Sam Alexandra Rose

Category: Poetry

  • finally feeling

    finally feeling that numbing relief

    that dizzying turn

    god that feels better

    hell that feels good

    for now

  • Conjecture

  • maybe forever

    the appeal of
    just not moving
    just choosing to be
    completely still
    just for a while 

    maybe forever

  • it never ends

    I don’t feel like I’ve
    beaten anything. I don’t
    feel victorious. I feel
    tired in a way
    that sleeping won’t remedy.

    It never ends,
    it just subsides.

    I had another bad dream
    about hospitals and cancer last night.
    But at least my dress has flowers on it.

    Whoever said nothing bad can
    happen while you’re asleep
    was wrong. Nightmares can happen.
    The past can happen, again and again.
    The future can happen – every version of it.
    Then when you wake up it can all come true,
    or not, or you could live out a version of
    reality you had never even thought of.
    Better or worse. Suspense without the thrill.
    Sleep is your worst fiction. Reality is
    even more of a nightmare.
    It never ends.

  • survivor thoughts

    Survivors
    are the least important,
    the
    ones with the least need for help.
    Lowest
    priority on the list. Our journey is done.
    We
    won.

    I don’t feel like a winner.

    Why am I upset when I survived, my story’s been told,
    I’m
    out the other side, I’m perfectly alive?
    Where
    is my gratitude? There are people
    worse
    off than me, worse off than I
    ever
    was, therefore mitigating
    anything
    I’ve ever felt, of course.

    My
    emotional needs are nothing
    compared
    to those with stage four
    who
    suffer so much physically,
    some
    who need a miracle.
    I
    have so much to be
    grateful
    for. I’m
    so
    lucky.

    Sharing
    a picture of a candle on Facebook
    does
    not make me feel respected or honoured
    [1 share = 1
    prayer]
    it
    just reminds me of things I don’t need
    any
    help to be reminded of.
    [1 share = 1
    trigger]

    We
    don’t fight, we survive
    and
    it’s not our fault that
    we’re
    not the heroes
    we’re
    painted as.
    We
    are not soldiers.
    We
    are just people
    trying
    to get by.
    There
    is no more
    courage
    or
    strength in us
    than
    resides in
    anyone
    else.

    We
    haven’t
    ‘won
    the battle’
    any
    more than
    others
    failed.

  • K

    I will ask if you’re okay and give you
    permission to tell me the truth,
    the whole sorry, harrowing,
    despairing, disarming truth
    and you’ll give me the same
    liberties in return.
    I’ll accept your words
    as your reality, no judgement.
    We are friends who
    are free, who
    are human
    in the most
    brutal ways, we
    see the things others
    avert their eyes from, we
    experience life like we’re on
    fire, like it’s about to end, like
    we’re on the run and we feel
    it in our backs, in the
    fractures, in the
    curl of our spines as
    we feel the weight of our
    baggage and we fight it, fight it, fight it.
    We are young and strong in all the best ways,
    we adventure, we have fear, we are
    misguided and we don’t care. This is how
    we write our stories, with every
    step, with every journey,
    with every tattoo,
    with every exhale.

  • Confessions of a six year old

    1. Sometimes I don’t brush my teeth when
    my parents tell me to.

    2. Sometimes I daydream when I should
    be listening to the teacher.

    3.

    4.

    5.

    6.

    7.

    8.

    9. Sometimes I worry I’m not doing enough
    naughty things. Maybe I’m supposed to
    have more things to confess about.

    10. Sometimes I lie to the priest
    when I go to confession because
    six year olds don’t have very much
    to confess at all. I don’t know
    why I have to do this and
    I’m sorry I came
    unprepared and
    empty-handed.

  • Give Up

    you know me less and less –
    the more I say the less you
    say, the less you care, the
    more I give up, I give up,
    I give up.

    And I’m sorry if I haven’t
    tried hard enough to
    make you understand,
    to make you try at all
    but it’s exhausting and
    gets me nowhere and
    you don’t change, and I
    can’t change or forget
    or get over it – probably
    ever – so I give up, I give up,
    I give up.

  • Gratitude

    For friendship, for openness,
    for the chance to be true,
    for empathy, for relief,
    for peace: gratitude.

  • my mother says I am impressive.

    my mother says I am impressive.
    what does that mean?
    I yo-yo between
    the ridiculousness of her words
    and the incredulity
    that she would say something
    that she didn’t believe, therefore
    it must surely be true.
    my mother says I am impressive.
    parents are biased.
    parents see what they want to see.
    parents are wrong sometimes.
    but sometimes I still believe her
    and want to thank her
    for relieving my guilt with her praise.
    my mother says I am impressive.

    Written on Friday 1st
    January, 2016 at 21:50