I'm a 40-hour a-week'er,
365 days a mommy,
But nobody calls me 'wife',
Sleepy most days,
Donuts no glaze,
Navigating a new life.

I'm [not] yours
To purchase
On sale by fifty percent.
I'm [not] yours
To review
On the five star scale.
I'm [not] yours
To ****
Your insecurities away.
I'm [not] yours
To be
Your happiness and joy.

Believe this
Or don't
I'm [not] yours.

Let's take a second
Recalibrate this conversation
You do know, right
That I am the hinge on this life
I don't want praise
Or a pat on the back
But even hinges need WD-40
From time to time.
**** it,
I need to be greased constantly
I'm needy in that way
(Therapy helps)
But look into my day-to-day:
On my left is the Wall,
My root and my reason
My family (my girls).
The Wall is permanent, important
(Those words don't do it justice)
On me it relies on necessities of life.
For that Wall, I hold the Door.
The Door on the right,
Replaceable, not solid,
It's a means (to an end)
That Door is temporary, minute
(Compared to the house)
And on me it rests, day in and day out.
On ME it rests
I  am the only hinge
The other?
We won't talk about him
But hinges only have two hands, you see
One on the wall, one on the door
I have no hands that are free
Hinges are fierce little *******
That are good at their jobs
But they age all the same

So *******.

This morning I wake on Mother's Day
My daughters are in the other room
Because in an act of true motherhood
I made a bargain for breakfast:

Give them my phone
For one more hour alone.

"Raise your hand if you're messed up".
That's what I heard but not what they said.
My hand slowly rises and they grin.
Fresh meat.
Then they proceed with uncanny resemblance to TV.

State your name, to be added to the menu.
They want more details, er ingredients.
Their eyes are locked, watching for golden brown.
Lapping lips, heads droopy and bobbing,
The blood in my neck runs cold and then clotting,

****.
This place is over-*******-flowing with vulnerability vultures.
My fight or flight kicks in and I become needlessly angry.
Why the hell am I here?
He's not my problem anymore.
Why the hell am I mad?
He's not my problem anymore.

But I sit and I listen to the  man on my right.
He shields his eyes and I know why.
The longer you sit, the longer they glare,
The longer they hope your gaze transforms
Into yet another hungry vulture's stare.

Feo

I hope this is revolting
I hope this is annoying
I hope this makes you turn up your nose
Oh reader.
I hope this is befuddled
And confusing and
All about losing
I hope this poem isn't
Rhythmically sound
Nor inspired
Not even slightly profound

This poem is reflecting
This poem is describing
This poem is actually what you see on the news
Oh reader.
This is unfair
And enslaving
Endless line of waiting
And this poem is
The non-fictious reality
Heavy with gravity.
Let that sink in,
Oh reader.

Feo means ugly

16 Psyche
Astroid king
Gravid with iron
Nimble in flight
Circumnavigate
The stars
They revere you so
Your steely frown
Rigid and dense
Elegance
Oh, Astroid King
Your story retold
Is a tragedy
Trajectory
Unknown and alone
Nebulas, they glow
For you
Satellites, they shine
For you
But I, I cry for you
Astroid King

Feet of Clay
Pierced by shards
Of broken hearts.
Diluted in pools
Of sad salt tears.
Corrugated by stones
Of heavy words.
Filthy in dust
Of acidic memories.

Until... one day...

The shards become rubies
Precious in
Their worth.
The tears become bloodlines
Precious in
Their life.
The words become peaks
Precious in
Their zenith.
The dust become evergreens
Precious in
Their hope.

A mountain has arisen
From the jumbled mound
That were Feet of Clay!
The earth may quake
The wind may roar
The mountain stands
Once Feet of Clay!
Broadly facing the storm
A fortress of stone she is!
Preserved and Honored!
Monumental and Mighty!
Bounty and Beauty!



Still...

Beneath her...

Remain...

Feet of Clay.

I'll meet you at the perigee

Where the moon meets the earth

Infinite, that moment will be

Priceless, in its worth

Looking behind me
To my speckled map:
Paths I've traveled
Treasures plucked
Darkened days,
Complete Mind-****'d.

Recollect the eyes
That've met my hazels,
The hands and finger tips
Signatures on my soul,
How love felt like wings
(Or like sinking in a sinkhole).

There are thirty years
Or 11,299 days
That feel like bricks in a bag.
Some are light
Some are sad.

