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You Cannot Watch The Watchful

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



If anyone has ever lost a parent, they come to realize they lose more than just that in the end.


Submitted:Jun 21, 2011    Reads: 32    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


I remember everything being so full, so rich with mystery, and the unknown.

Now everything is knowledgeable to me.

I remember holding your hand as I crossed the street, blowing bubbles with a circler wand and just being astounded at the fact that little soap orbs could be so delicate to the touch.

Much like the lives we lead.

So small, easy to fracture.

I wonder what he's after, oh, me?

He can have me, he'll see there' s nothing inside beside decay.

I'm wishing away, I keep thinking that you'll come back, take your place as my guardian, my protector.

Are you even there?

To care, to wish that I was there, with you, wherever you are, listening up from the stars, I don't know.

How can I?

The fairytale believing me is dead, dead like how you seem to be.

I wish I could fly.

Somewhere high, knowing no one can reach me there.

Hurt me, scar me, frighten me.

I don't want to be anymore bruised than I already am.

Speaking of bruise.

The one your wife left on my arms, my face.

Where were you?

You should of stopped her, saved me.

You just watched me.

I wish I could watch as easily as you, allow myself to escape from this body chamber, and go into the heavens, take a seat, and view what life's destruction can really do.

As if it was simple as a television channel.

Flip.

And you're gone, on to the next story, make a new drama, sitcom maybe?

I need a laugh.

I feel like I'm getting fat with agony.

Slice.

Is it that easy?

Just trim down a bit of your skin, till you find what's underneath, red and wet.

No more distress.

You watch.

Though, I don't know how you feel about the matter, the matter that is my life.

Do you find it pathetic?

Do you think I'm a typical, teenage, cliché?

Do you find me unworthy of living?

You really should take my place, you left in such a haste.

It's better, you had more going for you.

People loved you.

Adored you rather.

You were my father.

I didn't appreciate it then, but boy, do I ever now.

My sister and brother, they are you.

Smart, intriguing, believing in better days than this one.

I'm what you married.

Cold, heartless, far from content with what's been spent.

I look at past lovers and shiver, they only add to the vile mess that is me.

They've dipped into the traitorous fortress of my mind and have been scarred for life.

Yet, they still prowl for younger flesh, to mesh into.

I don't blame them, I blame you.

You left me to be fed on by such individuals.

You allowed me to feast in the guilt.

Everything that's spilt out of me before, was a lie.

I'm glad you went and died on us.

You were weak, you didn't want to pull through, you wanted to let go.

Let go of me.

Yet, I can't find the means to let go of you.

I'm a bitter old shrew, trapped in youth, and forever struggling with the fact, that my normal, perfect, life is shattered, I keep piecing the pieces back to together, trying to make sense of it all.

He let me fall, just like you.

Into the depths of confusion.

Why didn't he want me?

Why didn't he find me worth keeping, cherishing?

Am I trash?

I'm not worth a damn.

Give me another to relive that fact.

I don't want to go on, see, that's the problem.

I want to stay locked up in this cage, waiting for the day that I can be rid of this ongoing pain.





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