Adulthood is falsehood.
I remember at the darkest,
hearing a voice other than my mother's,
mantra repeated for knife-depraving comfort,
keeping nails away from face.
I thought it should be the voice
of the woman who held me against her breast
who bore me through blood and near-death.
The voice seemed more woman than my mother.
The deep, solid, earthy voice of iron eyes and earthen hands
rough tenderness of nature,
the comfort of Eve
made woman, never born child.
But I suppose she understood better than we
innocence lost.
My mother has the fragility of spun sugar,
But steel bent will--
I realize there is still the scared child
buried in her heart
and I see the same reflection of me in the mirror.
Buck-toothed, grass haired, round faced, and wide eyed.
I wonder if I will ever feel fully woman.
Or if we're all just scared children.
Powerful and powerless
as the girl building sandcastles
holding dominion
till the tides of time bear them away.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
If you believe in happy endings,
I believe in love.
I believe the Universe is sending
Singnals from above.
All my emotions I wear on my sleeve.
From the start I knew that I would grieve.
Promises were made to break.
How much more can one heart take
From you.
Oh, you
Think nothing more will come of Tears
Than water-shedding through the years with you.
I am the one who can see
The depth beyond your narrow need.
Denials that you always claim
Never live up to their fame.
We lie in bed at night and cry.
Silent tears, my lullaby.
I wonder ever when the lies will end,
As we continue to pretend,
We cycle through the lies again,
and again,
and again.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
Don't approach a dog unknown to you
Holding out your hand, making eye contact
You may frighten him
Let him come to you
Don't write a poem uninspired
It won't work out
In good time
Let it come to you
Don't go out there seeking love
Like a child with a butterfly net
Live your life
Let it come to you
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.
As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.
You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.
Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.
Although the last sentence
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.
Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.
You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book
Was your favorite story
All along.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
Today the number is 59
I can talk about the chills he gives me
down my spine
or how the beauty of his eyes
should be a crime
I can talk about how he makes all the stars
in the night sky shine
or about how he takes my breath away
Every **** Time
But tonight let's talk about
why I chose this rhyme
I am moving in with this boy in days
counting down from 59
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC