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Anna, a.k.a. Evelyn's Mom

Evelyn's Poetry

Evelyn's Poetry

Evelyn loved to write. We were't aware nearly how much until after her death, when we found her computer and phone were full of poetry she'd been writing for years without us knowing. The first two poems came to us from a friend of Evelyn's, who found them in her journal the day after Evelyn died and immediately brought them to the house to share with us. Upon reading them, we were blown away. Here, in her own words, our sweet girl was telling us how to go on, how to view her unbelievable loss. We read them both at her memorial service, and had the first printed on the programs for it. We will continue to add her work to this page for others to enjoy, though it will take time to get the whole of it online. Where we have them, we have included dates. Please check back and continue to share how Evelyn's work has impacted you.

Breathe

March 11, 2016

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Breathe in. This is the one thing, the one thing that you can do and it doesn't have to be stressful, just peace in this piece of knowledge. To just be and breathe, to just breathe and be, to just be breathing, and content with being and breathing. You always, forever have this if you have nothing else or want nothing else until the day you no longer have to be and breathe. 

Breathe out. Because escape is a sweet release, one to be relished, one to be treasured, release from good and bad, happy and sad, escape from the burden on your mind and heart. Nobody can take this escape from you. It's inseparable from your nature and being because it is a part of being. Sometimes you just need to breathe. 

Copycat

Scalding water burned my palms

and steam clouded my vision,

allowing today's page to

burn away

and erasing the ideas

of tomorrow.

 

Inky streams slipped

down the drain

taking with it

doubt and sorrow,

but globs of misperception stain,

so there are always smears

on a new page.

Untitled

Shaky shingles, rattled roof

Collapse upon the poor aloof

Ignorant of time's effect

Idyllic fantasies put to rest

Oh what a simple thing

Simple in complexity

Language, words, connotation

Endless ways to convey

Just one sensation

Barred off

Cut out from the mind

Jagged nerves left to die

Choking on the vile pit

Poisoned fruit you cannot spit

No more

Please, please no more

There's a handle, there's a door

I've never opened before

But I can't

I've been tied at the wrist

Legs unsteady

And tongue in a twist

I hear voices, sweet singing a lullaby

Desperately wish I could give it a try

But no movement, no voice

Gives me no choice

Speech
Halves
Experiences

I’ve never had the same experiences as others

Words wound through my mind

Of heady glances and sticky kisses

Rogue hands and blissful shivers

And in my notes I had painted an image

Of what to expect

But then they kicked the bucket

Thick inky black crawling over lined pages

And told me it was abstract

So I gave a subdued nod

And dipped my hands in the mess

Wondering if the crusted paint

In the lines of my palms

Was meant to mimic

The fullness of love

And slowly, hazily

I found myself half blind

Sinking into the paint on the floor

My right half stolen

My wrong half frozen

Heady glances made me anxious

Sticky kisses left me self-conscious

Rogue hands threw me in fear

And shivers were of the sort

That are only evoked by horror

But they told me it was fine

And truly, I didn’t know the difference

Between moaning in pleasure

And moaning in terror

So I let them lead me blind

 

But then she took my shoulders

And shook me to the core

Lines clear enough to see

The future in my palms

Turned my world on its head

Just like before

But this time she drug me into the sky

Above the light bulb towers

That convinced me grass is blue

Showed me the truth

In the colors of her paned eyes

And in the wonder of it all

I didn’t see the pages of my notebook

Tearing out and shredding themselves

Confetti to celebrate the sight

Discovering the ecstasy

Of excited gazes and awkward kisses

Warm hands and sweet nudges

That leave me curious and uncertain

Like a child left with tools

And only the instructions to build

Whatever they desire

So no, it still isn’t the same

The bright colors I had scribbled

On the original image

Faded into soft pastels

Like the transcription of a dream into reality

I’ve never had the same experiences as others

But I think I finally realized

That these are the experiences

I’ve been searching for.