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In the morning under a sky so rudely gray
I sneak off into a cab
While you smoke your worries away
We are kinda the same
But we also kinda different
Like night and day
I see you and you kidnap gravity
From underneath me

Why do you always smell so earthy
Like a forest
When You trippy
like an alien
I feel our souls are rooted
Your kiss ignites
Something in the air
You are fine
In other words,
a snack
The kettle is whistling
That same tune
I hear it everywhere
The voices will
start whispering
I know it’s only
the ghost of you
Got me feeling like a kid
Feeling like this is it
And when the sun comes up
Will you be here in the morning?
My own angel from hell
And with a body like that it’s easy to tell
Cause last night
When I was gripping your neck
And I was slapping your face
Both hands pulling my hair
As I slide your ******* off of your waist
Cause I know you can’t wait
To drop down my lips
Waiting for me to know how you taste
Nothing makes sense to me lately
Except you seem to save me
And I’m a fiend for this has me shaky
Having you like a drug daily
 Jun 2018 Jamie Horridge
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
 Jun 2018 Jamie Horridge
Sometimes you have no reason to stay,
and realize that's a perfect argument to go.
And that taking an entirely new way,
is the sore but single method to grow.

If you're washed-on abeyance's bight,
and you feel decision's heavy heft:
To choose the left where nothing's right,
or go to the right where nothing's left.

Remember it matters not where you proceed,
or which mountain you want to ascend.
It does not matter whether you succeed,
it is the journey that matters in the end.
Sun beam

I’ve been praying at the sky
I’ve been begging under different phases of the moon
I’ve been praying in two
At different times- morning, night, noon
I’ve been praying unto my
Soaking wet
From thinking the thoughts that cause fears
I’ve been praying with my eyes open and shut
I’ve been swallowing my bitter tears
I’ve been praying while imagining the ancient pyramids
And the man on the moon
I’ve been praying while looking at the children

I’ve been praying while staring at my  mother remembering the smell of her and wishing her hugs could engulf me the way they did way back when I was a small child
Wishing she could tuck me
Smelling like baby shampoo
Sound of the late night cartoons
The warmth of a blanket
and my mothers soft prayers
Floating in the air
Past the sound of lullabies
Past the ceiling
Past the ancient pyramids
And any man on the moon....
You whispered “Every time we do it, you fall asleep after.”
Every time we do it
You take a piece of my soul
And it’s only natural
I fall asleep on your chest after
So drained and
Maybe clinging to the being that’s collecting from my aura
Or maybe just at peace about being lost in you
And kept in you
Stop thinking you’re not enough.
There’s different ways to be funny, different ways to be beautiful
And different ways your talent is expressed from within you

Stop thinking your not enough
Everyone got it rough
One way or another
We all came from a mother
Caused great pain to a mother

Begged for a lover
Just to become
Someone’s mother
Or someone’s father
And someone’s none of the above
Or someone’s other

But more or less someone’s.

Stop thinking your not enough
We all struck by diseases
We all praise some version of Jesus
Even those godless
Get goosebumps
And butterflies in their stomach
And seek purpose and wonder

We are all human
And at some point we
All turn fragile

And at some point we can tell each other we are not made of porcelain
And to be strong

Life’s a journey
but it’s not that long

I tell myself this
When I want to stop thinking
I’m not enough...
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