Dream big! Reach for the Stars! The world is your oyster!
The worth of a woman is measured by the size of her dreams, not her dress
Independent, validated, empowered, accomplished, worldly
more than a man
more than others
more than herself
she is her dreams
Well, of course I like chocolate, *****
But I'm waking up and realizing that my dream could involve falling asleep next to this man
No, Grandma, he is not a pastor
but he makes me believe in God
he maketh me lie down in Green Pastures
completely different than the city sidewalks that I wanted to own like a Runway
now I'm okay with wearing flat shoes and cotton flower dresses
while still vocalizing what I want as a woman because holy **** he actually wants to hear it
There is no valley of death here
this is not the valley of death
I am not bereaving myself
I am becoming myself
If I said it was perfect I wouldn't be taking it seriously
For example, he's so terrible at planning things
But he makes up for it by making me plan things that I never knew I wanted for myself
You think you have it all figured out and then someone comes along and they like the way that your hair curls even when you haven't washed it
And you can't help but wonder why
This Is A Love Like the Wind but not the kind that blows you away
This is a love that determines weather patterns
Like that butterfly who ***** his wings in Baltimore
and it causes a tornado in Topeka
Your ship is built to sail through life
And then you invite them on board just for a little while
because your quarters are cramped and you don't have a lot of money or items to trade and barter
And surprise! There's a storm they help you weather through
And you look around and suddenly you have all the space in the world for them
Date someone who says you're beautiful when you first wake up in the morning
Did someone who makes you cry... Tears of happiness
Did someone who looks at you like Brazilians look at Beyonce
Well **** I got all of this and I got a man who makes me feel calm
He makes my neurotic *** feel calm
Like I can fall asleep while God floods the Earth and I'll wake up to a rainbow and a dove
Your dreams are not currency
The best part about them is that you get to determine the value
Nothing is lost until you say it is
Nothing is gained until you say it is
The world is my oyster? Well I hate oysters.
But that won't stop me from making a ******* pearl necklace
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
He went from stone to telling me he loves me in his sleep
And I couldn't look into his eyes until recently because it meant that I had to accept my own mortality
Not because he's going to **** me
But because I'll never truly know what's on the other side
They're blue and that's all I know and it keeps me starving and satisfied and scared and safe
He's my safe space. The kind that ****** off our baby boomer parents
He'll call you by your preferred pronouns. He'll celebrate your womanhood. He is the painting session that's offered instead of the midterm exam
My only worry with him is that my hair is frizzy and my lipstick is faded
I don't even worry about his roommate hating me when I visit because of our sighing and the bed squeaking
I'm at a place in my life where I wonder how high I can go at this point but if he is my anchor, the view is just fine
If he is my anchor, I'm not drowning at all
If he is my anchor, he'll lift me higher because he likes that I'm tall
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
Do you know what time it is?
Is it springtime? It tastes like springtime in every word I wish I could say to you, but I choke on petals and potting soil in the meantime.
Is it Sunday morning? It tastes like Sunday morning every time I speak your ancient name that led me out of Egypt.
Is it naptime? It feels like naptime in every toss and turn I take, even though when we lay down, we don’t usually rest.
Do you know what time it is?
You don’t wear a watch. But if you did, it would probably be a Casio watch. Because you’re subdued and kind of smokey and there’s nothing shiny about you
Until you laugh from the pit of your stomach and I feel like I’m home.
You don’t wear a watch. And I’m glad because it shows off your arms more. You don’t need to cover them up and you actually don’t need to cover anything up, ever.
Wait. Is it naked time?
Do you know what time it is?
Is it dinner time? Like the time when you smeared barbecue sauce on my face and got away with it?
Is it wintertime? You make me feel kind of warm inside.
Is it bedtime? Because even though your eyes are the color of ice and your spine is made of steel and your biceps feel like bricks, you are the softest and gentlest person there is.
I’m afraid that the clock will strike twelve and you’ll see that I’m just a maid in rags who has mice for friends. And that I am actually not a princess.
