I have loved you in the coldest of snowstorms that winter has to offer,
Felt your warmth through the curve of your lips,
The music of soft fingertips. My body is your piano,
We write a different genre of music when we love.
There are warm rays of sunshine cast over our flesh
And the snow glistens with the light you shine in.
I’ve never felt safer, wrapped in the protection of your arms
During the loudest thunderstorm in the middle of spring;
When the skies are dark and grey, lightning shooting like swords
Against earth’s ceiling.
I’ve held your naked body against my own,
Drawing over the cliffs of your hip bones, the valley of your
Belly button and the mountain range of ribs,
The cage that protects your heart from the heat of the
Summer temperatures that I hold within me, your warm
Anatomy heating my body like the core of earth:
From the inside out.
I’ve ran my fingers through the sweet sweat resting over
Your back, like droplets of dew on a leaf in the early morning
Humidity of summer after a night of making love.
We watch the leaves change color ad stroll softly
To the ground in autumn.
The temperatures begin to drop and the branches are naked
And bare, like my skin in summer while we sleep.
I’ve loved you like the snow that grips the bark.
I am cold, but winter has always been your favorite.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
As a young girl myself, I was taught by own mother, that I should never talk to strangers.
It is now that I look back and I see that I spent a majority of my childhood with one.
Every Wednesday, I ate dinner at a table and I spent every other weekend with a man I never really knew.
After the divorce of my parents, joint-custody was given to who I now know to be a stranger to me.
I forgive my mother for trusting the care of this man who is my father to take care of me,
But I cannot begin to think how I would ever intentionally introduce my child to a stranger.
I’ve listened to lectures that I should never open the door to someone I don’t know,
But as a little girl, I welcomed this man through the door of my life.
I’ve heard many times that a man who offers candy or needs help looking for his puppy is not a good man
But a man who gives fake love and wants me to call him ‘daddy’ isn’t a threat to my mental health.
And when my daughter is old enough to realize that she has one grandfather,
When all of her friends have two, I’ll tell her that he died before her time.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
Tradition says that the role of walking your daughter down the aisle to her new husband is the act of giving her away to a man who will pick up where you left off in the mission of protecting her.
But the day you gave me away, I wasn’t wearing a long white dress and there wasn’t a man waiting for me at the altar.
You gave me away to the world the day you told me that you needed a break as if our relationship was one that you could just flip a light switch on and off,
But I’ve been in the dark for far too long.
You snapped my spine in half the day you said that I didn’t show love or respect towards you. But how do you model a behavior that you’ve never been shown?
Five years, I tried to make our strained relationship work, for five years, I forgave you for throwing me aside and
Time and time again I tried to love you only to have you show me all the reasons for why I couldn’t.
We would never have the type of father daughter relationship that was described in fairytales or in movies.
You gave me away that day like I was food leftover on a plate of an entrée you were no longer hungry for.
You threw me out, sink or swim into a world full of male potentials,
And I drowned.
I was too worried about finding someone to rescue me from the flowing current and I had forgotten how to tread water.
Years of swimming lessons and I was still reaching for a life preserver.
But I’ve been lost in the sea of men too long.
Being daddy’s little girl is more than just an expression, more than just a role to fill as a daughter.
Being daddy’s little girl means that he wants you too.
Being daddy’s little girl means that we’ll walk down an aisle in between the guests at the wedding and you’ll give me away to my new husband who’ll vow his love for me:
For better or for worse, for rich or for poorer, in sickness and in health
Unlike yourself, where you pushed me away long before we’d reached worse.
You let me go like a balloon on a string without an anchor to hold me down,
Watching me float away without a care in the world as to where I ended up at, whose arms I fell into because I thought he’d take care of me like you were supposed to be doing.
You gave me away as I was just a little girl and I was without the slightest clue of what to look for when trying to find someone to take care of me.
I wanted you to take care of me.
I’d learned from you that distance was far better than being close to someone,
But it didn’t soften the blow when you gave me away.
When I was a little girl, I dreamed of you meeting my new dates and threatening to break their neck if they broke my heart but I can’t help but wonder
Why isn’t your neck shattered?
You took my heart out of my chest and crumpled it like a piece of paper before stomping it into the ground the day you gave me away.
I knew what a broken heart felt like before my first boyfriend did the same.
