musings

All of this is for meant for you

/ imperfectionperfectionist / Leave a comment

the dawn

 

Patty Cakes, wild flowers in your hair,, ginger colored dancing, fingers always reaching, eyes searching, hearts beating, fresh clean sheets, clear watery eyes, seaching, spots for sobbing, feet that cant stop running…

The sun as it rises and day unplanned filled with little surprises, train rides, high fives, raindrops, gum drops, bus stops, Plane rides, bike rides, bold and confident strides.

Hello, jello listening to that girl play the perfect cello…

Why cant you come to this place? Lover, why cant you come to this place?

Open your mind and fill this empty space.

Something In The Way

/ imperfectionperfectionist / 1 Comment

YOU are a word that hasn’t been invented yet- An idea so grand that nothing the world has seen can compare.

YOU have the warm soft eyes- often times you can catch me mid- stare

YOU have foot soldiers guarding your gate- and wall built up- pray tell, tear them down before it’s too late.

 

Letting It All Hang Out

/ imperfectionperfectionist / 2 Comments

She rides to treatment today with her knees drawn to her chest. She’s reading the book I started, and because she isnt the one driving she has now gotten ahead of me. The words drip off each page and fall like petals into her lap.

Treatment today will be filled with questions I can hear ringing in my ears. Why was she at the party? Didn’t we discuss her not being at the party? Did you observe her? I did. I think so? She’s hard to watch I always want to sweep her hair from her face. I always want to change her clothes. I hate myself for this. I wish I could just relax around her. She’s a time bomb to me. She’ll go nuclear again, and we’ll find her on the floor.

I feel so judged. I know it’s just me. Im doing my literal and actual best. I know this. I cant do more than this. I have twisted myself up, and feel like every instinct I have is wrong. So wrong I am afraid to leave any permanent marks anywhere. Nothing that cant be undone somewhere else. I am not good enough these days for writing words in ink. They must all be free to be erased and begun again.

I watch with curiosity as the other mothers make their way in and out and seem to hold a confidence I just dont. They look like they all finished college. I bet they didn’t have their sick daughter when they were 21. Its just plain too young. You know I hear speak of their kids being “cured” and I think to myself- “Fools!” This is a not a common cold. This is a cancer that lies dormant and go into remission only to strike again, without permission. riding in cars

Tied Up

/ imperfectionperfectionist / 1 Comment

watching_the_world_burn_down_by_1honey1-d34crnu

Lately my limbs have new knots

Because Im tied up in your trees

With branches that tangle and twist

 From ankle to wrist.

And the song birds sleep in the palm of my hands…

Their song like a prayer

You cannot understand them, if you don’t care to listen

There are people you meet who can level you with a simple look,

They make you believe in the fantasy from your favorite childhood book,

He’s been brought to life.

He’s got your soul in his teeth …

When you see him build a bomb shelter because

The Heat Signature between the two of you will cause the world to

Incinerate Underneath

Spirit Guide

/ imperfectionperfectionist / 1 Comment

freedom

Emboldened by belief in forgiveness and peace

I have assembled all the ages I have ever been into this one woman before you.

I’m a wanderer. I have always lost track of time, and thought. I would give my last dime to a beggar on the street with a smile, wishing him well… no care for things I haven’t got.

No time to stop and think when the waters are restless inside of me. When even a flash of light can send me running through our streets at night.

Some call me crazy. Some call me whore.

Their words can rise from the dirt where I stand, pulling at me, trying to plant my feet in the ground, pull my poetry down without a sound.

I am indignant. I am an artist. My syllables pulled from my core do not speak the language of limits… they take my spirit with them… they endure.

I will outlive most of my critics. Its not just an accusation, its a simple observation.

I live inside of love. Unfurled on the floor you will find my words ringing in your ears-

Like a mirror reflects what is shown, I am a light that shines to the bone.

I am refracted by cruelty, but never reduced.

My poetry cuts in, my words a knife, it carves, and you’re seduced.

I am the butterfly whose wings wrap like words around the feet of my foe- intent not to follow- but to lead where you go.

An unbearable lightness of being will break the heart of the still breathing child- but I am their champion. My words cry out for their freedom.

A garden rich in its soil, will feed them. Their bellies full with the dreams they have eaten. I will but guide them with my soft colored wings..

 

Shame

/ imperfectionperfectionist / Leave a comment

A thousand lies fell from my lips before I was old enough to vote.

I lied about you to my friends, I lied to my friends about you. I lied about my age. I treated the world like my stage.. and I pretended that nobody noticed the cracks in my sidewalk.

It was to cover the thing I was so shamed by- the things, the many of them that I did not like to look at.

Growing up and forever being fat.

That my mother really doesn’t like me. That my mother really didn’t want me. That her words offered little comfort, that the sound of her raised voice makes grown men contort.

That she was so very hard.

I was so soft bellied, soft hearted, big hearted. Exposed nerves and senses of justice. No experience in your real world.

Just a few bewildering experiences with little boys, and I mean stupid boys, and boys who wore their pants too big around their hips, boys who stared at my tits and licked their fish lips.

There is a reluctance

/ imperfectionperfectionist / 1 Comment

Light shone in shadows
Noiseless sex leaves the walls shaken
The sparrow flies seeking shelter from the soft pelt of rain

Nobody else saw it,
Just a flash of something in the eye,
a glance outward… and we’re at it again.

All the world is laughing at the joke we’re not telling.
I can feel it.

I can feel you.

Muscle Memory

/ imperfectionperfectionist / 4 Comments

There is a tree still standing in the Redwoods that remembers

There’s a ring sitting in a trunk under old love letters, and a woolen sweater, it remembers

There’s a photograph of your smile shadows cast by the setting sun in an album now covered in paper,

it remembers

And it’s been a while, but I recall that big sweet smile.

And I remember the Mean Green Machine of family celebrating your arrival.

I remember the first time you held my man, little man.

I remember your five tiny fingers on the left, and on the right

I remember that I loved you so much, you were worth every bit of the fight.

I remember your funny little toes, and your perfect little nose.

Today, while you are away this is where my mind goes.

I remember the time you said my name. The first I love you. Kissing away all your pain.

I remember when you were almost two and scared to cross the seams in the sidewalk…

I remember your proud brother teaching you to talk.

You make a perfect square. Together we are family.

Funny little one, how you fascinate me.