I’m just a girl with a funny name who has completely lost track of the time.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
i used to be real tough.
i killed the spiders. i’d scream ****** ****** while doing it but i’d **** them with my bare hands wrapped around a can of raid.
my pillows took the punches of my powerless days. i showed my mirror the pride of my powerful ones.
and my days were measured in buying the dress because it was ten dollars. and not buying the dress because it was ten dollars.
and then you showed up.
and you told me that my smile was a million dollars.
and then i melted all over the god **** floor.
shit. what is happening to me? i’m breaking out in a cold sweat.
somebody give me a bill to pay. give me a meal to cook with only three usable ingredients. give me a life insurance policy to read and a car title to transfer.
me? a million dollars? wow....you really thi—SHUT UP
you need to shut up. with your biceps and your goofy cowlick.
because i have a meeting to go to. i have deadlines to meet.
and even though you called me a princess and no one has ever called me that before because i’m too big and tall and clumsy and loud and weird looking
hearing you say that made me want to be held, made me want to make you a nice dinner, made me want to wear a pretty dress and tell you about my most powerful and powerless days as you wrap your arms around me
me!!!
who used to be real tough
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
I. Midas
i like to look at your picture because it reminds me that you are just a man
your hands have handed me horseradish and hard liquor and you’re about as chatty as the women on the view but it's great because i'm totally into this view
and ohio was gray until out of the blue, you touched me and i turned to gold
---
II. Indianapolis
i want to rage so hard in this life
i want to be so exhausted from living that i don’t even have the urge to fight back on my death bed
and i’ll be too worn out to walk into heaven that the angels will have to carry me in
only to have peter push me through the drop door and i’ll plummet straight into purgatory
which i’m convinced is the state of indiana
where there’s inexplicable construction funded by taxes from the four people who live there
inconveniencing all the rest of us who are just passing through
peeing in your roadside wallpapered bathrooms and marveling at your cows of many colors
the loudest noise in indiana is probably me screaming
it’s like each telephone pole took two days off my life
but i lived it. if driving through indiana meant giving life a chance, fine. i found a vegan restaurant in indianapolis and i got lost in indianapolis and i hated the fact that i got overwhelmed in indianapolis
but god put it there. so while the angels escort me towards the drop door, my legs will be too sore from LIVING my LIFE and i can turn around and look at peter and say have fun standing in the same place on your stupid pink cloud and before i know it i’ll land with a thud in a truck stop on I-70W surrounded by billboards advertising breakfasts and best westerns
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s his hands, it’s his name
that drags you into the game and drives you insane
he’s the stillness of a summer day in the backseat of your chevrolet
he’s red white and blue, what you could sink your teeth into
he’s the notes you pass discreetly in the church pew
the flush in your face when you think of his grace
though your socks, shirts, and keys are all over the place
your toes grip the edge of the diving board
and time will tell if you end up getting bored
of wet hair and burnt skin before you find another pool to jump in
sneaking out the back door, waking up and wanting more
wondering what the hell you’re keeping it a secret for
school’s out, you’re an open book
the shades are off for a second look
at a report card of your failing grades
and the map you carved in his shoulder blades
you’re two halves that don’t fit the whole
may god have mercy upon your soul
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
i’ve found my peace in the pieces of pennsylvania
underneath blue collar crowns and in the reflection of pittsburgh plate glass
and in the dark damp basements where i got really drunk
in the homes where the men from the mills raised their families
i can still hear my television technician telling me that i’m a good girl
and he made me believe it. in my bedtime prayers and in my sunday best, i believed it with all my heart
which i followed down route 22 and into centre county
where the amazing grace of a mifflin county man saved a wretch like me
and i spent last summer on a soul sister’s bed as the sun set over the susquehanna valley
i found treasure in pennsylvania and i never even had to pick up a shovel
i just had to pick up
the interstate was a pearly gate into being born again.
pennsylvania still waits for me and saves a place at her table
and no matter how many miles or mistakes i make, i’ll have my television technician and my soul sister and my heaven-sent kevin
i’ll have pittsburgh plate glass and the public broadcasting service
i’ll have blue collar crowns and all american towns but not enough money for the homecoming gown
but that’s okay. pennsylvania thinks i’m pretty anyway.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
i’ve been sick a lot this year. like, little kid sick. with the kind of cough that only a sick little kid would have.
and it’s 2016 and i’m congested in my infested sad grad bachelorette pad. and if i’ve taught myself anything, it’s how to take care of myself. if that’s what too much netflix and not enough water means then i’m a ********* doctor.
my hair is unwashed and my face is about twelve difference colors. and i conclude that yes, i am in fact too gross for groceries.
so today i don’t think i have any tools to collect the courage to talk to the cute boy at the deli even though i’m vegetarian so perhaps it’s not meant to be.
and it’s hot in here. the taste in my mouth is familiar, and i close my eyes trying to place it. through the ringing in my ears at the bathroom sink, i can hear 1996 and you’re there on the phone
and i’m on the couch and you’re not checking on me but you’re balancing your checkbook. tom brokaw on nbc is telling me everything that’s wrong with the world but i hear you laughing and that tells me everything is right.