At the bottom of the bag
Are four bricks I cannot reach
The beginning years
As a new earthling.
The other twenty six
Contain seven light weight bricks:
Years of joy and laughter
Of friendship and love
Years of belonging
And stories thereof.

The rest of the bricks:
Nineteen
Are labeled lonely and
Dark and heavy and
Soaking wet
(if bricks can be that)
With salt water tears.
So many so many years.

So here I stand
At life's rest stop no less
To unpack these bricks
My shoulders bare indents
That breath as I undress
Because the bricks are my story
But armor I wear as well.
My heart thuds thuds thuds
Within my protected
Chest citadel.
Unleash and unload
Review and reconcile
Ask myself if ANY OF THIS
Is ******* worthwhile.

I need to stay at this stop
'N take time to ponder
Before I resume
My lonely wander.
I need to learn to love you,
Solitary life.
Then I will succumb
To be your wife.

I've been cursed by a witch,
blessed by a pope,
traveled the seven seas,
cheated death thrice,
angel-saved twice,
and now reside in Tennessee.

Tightrope
Living on the line
Plummet
Noose of twine.

Nomadic traveler
No roots to grip
I won't be here long
because because
That's who I am:
A ship without a port
Dropping an anchor
But for a moment
because because
That's what it does:
Pata de perro
Laps water by tongue
Until the bowl is dry
because because
That's why it walks:
The tide rolls forever
Stretching for moon
Never can reach
because because
That's how I'm cursed.

2 adults strong,
2 little girls silly,
My family adds up to 4,
Reading all day,
Pictures I take,
New adventures galore.

I've been reintroduced to the Night.
I saw him roll in from the east,
Bringing the deepest blue velvet to
Penetrate the cracks in the pavement.
Midas' touch undone.

The golden people unfastened their masks
And hang them in the sky.
Thoughts of their vices occupy their minds.
Resume the hunt.

The lonely ghosts blend into indigo shadows
But I see them nonetheless.
Solemn faces with glassy eyes,
A heart that pumps no blood.
No one offers what they truly want.
Resume the show.

The innocent, they rest in their beds,
While we inhale the breath of Night,
Intoxicate to liberate, quickly now!
Before the morning comes.

The hallways were clogged,
Like a fat man's arteries.

I never remember
my dreams
but three nights ago
I dreamt a
disturbing
dream
about a car accident.
In my dream
I watched a
bride and her groom
get plowed
over by a
runaway truck.
(I think it's odd
that I want a truck
so bad.
Don't you think
that's odd?)
The mother wailed
blood was on the asphalt
the sirens screamed in my ear
but they didn't arrive
in time.
I just watched
the gore.
Just stared while
their hearts
stopped beating
and air
stopped flowing
through the places
it should flow.

Then I woke up and
have been disturbed
by my dream
ever since.

I dreamt that dream
three night ago.

Look, dude.
I'm not here for you.
You have dibs,
That's only fair.
You were first,
But let me share.
Don't read mine,
I won't read yours.
None of it mattered
At all, of course.
It won't stick.
Nothing does.
Fleeting interest.
Kind of like us.

Alkaline life
Is the way I survive
On the opposite side
Of acid
And passion
And cyanide.

Stay numb
And untouched
Because to
Confront
Would disrupt

My carefully
Fastened and
Self-chasten'd
Masking

Which I use
To Basic-ally
Bleed

If the color of my bruise
Was the color of the horizon
With clouds my shade of olive
I might hold your gaze
When you say: you're my favorite
shade of purple blue and gray.
And to me that would
Be divine.

How easy it must be to direct
Another in the steps they take in life
You sitting safely on the other side
So quick to build a divider
Making wider the berth you give
A life you've never live'd
And so easy it must be
To hide the gurney, pass out flack
Friendly stabbing her in the back.

I'm that girl
Who stopped going to church
because of the color of the band
Wrapped around my finger.
Everyone's band was gold
But my fleshy band is white.
Yeah, I'm that girl
Who has two babies of her own,
Both of whom have birds nest hair
And trail blankets to my room.
Their toes are always cold
When we cuddle thru the night.
I'm the girl
Who doesn't believe the words
Of men who want to sleep in
Her bed.
She doesn't wear makeup.
"You don't need it" they all said.
I'm that girl
Who ***** at figuring out life
Or taking a hint
Or making the jump
But **** I'm good to run
(Keep people away, love at bay)
I'm also that girl
Whose world revolves around
Two little Suns that shine
Let them shine and shine and shine
And I'll take any of their hurt
It will be mine and mine and mine.
I'm THAT girl.