 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:52:10 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 136928
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => NATAS: LIAH
[time] => 2007-08-23 13:30:40
[hometext] => ~NATAS holds our names, just like the tombstone on our graves~
[bodytext] => NATAS: LIAH LIvE morf Su REvileD tub NOitatpemt otnI Ton su DEAl Dna su tsniaga ssapsret taht meht evigRof ew sA sessaPsErt ruo Su evigrOf dNa daerb yliad rUo yad siht su evig Nevaeh ni si ti sa htrae ni enoD eb lliw yht emOc modgNik yht Eman yHt eb dEwoLLah nevaeh n i tra hc ihw reh taf ruo I'm floating on air, thoughtless and without a care. I’m not sure if I’m a woman or a child, depends on who you ask, but I love to smile. I spend most of my time in my room, dark as a tomb with the windows shut and the shades down and up to just try and keep cool. There is a rhythmic beating in my head Thump thump Thump thump I was going thru an old dresser in the attic the other day my mom was with me and she had to say “Oh Liah, look at this old doll, if it aint the cutest thing I ever saw; It’s a little stuffed goat with a heart on its chest. Oh how I remember you used to love him best” the doll brought back memories far and in-between like déjà vu in some sort of a dream. I saw my faded initials in the heart from a faded marker mark. I look close and see a slash under my letters of L.S and see the letters N.H I ask my mom about them and she hesitates. “Oh darling, I don’t know. I think that was part of his name; such a pity you don’t remember, such a shame.” I lie in bed that night staring at the dolls big and dark fabricated eyes; I drift off to a dream of fabricated lies. I’m a little girl again playing dolls with my best friend; I have dreamed this dream before and will again. I see us grab a marker and she draws a heart and I write my initials in and so does she, a lighter mark. Is it a dream or a memory, truth or a fantasy? Sometime passes and I still sleep with the doll who I now dub “Nameless Hero” a play on the letters I can’t remember or name. I stop by a daycare to visit an old friend who works there, she thinks I'm there for her, but I really don’t care. I’m shopping around one might say, I'm imagining what it might be like one of these days. I rub my stomach and dream, could I handle it or would it be too much for me? Anxiety sets in do I pause or hurry, I grow sick, but not from worry. A smell fills the room; the smell of a corpse or a rotting tomb. It’s coming from a stroller pushed by a frail broken excuse of a being, I dart my eyes because I can’t believe what I'm seeing. It’s the remains of an infant child, a swollen fetus filled with puss and bile. A small girl runs up to her shouting “Mommy! Mommy!” no drug can steady or calm me. She kisses the discarded carcass on the decaying forehead. Ooze is stuck to her lips from the kiss of the dead. She looks right at me and sneers. Overcome with the sight and smell my eyes or filled with tears. She runs up to me and shouts “YOU! Give him back! I want him back! I said you could borrow it not keep it!” “What do you mean” I said, my voice trembling from the obscene. “NATAS!” she shouts “I want my NATAS back. He is both of ours and you’ve kept him far too long. I knew you wouldn’t share with me and that’s wrong! That’s why we both wrote our names on him” with her stubborn tearing eyes she declares “I thought you were my friend” I’m wading in a pool, just trying to keep cool. My presence is unknown, still though I have grown despite my unbending tomb. Restless and weak and as shallow as a creek I'm an unwanted figure in a world oh so bleak; I gather figments of my being I gather sight for seeing. An instinct in this goo and I make it my room. I wish to god to come alive. I wish to god I didn’t have to die Thump thump Thump thump I tell my mom that I know the initials on the doll are from a childhood friend. I don’t tell her of my dreams or that little girl that said she knew him. she sighs “ you used to have a friend when you were little named Natalie and one day she brought that doll to our house and you both played for hours and since you didn’t really have a doll collection of your own at the time you couldn’t bare to part with it. So you both wrote your names on the doll and she said she’d come by tomorrow so you both could play again” “well what happened to Natalie” I asked. My mother took a deep breath and sighed “I never had the heart to tell you….she died” “what!?” I shouted in disbelief “A tractor trailer slammed into them and they were trapped in their seats” she explained in a shaky voice, not even making eye contact “they were burned alive in that car…trapped” I drop the doll to the ground and run out with nothing more found; merely questions with no answers, a psychotic break down, a mental disaster. Who was that girl at the daycare? What is going on this isn’t fair. I wait at the daycare everyday now for weeks. No one knows who I'm talking about, they’re all in disbelief. Did I imagine it all, was it a figment of my imagination and what I saw. Late one night I'm laying in bed, I can’t sleep anymore with those images running thru my head. The darkness goes quiet and a voice from the corner speaks with no name “poor old Liah, you’ve got four feet in the grave” I spring up from my bed in fear and there is that little girl standing near. She’s holding our doll; on her face is the blankest stare one has ever saw. “Natalie’s the name you always wanted to give to a daughter if you ever had one. You never even picked out a name for a son. You would want her to share the last name of your dream husband. You picture perfect boy toy, a rapist undone. But you and her…we, well Liah, we were never meant to be.” Her words bore thru me and I am calm, she outstretches NATAS and together we hold that doll. Thump thump Thump thump Silence…. NATAS holds our names, just like the tombstone on our graves. The only child that can’t fill a mother’s needs, is a child filled with disease. Bursting thru the chambered tomb; busting thru and infecting the womb. Together we die sound and happily; together here lies Liah and Natalie. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 171 [topic] => 13 [informant] => vermillion [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com