You left me cut wide open from the wound and I’ve yet to heal.
A hole inside me aches for a love that only a father can give,
The abyss within pains my chest with a void too easy to remember its presence.
And I’ve tried filling it with romantic relationships that meant nothing and guys who only wanted to fill such a space for one night.
You gave me away to the world of males I thought I needed in my life when I only needed you.
But you’d never know that because you gave me away
Like giving away spare change on the floorboards of your truck to a homeless person and I’m not sure if I’m the coins or if I’m the person in need of a home.
You gave me away the day you married the woman who took my spot and she became the most important girl in your life.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
I’m a functionally depressed person.
I’ve self-diagnosed myself as this
Because severe depression makes
Me feel like I should be lying
Around my house all day and
Although I’d rather wrap myself
In the blankets of my bed,
I push myself out into the day.
Dressed in an outfit that’s not
Sweatpants and a t-shirt, but
Instead, jeans and a sweater.
Long sleeves to cover the cuts
On my arm, or many bracelets
With no colors that match my
Outfit but they cover my
Self-inflicted wounds from
The night before.
I fake a smile at people
That I pass by during the day
And I hope that they can’t
See through my eyes and into
My head. I hope they can’t read
The suicidal thoughts swimming
Around, filling the lack of serotonin
That I’m missing from my brain.
Their eyes feel like lasers shooting
Into my brain like bullets that I dream
Of releasing from the chamber
To settle in my head.
I’m a functionally depressed person
Because I function in society
Without anyone knowing that
Inside, I’m already dead.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
At a very small age, much too young
to know what a true love felt like,
I learned that I’d never be the
special girl in your life.
I could see from the distance already
wedged between us that there would
always be a much larger section
of your heart that I’d never be
good enough to fill.
I was only a very small part of
your world, taking up a tiny section
of your heart like a sliver wedged
deep inside the membrane of your
greatest ***** like a paper cut to the
side of your finger; so small just to push
aside but too much pain to forget completely.
I was the mistake you were trying to
move on from, to put behind you,
to forget about me as if I never existed.
Even from a modest age, I knew how
to long after a man who barely knew that
I belonged to him.
You were out of my league;
in a total different game.
I could hang on to someone like they were
the air I needed inside my lungs to breathe.
But you only ever wanted to be let go.
Oxygen is nothing that I’ll ever be able to touch.
You taught me what it meant to be temporary
before I would ever know what commitment was
and I learned soon enough that
they didn’t mean the same thing.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be your girl.
I experienced my first broken heart
when you asked her to marry you.
We never had a relationship
but she became the wedge between
our potential friendship.
I learned what heartbreak felt like by a
man who said he loved me but had
the strangest way of showing it.
I learned that actions spoke louder than words
but sometimes actions didn’t speak at all.
I learned to never believe the truth
because you’d taught me how good a lie
felt within my ears;
like the harmony of an orchestra whose
conductor was blind to the instruments
being played in front of him.
We’ve never known harmony;
always out of tune,
I hated the sound of music.
I loved fairytales but hated Cinderella
and the reality that she brought to my life.
Blood wasn’t thicker;
It meant nothing to be related biologically
when romantic love came into play.
From a young age, I learned the world
was a cruel and unfair place
and I had to fight from my
corner of the ring by myself.
I learned what favoritism meant
and not because you chose me.
I learned temporary,
but never knew commitment.
The ratio of lies to truths was far greater.
After knowing distance,
I knew how to be cautious.
After you broke my heart,
I learned hate.
I knew how it felt to hate before
I would ever know how to love.
I knew it like the back of my hand;
more than I could ever know you.
But it’s time I taught myself something
so I’m learning forgiveness.
I forgive you,
for not knowing what it means
to be a father.
I forgive you for never choosing me
and for always picking her.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be daddy’s girl,
but you never allowed me that privilege
and your heart was never large enough
for both of us,
so I forgive you for loving her more;
I forgive you for being my dad.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
My brother told me that cats purr because
it means you’re close enough to hurt them.
Their motors running, vibrating throughout their bodies,
their guards lowered, lying on their backs,
allowing someone to come close enough to harm them,
all the while keeping a position to protect themselves.
And I don’t know if what my brother said is true,
but I think we as humans have a way of purring too;
And we call it falling in love.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
My lips curl about your name,
like a newborn wraps its tiny fingers
around yours, clinging to your body
as if you are the air I need to breathe.
