smooth, yet there's still texture.

Lifeless, but there’s still warmth.

\~

I squish, twist, and fold,

shaping it how I want.

\~

Stretch it taut

to its full tension

hold it there

waiting

\~

it snaps.

I don't flinch.

\~

Now it lies split,

jagged on the floor.

Damaged

beyond repair.

\~

I was my father's

rubber band.

​

I caress a rubber band

gently between my fingers,

smooth, yet there's still texture.

Lifeless, but there’s still warmth.

~

I squish, twist, and fold,

shaping it how I want.

~

Stretch it taut

to its full tension

hold it there

waiting

~

it snaps.

I don't flinch.

~

Now it lies split,

jagged on the floor.

Damaged

beyond repair.

~

I was my father's

rubber band.

My house has a cold hum.

It's not the air conditioner,

or the kitchen fridge. 

Still, my hairs raise on-top of goosebumps 

even after all of these years.  

/

There's a dressing gown I wear, 

left behind for me. 

Pink faded fleece with torn hems,

worn out elbows and threads 

that rub against my skin.  

/

A voice that cries in the hallway, 

I hear it while laying in bed. 

When I call out,

only silence answers.  

/

There's a smell that wafts from the bathroom,

a mix of strawberry soap and musk.

Yet as I brush my teeth,

only smell of mint left.  

/

She left when I was five,

walked straight out the door.

So I live with the ghost of grief, 

for that is all that stayed.

My house has a cold hum.

It's not the air conditioner,

or the kitchen fridge. 

Still, my hairs raise on-top of goosebumps 

even after all of these years.  

/

There's a dressing gown I wear, 

left behind for me. 

Pink faded fleece with torn hems,

worn out elbows and threads 

that rub against my skin.  

/

A voice that cries in the hallway, 

I hear it while laying in bed. 

When I call out,

only silence answers.  

/

There's a smell that wafts from the bathroom,

a mix of strawberry soap and musk.

Yet as I brush my teeth,

only smell of mint left.  

/

She left when I was five,

walked straight out the door.

So I live with the ghost of grief,

for that is all that stayed.

My house has a cold hum.

It's not the air conditioner,

or the kitchen fridge.

Still, my hairs raise on-top of goosebumps

even after all of these years.

/

There's a dressing gown I wear,

left behind for me.

Pink faded fleece with torn hems,

worn out elbows and threads

that rub against my skin.

/

A voice that cries in the hallway,

I hear it while laying in bed.

When I call out,

only silence answers.

/

There's a smell that wafts from the bathroom,

a mix of strawberry soap and musk.

Yet as I brush my teeth,

only smell of mint left.

/

She left when I was five,

walked straight out the door.

So I live with the ghost of grief,

for that is all that stayed.

Grief sounds like the hum of a fridge,

constant, hushed, endlessly ignored.

\~

Silence feels like a winter storm,

frozen and numb.

\~

Fear tastes like gum,

stuck between my teeth.

\~

Anger smells like the heat of the sun,

burning blooming buds.

\~

Loneliness tastes like stale cake,

left over from a party.

\~

Shame smells like sour milk,

hidden in the back of the fridge.

\~

Happiness tastes like Milo,

straight from the tin.

\~

Gratitude smells like popcorn,

made by someone else.

\~

Hope sounds like the ringing bell,

of the ice cream van near your road.

\~

Pride smells like strawberry shampoo,

when you're drying your hair.

\~

Love feels like the cage in my chest

where all these things are held.

Grief sounds like the hum of a fridge,

constant, hushed, endlessly ignored.

\~

Silence feels like a winter storm,

frozen and numb.

\~

Fear tastes like gum,

stuck between my teeth.

\~

Anger smells like the heat of the sun,

burning blooming buds.

\~

Loneliness tastes like stale cake,

left over from a party.

\~

Shame smells like sour milk,

hidden in the back of the fridge.

\~

Happiness tastes like Milo,

straight from the tin.

\~

Gratitude smells like popcorn,

made by someone else.

\~

Hope sounds like the ringing bell,

of the ice cream van near your road.

\~

Pride smells like strawberry shampoo,

when you're drying your hair.

\~

Love feels like the cage in my chest

where all these things are held.

Grief sounds like the hum of a fridge,

constant, hushed, endlessly ignored.

~

Silence feels like a winter storm,

frozen and numb.

~

Fear tastes like gum,

stuck between my teeth.

~

Anger smells like the heat of the sun,

burning blooming buds.

~

Loneliness tastes like stale cake,

left over from a party.

~

Shame smells like sour milk,

hidden in the back of the fridge.

~

Happiness tastes like Milo,

straight from the tin.

~

Gratitude smells like popcorn,

made by someone else.

~

Hope sounds like the ringing bell,

of the ice cream van near your road.

~

Pride smells like strawberry shampoo,

when you're drying your hair.

~

Love feels like the cage in my chest

where all these things are held.

Grief is a living parasite

joined to its host as a ghost,

bingeing on blood

that still remembers,

silently gorging, unnoticed.

It hears a mother reading a story,

knows a flash flood of blood

will start pouring

as she's reminded

of what she never had.

It knows another feed is nearing

when the smell of strawberry soap lingers,

taking her back to the bathroom

where mum used to wash her hands.

Its latches onto her tightly,

a ritual repeated almost nightly,

as she puts on her Mum's old jumper,

a way to feel close.

I was so young when she left,

I barely remember her being there.

That is how my ghost haunts,

through absence

not presence.

And my parasite of grief

thrives on the emptiness

that lives in me.

Grief is a living parasite

joined to its host as a ghost,

bingeing on blood

that still remembers,

silently gorging, unnoticed.

It hears a mother reading a story,

knows a flash flood of blood

will start pouring

as she's reminded

of what she never had.

It knows another feed is nearing

when the smell of strawberry soap lingers,

taking her back to the bathroom

where mum used to wash her hands.

Its latches onto her tightly,

a ritual repeated almost nightly,

as she puts on her Mum's old jumper,

a way to feel close.

I was so young when she left,

I barely remember her being there.

That is how my ghost haunts,

through absence

not presence.

And my parasite of grief

thrives on the emptiness

that lives in me.

Grief is a living parasite

joined to its host as a ghost,

bingeing on blood

that still remembers,

silently gorging, unnoticed.

It hears a mother reading a story,

knows a flash flood of blood

will start pouring

as she's reminded

of what she never had.

It knows another feed is nearing

when the smell of strawberry soap lingers,

taking her back to the bathroom

where mum used to wash her hands.

Its latches onto her tightly,

a ritual repeated almost nightly,

as she puts on her Mum's old jumper,

a way to feel close.

I was so young when she left,

I barely remember her being there.

That is how my ghost haunts,

through absence

not presence.

And my parasite of grief

thrives on the emptiness

that lives in me.