I am an optimist but under stress I am Pessimistic

It is Christmas in July
The neighbor's having  BBQ's
Inviting not just a few, but as many as they can fit
To roast Smores and sing songs around the fire pit
They even gave a poor boy a soft ball mitt
They fed some local homeless men and women too
They also inspired some random acts of kindness
I hope the trend spreads like wildfire
It is a wonderful time to put aside any family feuds
I don't know if the story will make the news

It is really up to me and you, to make it Christmas In July and all year too!

Some people close to me are concerned that I might get too lonely
I don't fear loneliness because I know
The worst kind of loneliness of all is feeling lonely in a crowd

I am not a concept.
I am not an idea.
I am a woman,
with eyes that see yours wandering up and down my body.
And ears that hear the calls from across the street.
I am not a prize,
to be won by the strongest competitor.
I am a woman,
with ******* not for your entertainment.
And legs longer than your desire.
I have feelings,
even when I'm not on my period.
One day I hope to find someone that can respect my body as it's meant to be,
and not as a blow doll that's kept in the closet until he's ***** and needs something to ****.
I am a woman.

not every poem is about beauty
too caught we are in the moment to write about it
that is what makes it beautiful
pain clings long beyond instants
prolongs and window reflections
engulfing our bones
masticating our stomachs
from slow drip bile coffeemakers in our chest
the line from that one song starts the burning
and the eyes of a stranger flavored with reminders
i wish i could tell him i finally got to ____
my blood is chunked with tomato slices
acidic clots and stagnant passions
float me in melancholy perplexities
a minute of oddity where emotions
are unidentifiable

Abandoned mind,
Reflection absent, ceasing,
Identity adrift.

Self-loathing, in all of its malignancy, whispers
"You're worthless,  just like him!"
my chest constricts, my ribs prison to a heart
that refuses to pound its percussive rhythm

The summer's dying!
the summer's dying!  
and I, I am a rose
shedding my bloom in protest
the winter's passing, my only hope

Songs of exodus soon fill the air as crows ascend
painting the horizon black like an empty womb
"They always go" I whisper "They always go"
their melody haunting to those of us bound to earth

"we must go now!" "we must go now!"
bright eyes gleam, as each one sings
"we must go now!" "we must go now!"
promising freedom to those with wings

Bending low and curling inward, I lay
as my petals fall down around me
fluttering about like broken wings
migrant hearts, like theirs need open skies

so I found my freedom in the letting go