It’s been 17 years since your birth
Yet there isn’t a number to describe what your worth
It is more than the count of curls on your head
More than the amount of books that you’ve read
You could count all the stars and they wouldn’t compare
To the kindness you give and the love that you share
I’ll wish you much luck when you travel around
And when your head’s in the clouds don’t forget to look down
Because we’ll lose our smiles
But we’ll see yours for miles
What’s special about you, Gillian, my love
Well it’s just that, it’s your love

My boy told me the other day
That he didn’t have a mother
He only had a babysitter

I say my boy--
The boy at my daycare
The boy with seven siblings
Ripped from five of them
Gained another in the process
Losing mothers like pencils

The mother he has now is a teacher,
No summer job,
But four foster kids to her name
Her summers are free
Her pockets are full
But my boys

They’re still in daycare
Six to six
Or longer
They come with bagged eyes
one in pull ups at the age of five
My boys

Their sister's in the other room
Their mother sits at home
Alone
Doing nothing
Probably drinking
Or anything but mothering

Right now
She’s out of town
There’s a babysitter at home
She picks them up late and drops them off early
They're cranky
And tired
They're getting six hours of sleep
Plus one at naptime

My boys never sleep at nap time
None of them but Isaiah
Isaiah
He loves to talk about his home
Not where they sleep at night
But at home
In Africa
He’ll tell you if you ask
It’s beautiful to hear
The joy filling his face is fixating

But then you see his legs
How they wobble in at the knees
When you see how he sleeps
He rocks himself the whole time
Rocking even through his dreams
It’s all from the orphanage.
The workers couldn’t help him to sleep.
He just turned five.
He starts kindergarten soon,
And he just learned how to spell his name
Everyone else here can read all the names
His and theirs
My boys

I love them with everything I have
And they know that,
But I leave soon.
In a few weeks we all go to school
I’ve been doing this for years, but them,
They haven’t
It’s their first
And I’ll pray
But I hate that all I can do is pray
They deserve more than that.
They deserve attention and love
They deserve hope and security
I can only hope that the next teacher will give that to them
To my boys
To my wonderful boys...

I'm sitting in the car
I'm sitting in the dark
I don't want to go in
to leave this place
this safe space
I want to curl into a ball
to leave
to go somewhere else
Why?
I don't know
my home isn't broken
the people in that house aren't hurting
but I don't want to be in that place
not even in my bed
in my room
alone

I'm sitting in my car
I'm sitting in the dark
staring at the light soaking through the walls
stress hanging from the rooftop like christmas *****
I just want the dark
the small dark
somewhere else
anywhere else
the lights look like spotlites
I don't want spotlites
I want small dark and alone
I want away
far away
to escape
somewhere they can't find me
where they'll never find me

I'm sitting in the floor under my stearing wheel
I'm depressing into the dark

Open your hands slowly towards each other
fingers reaching like lost lovers
each with their own soulmate
they meet each other with a kiss
no lust
just love,
slowly trembling to each other
embracing in a long hug.
comforting
wrapping around each other

it's silent
They're holding each other in safety
the manner of love to attain to
like a dance in the dim
of pure,
Shown,
but unspoken,
love.

Everyday
she watches him
her eyes stuck
becoming a role model
for the glue of his shoes
the glue  he practically pours on
it's trying to hold all those pieces together
the pieces falling like crushed leaves from a set of hands
it knew it had a job to do
like a mother trying to hold her family together
she doesn't have enough arms to reach out to every person who needs holding
to work her 9 to 5
to pay the bills
to take care of her parents
one of whom has forgotten her name
to pretend that her marriage is fine...
for the kids sake.
the kids who watch her sulking eyes on the way to daycare
and yes she's been told that only ****** mother's put their kids in
          daycare
but that's all she can do
so shut up
just shut up

it's like the high school girl
trying to hold her heart together
it's been broken...
like the shoes
the ones on the boys feet

Can’t I be thankful for pomegranates?
The setting of such a royal fruit on my table
I am so lucky
to be able to decorate the holiday table with such a royal fruit
I am thankful for pomegranates.

Is there a correct set of words,
To describe my relationship with God?
Because the words I’ve settled on don’t portray the magnitude of my emotions

Those words begin…

God is there
I know this because of the flowers
The way that earth is balanced
How pine-cones, leaves, and petals follow the Fibonacci sequence.
How the stars make me feel so…
Surrounded
And never bore me
No matter how many hours I stare into the heavens beautiful eyes

I know God is there
But I often don’t see him.
The funny thing is,
I know how wonderful it is to see
and to know him.
So the times I doubt him the most,
Are the times I serve him the most
the time that I strive to create the most disciples

God is a funny being.
We know nearly nothing about him
Yet so many of us know him
And we know him by different names
And different faces
Isn’t that funny?
Isn’t it all so funny?

