I'm not insecure. I'm jealous and unrightfully so. You're not mine.  I'm jealous of anyone who catches your eye, I'm jealous of anyone who snags your attention. I'm jealous of the ones who take your time. I'm insanely jealous of anyone who makes you smile, feel, live more than I do. I have 41 days, 16 hours and approximately 32 minutes left here. I completely understand that you would not want to commit to that, to me when I will be 800 miles away. But I'm still here for now. I'm here now. Make these moments count. These should be what matter. Don't be scared, because you know I'm going to leave please. I just want to love you deeper than anyone else has, or will. Why can't you let me?

I love you onion
I'll tell you why
in part because
you make me sigh,
you are everything to me
the song my Mother sang...
a whimsical, sad
and poignant little tale
I hear you crooning
& the radio tuning
my Mother knew me better
than I'd like to think,
singing ...
Lonely 'Lil petunia in an onion patch
a bittersweet memory
of all the saddest words
that I have ever heard
the saddest is the story
told me by a bird
tears fall from a pungent smell
when I cannot forgive,
say you'll never tell
and in tears of laughter  
when I'm tickled
seeing the inchworm
in the shape of a finger
a moment comes,
  I stay
and linger
climbing like a spider
singing me a verse
Spent about an hour
chatting with a flower
and here's the tale he told
as you're peeling layers,
& hearing prayers
revealing honesty
and depth of flavor
intoxicating waifs
I sniff and savor
kept safe
by a sturdy skin
cooking you
I start, begin
chopped fresh
and finely diced
or maybe
even thinly sliced
for summertime
franks, not the
Ballpark kind
these I doubt
you'll ever find
homemade baked beans
that you adorn and grace
a smiling sweet,
lil' onion face
everything made
from scratch
gleaning my
lil' onion patch
in toasted rolls,
whole grain mustard
potato salad...
best I can recall
my Mother
took the time to make
in everything
she cooked and baked
you're in all my memories
though you're in so much more
I've never shared with you
this love I have before
Onions are adaptation at its finest
fresh, sauteed with butter
translucent sweetness
Elevating anything you touch
they cry, and laugh
and give so much
dried, grated..slightly dated...
even hated, chopped up..
or roasted, grilled...
so very skilled
any way you slice it
even if you dice it
differently delightful
and delicious
smart for recipes,
even onion haters
appreciate the graters
sometimes your in  disguise
a lovely found
& welcome surprise
must be
I have something
in my eyes
as the flower
continues to sing
a joyful gift
my onion brings
familiar sounds
songs I sing
petunia continues
who put me in this bed
I'll bet his face is red
I call him down
with every teardrop that I shed
  then she said
if only I had him here
I would take him by his ear
and make him share my misery
I'm cooking homemade
onion chips,
rewound on old-time family clips
recall the fresh-squeezed lemonade
while we're sittin' in
the cooling shade
a memory of you replayed
so very glad you came & stayed
  sippin' slow brewed iced tea
my lil' onion friend and me.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

**** was I ever involved into something
That felt a bit more meaningful
Than day after day after day spinning this wheel
Like a **** idiotic squirrel
But I sure can face paint for three hours
At some god forsaken block party
Simply not to engage into any shallow conversations
Eat a full meal
And get lice...
Yes, it wasn't a misspelled
Love
Could someone come scratch my head please?

i was screaming,
right out loud,
as loud
as i could.

crying for
my gramma,
because she
is gone,
and she is
someone that
i loved.

and as
i was screaming
her name,
my phone lit up,
vibrated,
and made a sound.

it was my sister.
and at that moment
my little ham,
my own little nephew,
blood of my blood
had realized
that he was
going to
die
someday.

and now i
can't breathe,
for the absolute
severing of my heart.