I Understand That Life Has Been Hard

I understand that life has been hard
on you. It seems that every choice
you have made has been the wrong one
And for that I am writing you into a poem
that will take years to finish.

You may not be the success that you
wanted. The yacht and the large
house on the bay belong to other men.
The sweet ride with gps and the bouncing bass
has side stepped you.
The perfect wife has become the ex.

The unity left reality before the day
to day things could balance into
a fiftieth anniversary surrounded by
grandkids and lifetime friends. speaking
of friends, so many are cosmic
dust, and long-term relationships,
jobs and different zip codes.
most of your interactions
are spent with the kids,
the guys at the factory, in irrational arguments.
I am surprised at your resiliency and your laughter.

You have the heart of a 500
year old pine in copper harbor

the kids, the way you
take of your daughter, the little details
of brushing, and camping, are hard
for most but you, you make it seem easy.
The son that you did not father,
but are fathering alone,
because the mother is bipolar,
and the real father in prison,
You were not so lucky
to have a father as conscious and caring.
Your father
was a wandering vagabond.
he spent more time with long legs than
you, would lie and steal,
bullshit his way just for a sniff of adventure.
your mother
with her faith and need to be
the bread winner had little time
to devote to you.
but look at you.
Not all of your choices have been bad ones.
You have done
right despite the leftovers of neglect,
I have never heard you
blame, or accuse anyone but yourself.
Damn it, you have done well.
Give yourself a little credit,
have some teriyaki chicken.


Author: annieepoetry

I am poet. I am woman. I write with my thumbs. Read my poems. Tell me what You think. You may find the love poem you always thought someone wrote for you. Or the one you meant to write But Becareful lovers tell zingers and often break hearts Milky Way Earth U.S.A Madison WI

2 thoughts on “I Understand That Life Has Been Hard”

  1. I wear to many layers and when I write, I slowly pull them off as my sweat stings my flushed cheeks and as my inner bunny says “fo don’t write that, people will know you desire carrots and long pieces of chalk,” but I ignore the little bunny.

    Most people think the little bunny will help them get ahead, ( and they are right) but the little bunny won’t help you make art. You have to do that inside a cardboard box, alone. You can’t let anyone in until your done gnashing your teeth and screaming, “fuck.” Then the art becomes alive just like the bunny. And the bunny grows to accept it. And you, the hand, learn to do it.

    Pretty soon that’s all you can do, and your always locked in your cardboard box gnashing and breaking bones until you no longer desire to get out, until you decide to just fall asleep. That’s when the words and pictures begin.

    That’s where your friends and family visit you, that is when it hurts the most to be friends with a bunny. And yes to make art, you have to hurt, on purpose, all the time, you have to carry the galaxies inside, and wear enough layers that no one notices your insides are exploding. You have to say “Bunny, it hurts to love you and make art, but I’ll do it. I will. Want to spilt a carrot?”

    Of course reading the classics is a good start, but you need to tame the bunny before
    the bunny will guide you in and out of the cardboard box, or like most people say, the bunny hole. I find that term to be offensive though, and so does the bunny, so never say it to the bunny or else, you will never be his friend and he will never lead you to the cardboard box. And you need the bunny to find a box.


  2. Annie, how do you do such amazing things with your words? Where did you learn this? How many English courses did you have to sleep through to escape their crushing formalities?
    You bring honor to our art, and I bow before you, hoping you are kind enough to drop poems in my hair so I can pull them out of the tangles afterwards.


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