Family Battle Royales

Written by Donna Brattain |
Published on:
rare pink diamonds, haloed children glittering bits saunter on airy ground bright sparks lively in imps' played mischief going left, going right, going all desired sides mama's mind has slipped out scooped quarters genes of my own, plotting and war-planning coldly declaring call for leader's early demise flowed turbulently together into mildewed valleys my lowness, my itchiness, my sketchiness illish, hellish, chalk scratching patchiness colorful sailors no longer sail placid harbors tormented by incoming indian child pirates screaming, wailing, whining, lying leniency bargaining chips limp, waving goodbye clouded ears deaf in direct cacophony cruising misery in shadowy din of disquiet beg relief as nerves crawl begging escape from atrocious behaviors begged such relief from hiding sources beggar for sound of silence raking distance for sunny skies possibility to run and hide where do I go from timbukto is peace near to grasp and hold pray for jagged lawlessness to end do mazed rules even apply anymore plastic ruler been bent in crooked lines winter guidelines closed to chosen edicts staggered prey afflicted in disturbed scenes why was I charged to agonize this site inane patients are running brat asylum no clipped bearings in furry rabbit's lair capsizing rocking rowboat, dumped amidst unhinged, aqua ocean tidal waves sighting long dissonances for calm shores before rattled waves sway body actions one lighting storm ignites after another flying bodies zoom by, again and again slap, punch, kick zone, slam dunk deathly ruthless plumed sibling warfare not even an ounce of star semblance? recognition of how we are to kin? remember how to react in blazed disorder? no fingers in ears vanquish opera shrieks home and house war-stricken battlefield none or winning or teeing, plain losses fighting scream before first strike made this is what they call family-time they poke and pry their broken mother toy lives insanity is briefly contained calmed essence lost to savage heathens sweetest anguish for babies dolls perfect in lost honey-eyed adoration leaving not a choice, given or wanted but tranquility tryingly established family and family and just family O' Sweet children of mine broken seraphs no belong to blood wars furloughed mind tumbling, stumbling in gene pools obstinate debates
Copyright ©

Form of Poetry

Free verse

Author: Donna Brattain
I am a mother of 5 beautiful children.. in middle of divorcing a Goblin King.. wannabe King anyway. My children are my life and first in my life. I am who I am .. aren't I?


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