and the sourness in my stomach makes me think of the suspense of a summer storm. and before tom holden on wkbn turns it over to weather, you tell me that it’s going to rain because the leaves are turning over. and you turned off the tv and you turned on the radio and you lit a cigarette and even though you were out of your suit and in your gym shorts, you looked like the most learned man in the world.
and i open my eyes and i look in the mirror and there you are, staring back at me. it’s even more glaring when i’m tired. you cant make eye contact with me in person anymore but you can't beat the mirror. at least with the magic of a mascara wand i can see the parts of you i want to see.
my stomach turns a little more at the thought of how many times the world has turned since 1996.
whenever it rains in the summer. or i find a picture of you laughing. or chicago comes on the radio, i forget everything you’ve ever done. and you’re the person i want to be again.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
welcome home!
i don’t have money for balloons but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, white and yellow might be just enough color to welcome you back to northeast ohio.
it’s a nice contrast. against the grey sky and the grey grass and the grey trees and my greying hair.
but enough about me. tell me what you’ve seen.
you’ve seen the pyramids and the pyrenees and the pygmies and the phillipines and i’ve seen pennsylvania and passed through Paris township
you’ve seen thailand and i’ve seen a therapist
you’re taking your life as far as you can take it and i take a pill because there are times when i just can’t take anything but enough about me
welcome home
i don’t have money for flowers but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, we could take a drive while you talk to me about all the girls you’ve seen.
the ones who are prettier than me with beautiful accents while my tongue is heavy with the cleveland “A” and my hair is turning grey and i’m starting not to wear so much makeup but you won’t notice anyway
you’ve crossed mongolia while i threw pennies in the monongahela
you’ve leaned your head on the wailing wall and i’ve leaned my head on my bathroom wall, wailing because i actually wanted you after all
i looked so beautiful that day and you know it. i looked at the mirror and thanked god for giving me at least one day.
and then i looked at you and i cursed him for not giving me at least one more.
welcome home.
i don’t have any plans but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, we could end up wherever you wanted.
i don’t know what the roads you’ve been on were lined with, with but here they’re lined with telephone lines and cash advances, even though no one talks to each other and we’re not advancing on anything, let alone cash
things haven’t changed. except my hair is getting gray but you’ve known me for twenty years, it was bound to happen someday. and i’ve decided that not wearing a lot of eye makeup is okay because i can see my family every day that way
but enough about me. tell me what you see.
i don’t have any place to be.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:44 AM UTC
there’s this invisible gremlin with his hands around my neck and yes, i say HIS because yes, he’s a man, what else would a gremlin be.
he’s got his hands around my neck and he has another set of hands around my arms. and my eyes are locked with his and i'm entranced.
i wish i could say he was as beautiful as vishnu with his four arms and enchanting mystique. but i wouldn’t be caught dead praying to this guy.
he pulls my hair and he grabs at my ankles and don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for that. but this is always at the most inopportune moment. because while i’m running away, he calls out to me,
“hey! remember how terrible you are? remember how you’re actually incapable of doing anything? remember how literally no one likes you?”
and i freeze in my tracks and i look around hysterically, begging that no one heard him. and i open my mouth to say something but he’s throwing pencils at my head like nate in my civics class and what did i ever do to you, nate?
my brother likes to remind me that he cried on the homecoming court and i wish i could say that i felt vindicated but ever since i felt the eraser hit my temple, i realized i should probably keep my mouth shut because these linoleum halls are run by basketball shorts and beauty queens, not band geeks
nate threw pencils at my head. he didn’t put his hands around my neck. he wouldn’t be caught dead touching someone like me.
this invisible gremlin is all over me. and i’m kind of indifferent because i love any kind of attention. he bought me so many drinks in college and i thought, for a while, it was a good system. we’d drink and we’d dance and we’d follow those adult rules of not talking about work or family while having fun.
and then the next day, he’d hit me in the face as sharp as the wind on wood street. “remember, you’re in love with someone who doesn't love you.” “remember, you’re too awkward to get past the job interview.”
he keeps me up all hours of the night wanting more from me and my muscles are tense but with no touch of intimacy.
i’ve spent my whole life being the tallest girl in the room but he has his shoe right over my head. people watch as he brings me to my knees and they STILL ask me why i’m always apologizing.
it took me years and years to end up realizing that i was apologizing for him. like an exhausted midlifer apologizing for her ******* husband. but my favorite stories are the ones where she gets a fresh haircut and a new dress and she realizes she’s worth more than Bud Weiser hollering at her from the recliner and then she writes a new ending for herself.
so thanks for the pencil.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC