Dylan’s Mind

Hi everyone, welcome. By now, you know that I write about losing my father and the struggles that I face. What you may not know is I also write poems, short stories, and fiction about all sorts of topics. I thought to myself, “how can I share my other work with the world?” Then, it came to me: add a section on my blog. In Dylan’s Mind, I will be posting my other pieces that have nothing to do with my blog. I hope that you’ll stay awhile and I hope you enjoy!

Poem number 1

Lainey

I twisted the doorknob,

My glasses filling with tears.

She stood in the pouring rain,

Her body masked by a Jaquet too big.

She brought along a trail of sand from her shoes,

As well as the tart scent of a pomegranate perfume.

She leaned up against a silver corvette,

Her wet copper hair still soft as a silk pillow. 

Staring at her broken eyes,

I could see her black mascara tears,

Kind of as if someone drew them in sharpie. 

A lone leaf experienced a silent sneeze on her left shoulder,

And I could hear her heart beating,

Almost like there was a cuckoo clock in her chest. 

Lainey had become a shell of the woman I used to know.

Sure, I had seen pictures of her on my computer,

I had even commented on her mandolin solo.

She was always posting about her cat, Whiskers,

And her latest Egg and Gelatin recipe. 

She was truly a beautiful woman,

A loud woman too.

It always sounded like she was speaking into a microphone when she spoke. 

 I had come to understand she was not my woman.

She carried along a cynical tone,

And the way she lived her life seemed ancient to me. 

At some point, I had loved her,

But she was a cactus who had hurt me,

And I needed a partner in life to play piano alongside me,

Not to sit and stare.

Poem number 2:

The Dandelion

In the darkness of the night,

After the warmth of the sun’s breath turned to a cold chill that kissed the tip of her nose,

And the true beauty of the moon,

So vivid and intense,

Hid away into the arms of the night,

She closed her eyes.

An image of a dandelion,

Alone in the ground, 

Flooded her mind.

She thought of what she would wish for if that dandelion was pulled from the ground,

And placed in between her fingertips.

Would she wish to see those beautiful green eyes?

Or hear his never appropriate jokes?

Or have him hug her and tell her that he was proud of her?

Or maybe she simply wouldn’t wish at all.

Maybe she would walk past that lonely dandelion in the sea of green,

Allowing someone else to pluck it from the field and watch its tiny white seeds float in the air.

When she opened her eyes,

The darkness was still around her,

The cold still kissed her nose,

And the moon was still hidden.

Poem number 3:

The Visitor

Seeing her the first time,

The very first time,

Was like seeing magic in its purest state.

Locks of strawberry blonde hair sat at the base of her shoulders,

And her skin was a milky white color covered in more freckles than one could deem possible.

Each time he shuffled past her,

His senses were awakened with the smell of vanilla bean and honey. 

Sitting in his bed, his arms shaking and his body failing,

He thought of that girl who had stolen his precious heart. 

She called herself, Maya, which was fitting for the beauty that she was. 

In all of the years he had walked this earth,

Letting go of her love was the biggest mistake he had ever made. 

When the night had turned to a cold, sickening chill,

He would hold her in his arms and breathe softly into her hair.

He would make promises of the life he was going to give her,

Two little boys and a feisty little girl,

And a white picket fence. 

He would tell her that their connection would last for an eternity,

And that even in his final days,

He would protect her with every bit of strength he had left. 

Those eyes, he remembered.

So warm and soft,

Yet so strong and powerful.

He would have given all that he was for all that she was worth. 

Then one day, one normal, sunny day,

All of that changed. 

He woke up next to a woman he did not recognize.

She sang of love, but of a dangerous love.

Not the kind that they had shared for so long. 

She no longer wanted their perfectly imperfect family,

And she rolled her eyes at the thought of their white picket fence. 

As the nurse brought a cup of water up to his lips,

He remembered the last words she had said to him,

Before she vanished into thin air. 

She had told him that she had not been happy for a long time,

That while she loved him, she was not in love with him.

She had said that the spark simply did not burn as bright as it used to,

And that they were different people than they were when they were teenagers. 

Though many decades had passed since she gone away,

One thing he always regret was not reaching out to her.

He knew that there was no point in running after her,

Once Maya had a decision, it was final.

Now, as death was soon approaching,

He wished to see her one last time.

To experience that vanilla bean and honey perfume he loved so much.

Mostly, he wanted to tell her that he had become a better man, father, and then husband because,

At some point in her adolescent life,

She had chosen to love him. 

Howie heard the door creak open,

The sound barely plausible in his deaf ears.

His son, Jacob, held onto a small, manicured hand.

“Dad, there is someone here to see you. You have a visitor.” 

Poem number 4: Never Alone

Never Alone

In a land far away,

set in a beautiful garden,

A pink peony sleeps gracefully on the ground.

A little girl picks her up,

placing her in between her fingers,

breathing in the scent of her leaves.

“I like this one,” the girl replies,

tucking the stem into her golden locks.

“Oh, dear, what a unique flower you have got there.”

Sure, the flower was was special,

but was that girl did not know was that

peony has weathered the greatest storm,

And seen the unimaginable with her own eyes,

yet she continues on.

She could have withered away,

her leaves turning to dust,

her shattered roots crumbling beneath

the weight of the world,

yet she carries on. 

“She is all alone, Mommy.”

“You are right, darling, but she will be okay.

She has got no other choice.”

“The other flowers have somebody.”

“And now so does she.”

“Who?”

“You.”

 

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