deepundergroundpoetry.com
Peanut Butter & Cane Syrup
home is where you hang your hat -
or is it your heart? maybe it’s under
the bed where my boots chill
just for tonight
I can’t remember what home feels like
twelve years old, my birthday
my mother says fat girls
shouldn’t eat their own
birthday cake or else
they’ll never get a good man;
she was certainly right about that
but fuck her for saying it
out loud
the basic comfort
of pancakes slathered
with peanut butter,
drizzled in Florida cane syrup
never fails me -
Phil’s mother made them this way,
patting him on the head
before kissing his sticky nose
declaring him delicious
I wanted what he had
so badly,
I still eat mine the same
discovering every thread
of her abandonment,
cutting cleanly the cords
binding her to me
and me, to her;
I’m a paranoid ghost hunter
nervously shining
my professional-grade flashlight
carefully into each shadow
that resembles her outline,
communicating with the dead
occasionally, I fool myself
into dramatic wishful thinking
I have exorciiiiiiiized the demons!
finally hoping for truth in the mirror
but my reflection still looks suspicious
or is it your heart? maybe it’s under
the bed where my boots chill
just for tonight
I can’t remember what home feels like
twelve years old, my birthday
my mother says fat girls
shouldn’t eat their own
birthday cake or else
they’ll never get a good man;
she was certainly right about that
but fuck her for saying it
out loud
the basic comfort
of pancakes slathered
with peanut butter,
drizzled in Florida cane syrup
never fails me -
Phil’s mother made them this way,
patting him on the head
before kissing his sticky nose
declaring him delicious
I wanted what he had
so badly,
I still eat mine the same
discovering every thread
of her abandonment,
cutting cleanly the cords
binding her to me
and me, to her;
I’m a paranoid ghost hunter
nervously shining
my professional-grade flashlight
carefully into each shadow
that resembles her outline,
communicating with the dead
occasionally, I fool myself
into dramatic wishful thinking
I have exorciiiiiiiized the demons!
finally hoping for truth in the mirror
but my reflection still looks suspicious
Published 14th Nov 2020
| Edited 15th Nov 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 4
comments 8
reads 220
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The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
14th Nov 2020 12:15pm
That was harsh and a genuinely heart tugging read, Luna. A truly good person man or woman to * get * would be one who encourages you to be yourself and let you define who that is.
And now I want pancakes, dammit.
And now I want pancakes, dammit.
14th Nov 2020 6:17pm
14th Nov 2020 5:36pm
Not to mention loves you for who you are ( piggy-backing on Mary's comment ). Those we love most hurt us most because we care that much, Luna. Particularly when it's a parent. What a shitty thing to say out loud. I have the t-shirt. Isn't the same saying on the front; but, I have it nonetheless.
Feeling this.
Feeling this.
14th Nov 2020 6:27pm
When we don’t take the time to think about our words, the damage we visit upon those who have their hearts wide open to us can have an impact that lasts a lifetime. Those t-shirts are pretty popular. Breaking that cycle requires vigilance and humility when you fail short of the mark. Thank you, Ahavati 💜.
14th Nov 2020 8:19pm
You open with this lilt of rhyme, it holds a deeply nuanced emotion. Plunging into the stark depth of the line in italics. I was really captivated from the start. By the point of this stanza,
"I’m a paranoid ghost hunter
nervously shining
my professional-grade flashlight
carefully into each shadow
that resembles her outline,
communicating with the dead"
With it's shadow play of visual dimensions, I was greatly imbued within the write. Beautifully proportional echoes of memory into the present.
"I’m a paranoid ghost hunter
nervously shining
my professional-grade flashlight
carefully into each shadow
that resembles her outline,
communicating with the dead"
With it's shadow play of visual dimensions, I was greatly imbued within the write. Beautifully proportional echoes of memory into the present.
14th Nov 2020 8:35pm
14th Nov 2020 11:37pm
Dear L,
Those barbs cut the harshest when they’re said by someone we’re wired to trust and love. So you’re right “f*ck” her for thinking it let alone saying it. (I’m sorry, normally I don’t feel right about judging another’s parent but...)
I think you’ve been a huge success because you’ve been able to address it, write about it, and break the chain to stop its perpetuation. I’m just sorry it happened in the first place. This is a great write! Oh, I almost forgot I really liked the formatting of the piece. Every time I resolve to trying a new format style I forget I was going to do it. 🙄 H🌷
Those barbs cut the harshest when they’re said by someone we’re wired to trust and love. So you’re right “f*ck” her for thinking it let alone saying it. (I’m sorry, normally I don’t feel right about judging another’s parent but...)
I think you’ve been a huge success because you’ve been able to address it, write about it, and break the chain to stop its perpetuation. I’m just sorry it happened in the first place. This is a great write! Oh, I almost forgot I really liked the formatting of the piece. Every time I resolve to trying a new format style I forget I was going to do it. 🙄 H🌷
15th Nov 2020 1:06am
It is a responsibility to love; to do your best to take care and handle hearts entrusted to you gently. I have certainly failed at this, and I hope it teaches me to try harder to be cautious with my words and my actions because I know all too well the fallout when we use them as weapons. Thank you so much for your insight 💜.
