I remember when you first said my name.
It was like any other person saying it.
Which each passing time
It became more and more like a secret.
Something only you and I shared.
You would look at me,
In the eyes
Blue locked on blue
And say “Emily”.
And with each passing time,
Your mouth turned up more and more.
And then less and less.
I remember the last time you said my name.
It was like any other person saying it.
I had never wanted to be called anything else
More than I did in that moment.
did you know that
there's no such thing as
a perfect name?
one day i'm catherine
and in the next breath, esther -
boudica, scathach, chiang;
virginia, sacagawea, rosalind.
i change like the ocean
so don't try to name me.
don't try to limit me.
you cannot keep me
from being great.
So I've been thinking lately
he's on a journey out to find himself
reading Hemingway and Emerson (his namesake) and roughing it at Walden Pond
smoking foreign cigars
and staring deep into coffee
to decipher the meaning of the swirls of smoke
that rise from it in the morning?
he's asking ChaCha! the meaning of life
or trying out a new brand of shampoo
or attempting to set a high score on Tetris
or out burning down bridges just to see them ablaze
or doing volunteer work,
reading to disabled children at the local library?
he's decided that this is all too much,
that he'd prefer to live in anonymity
trading his celebrity for secretarial work or carrot-harvesting
or breeding exotic fish
or renting out those inflatable jumping-castles?
he's tired of all those books in Technicolor
all the paparazzi out to get him
and commercialize his favorite beanie
just because he's on vacation because he pulled some strings at the office
thus catapulting him into some movie set halfway across the world?
What if he's sick and tired of them hunting down his girlfriend
that random wizard mentor guy that's a deadringer for Dumbledore?
What if he would rather sit at home and watch the Game Show Network
and change his name to something boring like John instead of living up to a thinker's expectations?
Or maybe just the opposite, he's just watching Family Feud to pass the time because he WANTS to be a thinker
but doesn't know how?
Or maybe Family Feud just makes him lonely because he doesn't have a real family,
just that evil guy with funny glasses and facial hair and an awful Hamburglar taste in clothes?
What if he's decided he's on the wrong path
and needs to turn his life around?
What if Waldo doesn't want to be found?
Is surprised at my lexicon
Because I have blonde hair
And fair skin.
He doesn’t know me
Aside from Tuesdays
Separated by counter and glass,
And I want to.
I want to walk in for the first time,
Sit down, vodka tonic
Quote Wolterstorff and
The goodwill rhetoric
Of a speaker to the audience,
Smart girls can be pretty too.
Smart girls are pretty too.
Pretty girls are smart.
Girls are smart.
Girls are pretty.
But no one likes a smarty pants
So I feign indifference
(Or a drama queen)
Drink my last
And leave a generous tip.
Girls are nice, too.
Peace draws itself out...leaving an
informed emptiness in its wake.
As light leaves room for everything...
what is let be, comes to itself.
Peaces draws itself out...leaving an
informed emptiness in its wake--
a flowering beyond namesake.
As anything can be renamed, any
shape altered...light...in peace transfigures.
Dormancy's wayshowing can not be
filled with anything but itself...peace
beyond body and mind.
I hope as the sun hits my face
The tears burn my skin
I will never be the image you see
I can t walk this path anymore
In the end you will never understand me
I can t keep the hope in my heart with feeling that has been lost deep inside my soul
My heart breaks with no love
I live for today not for the past
I hold my breath no more
I wear no mask to hide myself
In world full of pain.
You asked how you ever abandoned me as a mother
How about the time I told you about the abuse my sister but me through and your response was "thats my daughter too amd you are attacking her and I have to protect her"
My emotions mean nothing to you
An exact replication of you
My emotions are not real if they are your emotions
My thoughts do not matter if they are not your thoughts
I am not your favorite so you disregard me
Blame me for everything
Its all my fault
My anger and sadness is not important
I am not important
If I killed myself I would not deem it selfish because my life is not yours and my feelings do not matter to you
But my body does and my namekin to you
They gave me a name that didn’t suit me.
What’s funny is
the universe recognized that
before I did.
She paid me this compliment:
“There’s too much person to you.
You can’t be tripped up with so many
syllables in something so trivial as a name.
Less speaking, more breathing,” she said.
Four reduced to two.
Now I can exist in half the time.
I became “Bitsy.”
Which means I’m associated
with certain things.
Mainly tiny spiders
and brightly pattered swimwear.
It’s easy to be irked by that, you know.
Yet, I smile and take it,
because they raised me
with the patience of an idiot.
I get automatic cute points
just for introducing myself with a name like this.
Newcomers get giddy,
like hearing my name is equivalent
to receiving a box of kittens.
I always try to drop an expletive or two—
I just don’t want them
to get the wrong f#@%ing impression.
“Less speaking, more breathing.”
I instructed the universe
not to do me any more favors.
Sometimes a lady's just got to bitch a bit.
© Bitsy Sanders, August 2013