Did you know,
Boys from other countries don't think girls have cooties
in 7th grade that sounded great
Because ‘Lee’ Wasn't scared to stand close to me
or admit that he lied to me
okay maybe not all foreign men were like this,
but he was
it made me feel empowered when a boy like me like this
I felt like,
“yeah, I did this to you”
“I have the power to make you feel this way”
“I am that ******* awesome”

You know what else made me feel
“that ******* awesome”
A school dance
or any kind of dancing for that matter
nothing could bring me down from that high

dancing was never a thing reserved for one person
dancing was for friends
Was for anyone I could drag onto the dance floor
Who would move with me
even if the movements are few and far between
even if the movements didn't look pretty at all
we were dancing
and we would all night

‘Lee’ went to that dance
that 7th grade dance
Right after football practice
he came in late
found me on the Dance Floor
captured me
took me hostage
We did not dance
he sat on the bench

he sat way too close, on the bench
The dance was no longer for friends
it was not for dancing
the dance was now for fake smiles
fake laugh
pretending not to be uncomfortable
not to want to shed the layer of skin he was touching
Choking down the icy pop he bought
I don't eat icy Pops

There was no Rescue Mission
only uncomfortable stairs
uncomfortable hugs
Uncomfortable conversations
Uncomfortable,
favorite/not-favorite part of the year

Did you,
know boys from other countries
can intimidate
a girl with the world at the tip of her fingers
A girl with a glass half-full,
heart overflowing,
selfless,
Pure,
Altitude.
Clean,
Mind.

Did you know a boy who isn't scared to Hold Your Hand
isn't scared to make you uncomfortable.

Hold my hand
sit near me
let me sink into your lap
just please don't leave me alone with my thoughts
or lack thereof

You see,
if you leave.
my head will not scatter into a million deadly shards
it will do quite the opposite
it will collapse

whatever you do, don't leave me,
not now.
you see if you leave
I lose my sanity
I lose my restraint

the second you turn your head and walk out that door
my eyes will well
my heart  will lose its rhythm
My hands  will shake
and my breath won't be able to claw its way up my throat anymore.

You don't have to say anything
you don't have to do anything
just please don't leave
I'm scared of what happens when you leave --
please don't leave...

Thank you mom

for using harsher words,
than the boys in middle school did

for teaching me to love myself,
and then **** shaming me

I should let you know that all the boys at school were joking,
but from the tone in your voice I knew that you weren't

Thank you Mom

for bringing up impossible conversations,
in situations where I can't escape

like that lovely conversation in the car,
on the way home from school

the one about birth control,
when I desperately tried voice my opinion for the hundredth time

hoping that maybe you'd finally understand,
there was no need for it

nothing good or helpful came from it,
only inconvenience and discomfort

Thank you Mom

for leaving me stripped and naked,
with a spotlight shining on me

there's nowhere to go,
nowhere but out the car door onto the highway

that actually didn't seem like a bad option,
I always have preferred blood to tears

Thank you Mom

for expressing how you,
“don't want to raise your grandchild”

it's like, when I said I'm waiting,
it went through one ear and out the other, for the hundredth time

Thank you Mom

for giving me so much confidence,
and then taking it back, More easily than you gave it to me

Thank you Mom

for giving me such confidence,
that I'm a disappointment

Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful nail bed?

I was once told that if you give people compliments they don't usually receive they'll remember you better
So...

Has anyone ever told you that the freckles on your cheeks remind them of the Galaxy in the sky?
The galaxies that I thank God for every night because they're how I know that there's something bigger than me out there.

Has anyone ever told you the waves in your hair remind them of the Fibonacci spiral?
The one found in flower petals.
The one that so perfectly balances Beauty and nature and science.

Has anyone ever told you that your deep brown eyes look like they hold all of Earth's purity?

And that the Shimmer in them looks just like the Moon's bright light?
It isn't actually shining itself, but whose light comes from something much bigger
and much brighter
and much More Beautiful, than the tiny glimpse of light seen.

Has anyone ever told you that when they see the Shimmer in your eyes they know that the reflected light is coming from your soul?
That it is so bright
and so beautiful
and so endless, that it has found a way to shine into your eyes and out into mine.

Has anyone ever told you that watching you love something is addictive?
Seeing The Unbroken attention
time
and heart, you put into it is mesmerizing.

Has anyone ever told you that your lips look as soft as silk?

Has anyone ever told you that your hug feels like it could cure a heart attack?
The way you're so calm and so warm.

Has anyone ever told you, that they want you to remember them?

It was always so beautiful
Was love at first laugh
Always constant, always there
So much love, so much lust
Beautiful Love, Beautiful lust

When I Love You-
you’ll know it.
I’ll hand myself over like a bird.
you’ll have to care for me,
because I can break.
you can crush me, in your hands, if you want
but I-am trusting
I am not-naive
no,
I know what COULD happen
I am loving,
because in spite of it,
I hand myself over.

