Her smile in a wordWas hopeful Baby fat Still clinging To apple cheeks Eyes bright and curled open Her face a daily masterpiece Only to be washed down the sink Come black skies. It wasn't beauty She sought But transformation A boundless identity Someone not herself. But she made a good living Because she wasn't alone In her need to erase the shadows And the lines Etched by fractured glass Filled with pools of red.
We are always differentOur hair clothing thoughts goals Victims of seasons trends preferences Shaped by experiences and new information and fresh perspectives Mutable bendable breakable fixable Every day we learn a little more But our habits tend to remain unchanged Stuck on a continuous loop Our hearts stuck wanting to love and be loved Days stuck on repeat The commute The coffee The croissant The computer We find our purpose We lose hold of it We chuck identity to the wind We wrap our selves in a new set of problems We search We have regrets We doubt our choices But we are choiceless And nothing we do is wrong not wasted Forgotten relics Are but marinating masterpieces Waiting for their turn to trap fragments of light And become real.
The lies came down in sheetsHeavy like someone walking on the roof But it was only the beating of Rain from low clouds The kind that never really lift She mistook your admiration for love You could only love her from afar You never loved her real self Her fractured self Her selfish self Her self that digs holes to love in Her self that wants to be found Her self that fills in the holes without help You didn't have the patience for Her shameful self Her victim self Her self that rises like cream Her self that doesn't know what she wants Only what she doesn't want.
I have two good legsI hardly notice them I love my husband I always want more from him I adore my kids Sometimes I don't like them They are the only reason I know for sure I matter Sometimes I get sick But I am strong And smart and beautiful And insecure I am wasted space A tangled mess of power Pushing without organization Working without focus Deficient of attention Pulling knots tighter Not looser I am angry And I am grateful Blessings Can be curses Hope can do nothing If we don't lean upon it We are trapped Between narrow perspectives Like a tiny ant Searching for sustenance In the middle of a football field Where all directions look the same And he runs Away from the food Away from the others Because he doesn't know. He doesn't know. I don't know either.
We shouldn't be allowed to love so much We are going to die
We are going to break each other
And leave the pieces still scattered
All it takes is a strong grip
The right set of circumstances
The wrong eye contact
A chance meeting
A kiss that landed wrong
A stretchy good bye
A sticky gaze
A flash of recognition
Hesitation where hesitation means only one thing
The brush of a finger
The glimpse of a shoulder
Saying the wrong thing
Saying the right thing
Saying words you never meant to say but can never take back
Going with the flow even when you don't like where it's taking you
Going separate ways
Going home together
Staying home together
Why don't you go fall fly away Leave me on this island
While I drown beneath today
Information like storm clouds
Churning and burning cold
A ceiling between me and source
A cage thick as an eggshell
But strong as gold
Yearning for tomorrow and youth
A paradox of impossibilities
They comes in flashes, the truth
We chip away at suffering
But all of this feels old--
Could we leave it behind
This yearning for our words to be sold?
Without condemning human kind
To a history that does not bear
The privilege of repeating
That a greater power does, in fact, care.
I open to Acceptance / Being enough / Needing not stuff the spaces between moments with nothing but joy
I open to
Ease / Sitting with pain looking directly at beauty / The glare like summer sun
I open to
Abundance / The evidence of opportunity compelling creation / The responsibility of privilege, the privilege of responsibility
I open to
Expansion / Honing thoughts with presence / Exploring new frontiers in the galaxy of the mind
I open to
Angels / Communing over cups of faith and faerie dust / Commonplace miracles
I open to
Serendipity / Intuition embodied by spacious possibility / Guidance from the nuances of oxygen
I open to
Sunlight / The heat of it piercing pregnant clouds / The completeness of a circle.
It's a creeping painA slow patient pain The layers thicken Before they flake
Her hiding place dissolves The past becomes now Her hands become putty Weakness cradled by pain
She is numb Held hostage by unconsciousness His want replaces love Her love replaces anger
An inebriate coupling A black mark on a porcelain surface Giving in giving up As hope melts to softness
She sleeps in the bosom of regret But upon awakening Her hands are strong again Recovered by night's forgiving embrace.
I am source / streaks of sunlight
Whatever makes our hearts beat / I am it
I exist not within boundaries / but around them
I am not the limits of the body / I am Holy Spirit
I quiver beneath the power that I am / but I do not crumble
I focus I fight I flounder / and I rise.
I'm still learning who I am
With boyish handwriting
A voracious appetite
Nothing is ever enough
I want to shake harder
Sleep more but lie supine less
Dare I say have more
Back when I drank
Open to womanhood
As a map
Mornings open me
In the ethereal quiet of daybreak
I am free from excess thought and arbitrary restrictions.
Possibility looms in the form of light flooding from the east, clouds streaking the dome of sky.
A blank mind is a clean house, a new day is an unwritten page.
Coffee tastes better and I wish that mornings could last all day.
Opening feels like a cobweb of cracks around my soul.
As if I am a piece of glass and I have dropped myself onto concrete.
Not out of carelessness but because I am living and the risk inherent in living is breaking.
Light leaks through
Widening the gaps but also filling them in with the possibility of morning.
Who will I be today?
My heart swings open.
They climb inside
It sounds like
Somewhere hurt can't find
An invisible cloak
Of soft supple folds
With a sheath of power
A gauzy squeeze
Ripped with bruises
All they do is grow
They are never the same
From one minute
To the next.
Neither am I.
My girls need me.
They need me to pay attention, soothe, be steadfast.
But I am erratic.
My attention is scattered in piles like fallen leaves in the autumn.
Cayenne crimson, turmeric orange, ginger yellow.
The colors of my temper, spicy like the evil twin
who lives somewhere in my head not heart.
The earth spins and the leaves die and
emotions run like wild horses and
no one can control any of it.
I see it in my daughter.
Four years-old with emotions loud as a train wreck.
She opens up her heart when its bursting and
spills her frustrations all over the universe.
Like fallen leaves in the autumn.
More than I am angry I am glad
She expresses herself with the freedom of a person who is safe.
Wild horses do not thrive in cages or in crowds.
But in wide open spaces
our emotions have room to dance and turn
an ever-shifting kaleidoscope
its beauty a product of all the colors.
Where I spent time spent money
wasted time wasted money.
Four blurry years wandering.
Searching. Lost. Finding. Found.
Seven years ago I walked away with a degree
I hope I never use again
Friends I hope I have forever.
She opens to this plane of being
Unfurling unfolding uncurling
Like the spiral of hair on the crown of her head
She stretches her limbs longer today than yesterday
Grabbing and kicking at an understanding
Of what it means to exist
Here and now.
Everyday I open to the love that pulses through my veins
A love that comes from unfathomable depths through infinite tunnels
I fear this love will turn me mad and still, I love on
An interesting shade of beauty shines with messy precision
I cannot conquer the messes nor match the precision
Either I open to this beauty and it trickles through me
Infusing everything I feel, say, touch, hear and do
Or the beauty paralyzes me
I can't move lest everything fall to pieces
Opening contracting closing
Closing is part of the opening.
Opening to the tightness in my hips the weakness in my shoulders the strength in my legs /
Surrendering to the hormones in my blood the softness in my belly the crookedness of my spine /
Embracing the milk in my breasts the asymmetry of my face the truth in my smile /
Seeing light through my eyes hope through my words the future through my children.