Monthly Archives: February 2017

The flowers you got me

The flowers you got me
that arrive a day late,
after Valentine’s Day,
may be turning brown,
withering, dying,
but my affection for you
is just starting to blossom
and will continue to grow.
Like the petals that fall
from the daisies,
I’m falling for you,
scared, slowly,
taking my time, to be sure –
but we’re never sure of anything
but the sun and the moon.
When I’m with you,
you feel like my sun
and my moon.
The freckles on your cheeks
and on your shoulders
are my daisies,
the blue in your eyes
is my sunshine sky.

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I wrote you a love poem

I may not always tell you how I feel
or say the words you want to hear
but my dear, I muster the courage
and the words
to tell you about the universe,
the half-lit moon,
the snow storm coming far too soon,
before we’ve stocked up with coffee and bread,
before the morning dawns it’s color red.
In bed, I tell you how I feel
with each grab and each caress,
with each kiss upon your tattooed chest.
I may not always have the words to tell you how I feel
or say what you want to hear,
but my dear, I want to tell you
how the sunshine reminds me of your freckled face,
how I struggle with being strong, with having grace,
how the smell of summer and sunshine
make me think of you,
and how you set off fireworks within my lungs.
There are no words in the dictionary
to describe
the feeling of being wrapped up in your arms,
those words just don’t exist,
but it feels better than a cup of tea
better than a hot shower
better than chocolate milk,
and if I could dance across the sky with you,
we’d two-step from Venus to Saturn and it’s many moons,
and I would sing a song to you
to tell you about the universe,
and the half-lit moon.

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But really…

Sometimes
when I feel so much and don’t know how to form it into thoughts,
so much I don’t know what to say,
so much I don’t know what to tell myself,
I read poetry.
I find the light and I find inspiration, I find meaning
in the passed great poets who have formed into words for me how to feel.

Bukowski wrote “We are here to laugh at the odds
and live our lives so well
that death
will tremble
to take us.”

Thanks for those words Bukowski.

May I laugh.
May death tremble.
May I tremble.
May death laugh at me.

What is your biggest fear in life?
What is it?
It’s not really an easy question to answer, is it?
We all have our cursory fears: heights, sky diving, black cats, spiders, clowns, ghosts.
Then we have our deeper fears: being mugged, raped, kidnapped, shot and murdered.
But what about those fears
that we will never say
that we never let touch our lips
that we hide so deep down they are in the bottoms of our shoes,
they are practically not even ours anymore, 
but those bottom of our shoes, never touch our lips fears are always there.
And I feel like its always going to be there. And that, that scares me.

So what is it? What is your bottom of your shoes, never touch your lips fear?

I’m not going to tell you what mine is,
because I don’t think I truly know.
Maybe one day, hopefully many many years from now
when I’m in my grave, because, no one ever pictures themselves actually dying, right?

I don’t picture myself in a terrible car crash dying of internal bleeding six years from now.
I don’t picture myself lying in a hospice bed when I’m 90, breathing out of one of those tubes stuck up my nose holding the hands of my children and my children’s children.
I don’t picture death that way – and let me be clear – death, is not what I fear. I will get to that.

But I picture death as having already died. I see myself, pale skin, closed eyes, lying in a silver coffin,
with my arms folded on top of my chest,
and God I hope that whoever dresses me for my burial
puts me in a really hot dress and heels.
And when I picture death, when I see that bright light shining around me,
because God, I hope there’s a God
because if there’s not then what’s all this trying for, god,
and when I picture death, I imagine
an opening of the curtains, a Ringling Brothers Circus, revealing of all the questions, all the decisions I ever or never made,

all the things I lost,
all the people I lost, displayed there, right in front of me.
In front of my cold dead face, in hot red dress and heels.
I imagine that is when I face my greatest fear, I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 16 years old. I was sure there was something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there was.
I was just like all the other girls.
I didn’t have sex until I was 21. I was sure there was something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there was.
I was just like all the other girls.
Now I’m 28 years old and I have never told a man that I love him. I’m sure there is something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there is, I wrote this resolution to my self: start 2017 strong, start everyday strong. I’m 28 years old and I have never told a man that I love him. I’m sure there is something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there is. I am not ashamed. I am not afraid. I am empowered inspired and strong. I have never told a man that I love him. Sometimes I am sure there is something wrong with me, but really, I am not like all the other girls. 


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