When I Love You-
you’ll know it.
I will become a collection of all your lost parts.
I will continue organizing your memories until I am your own
     personal encyclopedia
your secrets I will share with no one
your fears
your likes and dislikes
your history
no one
you, and only you, will have the key.

When I Love You-
you’ll know it.
I’ll sing a song of “I love you’s”
because the thought of you not knowing that I do
scares me-
more than anything.
ok-
Almost-anything

When I Love You-
you’ll know it.
because of that one thing that I am so scared of
I’m scared when you’re all gone.
when I’m not near anyone I love it really really scares me
and this has effected my actions and personality so, that…

When I Love You-
you’ll know it.
because I will cling to any part of you that I can hold onto
and when I’m not doing that,
I will grab your arm
or your hand
or touch your cheek shoulder something anything
because I am reaching past your skin
through your muscle
the heat of your body is not what I am craving
it is more than the touch of your skin I am looking for
I need your soul.
to hear the words that language can not form,
the connection…

Haven’t you ever touched someone,
and heard a story?
heard the words you needed to hear
felt safe?
not because the skin you are touching is strong,
not because you know it will protect you
just because,
you’re touching it
you’re hearing their story
because their words surround you like a blanket.
they block everything else out.

So when I touch you-
when I Love You,
please don’t run away so fast.
let me hear your story.
let me feel safe.
because no matter how long it’s actually been,
a month
a year
to me
it was an eternity
of being in the cold
of being in the snow-
without my blanket…



               I don’t know... why I am like this,
               why I…
               Love, like, this
               but I promise you,
               when I Love You-
               you’ll know it.

I keep finding peaches
Peaches
I don't think it's possible to not smile when you say the word
they turn my cheeks the same color as their skin
it makes me grin and laugh to see them sunbathing on the banister
lining the window sills like shining trophies
on my porch like children climbing to Set upon the tallest object They can find
beaming as children do

Maybe it's cuz I grew up in the south
Knowing you have to set them out And wait for them to be soft to
     the touch
let them ripen in the Sun so you can then pick your fruit that up
     until now has been forbidden
it's like a little fuzzy ball of gold Sunshine warming your face and
     your mouth
I love the word peaches

maybe it's the memory,
the name,
Peaches
“chin up, peaches”
it carrie's such an innocence such a light-hearted, free-spirited
     happiness.
something warm and welcoming and something I could only find at home

maybe it's the breakfast
peaches and cream
three ingredients
so happy, so creamy, so sweet, smooth, summary, comforting
it's what my grandma would give me
so sugary, yet so filling
it reminds me of her
it tastes how she act
it is her hyperbole
peaches and cream is a grandmother
it's as sweet as her voice
as comforting as her touch
as filling as her hug
and as smooth as her skin.

maybe it's all three
either way
this time of Peach field windowsills will come again next year
and the year after that
and the year after that
until I am the grandmother they represent
and every year, I will smile.

I wear no sunglasses that Shield my
   eyes from the realities
       of this world
that put a Valencia filter over the
    things that I see or a sensor
        over the things that I hear.
I do not push the news stations
    through a small strainer only
        allowing the ”easy to
             handle”  stories to reach my
                 cup for me to consume.
I know that red is this world's favorite
    acrylic,
black it's favorite oil paint,
and blue it's favorite watercolor.
the painting of our world has red
    splattered across every
        building and seeping out of every
            wrist,
black in every sidewalk crack, every
     alleyway, and across
         every, screaming, mouth,
and blue welling in every eye.
I know this, but I have ripped the tape
    from my mouth, bandaged my
        wrists, and wiped my eyes
I have become comfortable.
opening my mouth
Like pulling the trigger of a gun
Aimed at anyone trying to Paint those
    colors back into my life
shooting their thoughts down making
    pastel bullet holes so the light can
         shine in.
I have become too comfortable.

I only come to this realization when I
    hear gunshots coming from a hand
        who does not know what it is
              holding
when I hear seemingly Innocent
     Voices say
“Well, why does it even matter,
if you've given a blow-job before, what's the hesitation to doing it  
     again?”
“ Because I said no.”
“ But you've already done it, before.”

I've told you, I do not wear filtered
     glasses.
but sometimes I forget that people are
     programmed with black paint on
          their brushes ready to cover over
               your mouth again.
I remember that as soon as I learned
     to rip the tape from my mouth
I realize that I can't just watch them
      bring the tape closer until they
           push it over my lips
I have to scream, as soon as I see it,
Because that is what my mouth is for.
And I have to fight to keep it of,
because that is what my hands and
      wrists are for.
And I have to look- not like the prey
      trying to stay out of sight,
but like a warrior with eyes like
       swords
and a mouth...
like a gun.