I want to tangle myself
within your limbs while you hold
me as tight as it takes to
mend me back together.
Your breath is warm against
the surface of my skin,
kisses to my wounds,
both the visible and
the invisible,
as you whisper your love
deep within my ears.
The words resonate through my
insides, swimming my veins,
pumping like blood through my heart.
Your fingers explore the geography
of my body, mapping the curves and
valleys that you’ve settled in.
I am a log cabin in the woods
of our bed, tucked away within
the cover of our sheets,
and you’re looking for home.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
I wear your tags around my neck,
my own personal lockets with your name engraved,
where they hang low enough to hear my
heartbeat pulse within the safety of my chest.
The metal is cold against
the skin that covers my *******
And they’ve folded the fifty stars
and thirteen red and white stripes that protected
your casket, even after your heart stopped beating
into its triangle form, and
they handed it over like a death sentence
given to the wrong inmate,
for a crime he never committed.
I held the shield against my body,
wrapping myself around the cloth,
curving my body about the ripples
which reminded me of the heart monitor
that showcased your breathing
before the line went flat.
But it felt nothing like the way
your body felt folded against mine
in the darkness of your last night home
before you left for your final tour
in the foreign land that was as strange
as the first time we made love,
exploring the geography of our
different maps holding buried treasures
beneath the surface of our skin.
In our strangeness, I lost everything to you,
wandering without a compass.
And ultimately I ended up losing you to
the strangeness of the land, instead of
in the familiarity of my arms.
And I wish I could’ve convinced you to stay.
But I was never good at tug of war,
and Iraq was so much stronger than I.
Standing next to your casket, dressed in a mask of tears,
destroyed mascara and black clothing for your funeral
as your fellow brothers in arms,
who became my brothers too, hold their guns
pointed towards you in the sky; your own salute.
But it’s peaceful to know that your ears no longer ring
with machine guns and you’ll sleep peacefully from here until forever
instead of fighting enemies, even in your nightmares and daydreams.
I am grieving but I am blessed
that you are no longer suffering and miserable.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
For every star that whispers against
The cold December sky, there’s a wandering
Soul that tiptoes like a ballerina skates across
An icy stage before losing control underneath
The only street lamp that glared a yellow light
Up and down a short distance on the empty street.
One lost and broken body, crawling over
Paved concrete, looking for a part that hadn’t
Had the time to dry in the lukewarm sunlight.
For each shattered heart, waiting to be buried in
The wet concrete, hoping to mend its cracks
And fill its craters from too many punches to
The center of ourselves that should
Receive nothing more than love,
Will find its peace within the outside flooring
Where nothing is no longer temporary.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
There’s an infinite amount of things in this world that I’ll never understand; an enormous list of things I’ll never know the rhyme or reason behind, if there is one. I can never understand why there are days when out of the blue, watching TV downstairs, that she’ll just get up and leave the room, making an exit to our bedroom, and our bed. I’ll never understand why her brain has less chemicals than mine, why she suffers from depression, and I’m just fine.
But as I watch her crawl up the stairs slowly, I know that the tears have already began to well up in her eyes and are threatening to spill over but she’s keeping her composure as long as she can until she’s hidden away inside our room. And thirty seconds later, she’ll have unleashed the flood of salty liquid down her cheeks until they mark the pillow case with mascara and eyeliner.
And after letting her sob in a silence that she thinks I cannot hear, I’ll make my way up the stairs to find her with her back towards the door, her shoulders shaking as she tries to stop the rain from falling, hoping I’ll leave it alone and leave the room.
But it’s too much to see her fight this battle on her own. It’s too hard to see the scars she’s taken in a haste to finish the war for the night and start again unexpectedly in the future. So instead, I don’t ask her what’s wrong or why she’s crying because I know that she doesn’t even know why the tears are falling so quickly. I know that she’s just as lost as I am in this mission.
So I won’t leave the room, but I’ll lay down beside her and listen to her as she continues trying to stop her tears, the sniffling of her nose before she knows she can’t win and let’s herself go once more in the presence of me. And before long, I’ll wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her in them until she relaxes in my security.
There are things in this world that I’ll never understand, like how she can be so miserable and I can be just fine; why she was born with a brain with less chemicals than mine.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC