Sometimes it's hard
to admit who we are
unapologetically.

Nothing hits me harder to the core
than not feeling heard.

That moment suspended in time
in which I try
to explain just how I feel
and they don't understand
they can't comprehend.

It's not a fault or a point to blame
it's not my lack of ability to explain
it's because they are not me
and she is not he
and we will never be
each other.

I can say who I am,
but from where they stand
a mile, a yard, or enough to touch hands
the distance is too far to for them to see
no matter how eloquently I speak

So I set myself free.

Instead of beating myself up
and saying I didn't try hard enough
it could just be
their own incapacity
to understand just who I am.

It could just be
they can't see me
because they haven't found
their identity.

We are the Pilots of our plane
Navigating this Life
Through the trails and terrain.

When life is kind,
The path is clear like blue skies.
But there are times when our travel meets turbulence,
It can create chaos and a erupt disturbance.

Do we fight the storm, or continue our flight?
Maybe we need ground.
To take a break, and get our bearings down.

When our head is in the clouds
And we don’t know what to do,
Sometimes it’s best to rest rather than move.

The clouds do fade,
The rain doesn’t stay,
Although we might wish things could change,
Good things do come to those who wait.

We are still the Pilots this Plane
Even if our forecast tells there will be wells of pain.
If not alone, then together we will weather
any atmospheric pressure that comes our way.

I have long ago discovered that things turn out the way they should, but it’s from my own resistance and desperation to control, that delays my arrive to the place I was meant to be all along. Still, even though I know this, I still try my hardest to deny the qui sera sera of things. Eventually, I do get to the place of surrender, and that’s when I am most happy, because I can breathe freely.

I only ask of you to aim for balance. No one, not even yourself, is expecting you to fall into another category of extremes. In life we have more than the black and white. I don’t just want you to see the grey, but the kaleidoscope of colors this beautiful world has to offer.

If I ever catch myself criticizing something I don’t like about myself, that is neither a life threatening nor a destructive observation, I have to question my own thoughts and ask if this judgment is truth, or coming from a place of insecurity. If insecurity is the reason, which most times it is, I step out from underneath that microscope in which I stood, and walk into the light of reality. I realize that my purpose in life is not to analyze and dissection who I am, or even other people.

If we can shift our thinking, we can change our feelings. Our feelings control how we view the world and ourselves. Perception has power; it cradles both thinking and feelings.

What is this Emptiness I Feel?
Is it brought on by Fear?

Is this Emptiness,
Or just Space
From the new room I have created?

Triggered by these new feelings of space,
I want to immediately fill it with non-virtuous things.

Unnecessary materials.
Trivial activities.
Unhealthy people.

For the sake of
Not Feeling.

Perhaps from this Space,
I feel something New.

I didn’t create a Hole in me,
I am becoming a Whole new me

Or maybe
More Whole.

I am allowing my Soul to breathe.

Before, my Soul was constricted;
Suffocated and restricted by the
Rigidity in which I lived.

Now that I have abandoned the stringency,
I am left with a New Found Freedom.

And It Feels Foreign.

I want to judge it.
Label it as “Dangerous”
Or “Unsafe”.

On the contrary,
I Need Not Fear Space.

Having Choices and Freedom
Is not only Healthy,
But a True Sign
I am in Recovery.

Perhaps it’s best to not make sense,
but instead trust and accept.

Take it step by step
Without looking for an end.

Life is a process;

You will be led
To where you are destined.

Take all the pain you have,
and imagine it as a balloon.

Any shape, any color
doesn't matter
You will be letting go of it soon.

Release the string
you hold onto so tightly.

Tell yourself,
I am worthy.
I don't need this anymore.
This doesn't belong here.

Let the Mantra be true to you.

Find the Courage
to Face the Fear.

You won't collapse
or disappear.

You will see nothing was lost.
but rather,
Your Power Returned Home.

When we surrender,
We take back what we Own.

Watch as the balloon floats up and away.
The pain will go,
and you will stay.

Choosing Happiness today
doesn't make the pain go away,
but it helps me remember
my mind does not decide for my heart.

Happiness comes from the deep inner willingness to
Accept each situation as it is, and make the best of it.

I cannot articulate
The number of causes we drifted away
Some things remain unexplained.

Every sea has it’s storm
The moon waxes, and tides wave.

There is a reason we have seasons
The Earth is titled at a 23.5 Degree
We cycle through our Yearly journey
Passing through different sensations and feelings.

Most things are unpredictable.
At least we have the constant constellations;
Hercules and Orion,
Leo the Lion.

Reminders of Inner Strength
Look Outside Yourself
And into the sky.

The constellations Shape
The lines we trace
Map out the way
We Are Made.

The future is uncertain.
Do not lose faith.

The darkest skies
And New Moon,
Bring the most Dazzling Stars
Into View.

Our magnitude
Is Brighter than Sirius,
Vega, and Arcturus.

All the stars combined
Could never out-shine
The incandescent light you are.

Dear Beautiful Star,
Stay close by my side.
No matter how I far I go,
Help me know
I am never alone.
Though independently we shine,
We all rest together in the sky.

I love watching how the air blows through the leaves of a tree.

The sky constantly breathes life into our surroundings.

A suble reminder that something is Present without being seen.

I can disagree with what others think.
I must live with me,
And though they will judge
And throw figurative punches
And jabs, I have the ability to fight back,
Laugh, and walk away.
No matter what they say,
I refuse to loose
My happiness from their projected
Self-Hate
And
Internal-Turmoil.
I will not coil
Into submission.
I shall not ban my Thoughts, Feelings, and Words like prohibition.
I treat myself with

Respect

Dignity

Pride.

Of course a heaping side of

LOVE.

I can BE brave
BE fearless and
BE-autiful.
Stop saying
How Dare You
And start Daring Myself
Go far, far, beyond the limits and lines
Exceed Heights
Find the Joy and Excitement in Life.

Take a L E A P
Of Faith
Even though I might fall.
At least I can say, I tried at all.

I can loose myself outdoors,
And still always find my way back home.
I know where to find shelter and safety
But I cannot grow
If I keep myself caged in captivity.
I then risk it all
First Sanity
Then Creativity.
I whole-heartily believe I need the latter
In order to have the other.
Sometimes loosing myself
Creates my best work,
Then I have both my project
And a Lesson Learned.

I fall back,
And I step forward.
All part of this natural process
Of Life Leading Onward.

New places I crave,
Goals I will attain
Not one day, or some day,
But All The Days
I Live Out and Breathe In.

As for now I Pray:
Light my way,
Send me Strength.
I embody the Present,
I Am Here Today.

Can't* is a word I refuse to comprehend.

Can't does not exist in my vocabulary.
Not if I intend to live fearlessly.

Can't and Fear feed off each other like fire and air.
The two will dance and expand,
Spread to the last corner and inches of my land.

Can and Faith are the words I will invest into my mind, body, and soul.

Can't will not enter into my mind,
For it might sit in my mouth,
And slip off my tongue.

Can't is a poison;
The everlasting **** to my garden.

Can't will destroy every blossom created,
And seize the seeds yet to sprout.

Can't has the power to end the action of planting.
I will never again see a flower, if I let Can't grow.

Can is the remedy to imagination and ingenuity.

Whereas,
Can't impedes and blocks creativity.

Can't eliminates possibilities,
It drains and empties.

Even the most tenacious sea
Could not withstand the
Dehydration of Can’t

Can't ignites negativity, creating an immobilization and inability to try.

Can't creates an ending before there was a chance for beginning.

Can't breeds the misbelief of failure, even if there was never to be a winner.

In many ways,
Can't is the biggest lie created from out mind.

Mis-be-LIE-f



But if I were to look on the inside,

I'd rather give myself a fighting chance,
Then quit before I start
because of the word Can’t


We will be faced with new challenges each day,
New obstacles will arise and come into play

Life has an abundance of what we must overcome,
I would hate to make myself the enemy,
Be the one standing in front of a self-created machine gun.

If I were to approach the word for all that it is
It is after all,
Just a word.

I would let a word dictate and decide
The choices, risks, and chances taken in life.


Seems unbalanced
That one word can have full access
To my thoughts and actions.

There
The infinite possibilities
in the World and Me.

If the only difference between Can and Can’t
Stands an Apostrophe and T,
Then I choose to remove
The contraction entirely.

If you still don’t believe
How destructive Can’t can be
Here are a few synonyms for contraction as taken from Wiki:
“shrinkage, decline, diminution, decrease”.

None of those words seems appealing to me.
All of those words will devour my dreams.

Which is why Can’t is a word
I refuse to comprehend.

If conquering my fears means feeling the fear, and doing it anyway, then I have always been halfway there;

I’ve been stuck feeling the fear for all these years, and now it’s time to do it anyway.

I've noticed that the our Fears can more or less be something simple, but it created into something complex and seemingly unimaginable to overcome. The reality is, we can overcome anything that our mind first started. We can retrace the steps, but we might not meet back where we started, because where we were is not where we are suppose to be. We have learned too much, seen to much, and have grown in ways that will not take us back to where we once were, even if that place was good, because chances are we attained new knowledge, therefor will be better than ever before.

My fears are valid. The feelings are real. The fear I have itself is just a manifestation of my ego, keeping me frozen in the rigid cycle of perfectionism, that which kills my creativity and inspiration, and breeds loneliness and isolation.

I could wait for change to come, but I'd rather be brave, and be the once to decide, in my time, the change I do wish to see.

Have you ever left a kettle on the stove?

Eventually the water inside will boil.
The steam rises
Triggering a whistle
Subtle at first,
Just to signal your attention.
But sometimes we don’t listen.

The whistle is an alert from the kettle.
It’s only way to communicate.
To say “I’m ready."
“I’ve finished what you started.”
“I’ve made exactly what you wanted.”

Now where are you?
You left me here,
On a black top stove,
Unattended with hot blue flames,
And the heat rising to place I can't take for much longer.

The longer you keep me here
The more I become solidified in my fears.

I will be abandoned.
I am unworthy of your attention.

The message is internalized
Until it becomes the only tape
I hear and play.
I search for the button,
but can't find ERASE.

Some days I feel like a kettle
Left on the stove.

At first I whisper a whistle,
Then wait a little.

When no one comes around,
I whistle just a little louder.

The volume continues to increase,
Until I’m taken off the heat.

All this time I was ready,
The way I was suppose to be

The first time you insisted I make tea.
Or coffee..
Or whatever you need…

I suddenly become handy,
In times you need me.

I am gentle until I reach
A point where I scream.

Then you call me crazy,
Say i’m making a scene.

Overreacting.
Turning a spill into a sea.

What kills me the most is your inconsistency.
The lack of predictably for your return.

Disregarding my time and my feelings.

How much water can a kettle hold, you think?

Your distorted idea
To the amount much patience I carry.

Measure it please:

A bounty?
A hole miles deep??
An infinite washing machine???
Capable of endless cycling????

You only run my energy.

If you didn’t know this already,
The water inside the kettle evaporates eventually.

Steams itself dry
Until nothing is remains
But an empty kettle,
A bottom burned ***,
And a stove left on.

I only have a few ounces left.

I am about to drain out,
I have nothing left to replace myself.

After this happens,
There are no second chances.

You've had all you're tries,
and you've taken you're time.

It will only be a matter of time
Until the last thing you hear, is a faint cry.

Don’t look at me like some piece of meat
Acting all high and mighty
Maybe in this room
You feel like you’re better than everybody

But outside these walls
You are just the same
As those you scorn and shame.

I didn’t know it was part of your religious philosophy
To be righteous and pious
Judgmental to those who dare to think differently
Or God forbid be exactly who they were intended to be.
Don’t make your own kind the enemy.

We all have a purpose.
A river was made to be river,
don't ask it to be rock,
a bird,
or a tree.

You will see
How your personality won’t get you very far
The sooner you realize this
The better off you will be.

Unfortunately,
You’re set in your ways
And it would take more than just my words
to convince you to change they way you behave.

I try to believe that it's never too late to improve ourselves,
take a step in a new direction for a better change,
but some people refuse to move,
they remain the same.

As my mother would say:
The mean people don’t change,
As they age,
Their “Type A” will only accentuate.

I see this to be true,
and all I can say is,

Great...

I learn things the hard way
I know myself well
Enough to know that part of me won’t change

Some days feel like a self-started war
Between my feet meeting the and floor
It says, no
You won’t stand
But my mind insists and persists
Until I’m out of bed
And through the door.


If I look back at my past pain
From the view I stand in the present
I can see was for a greater purpose
And I wouldn’t dare change a single thing
Because it brought me to something enlightening.

So I write it all down, make it a song, and sing
Hoping the rhymes will help me
Not forget my new insight I know now.
Then a few weeks later
Don’t ask me how
I swear it’s like the pain or the pen scribbling on the page
Ever happened
Because for the life of me
I forget what I told myself to remember…

It’s a hilarious tragedy
Because I don’t meet the criteria to be insane
Even though I feel crazy.
I ask myself
How I have short term memory at 23?
Or maybe there exists a side of my personality
I am unwilling or not ready to see
That I am *******
Why the hell else
Would I repeat this same pain?

Some results are just not capable of change
So far I have found that a fire will always burn
But for some reason I continue to hold fire
In the palm of my hand.

One things is for sure,
I am obviously in the need for control and command.

I took the same course
Using that old coping source
Hoping it wouldn’t be the same result
I am aware I do this
But my therapist says it’s
Progress not perfection….

Like I said in the beginning
I learn things the hard way
I know myself well
Enough to know that part of me won’t change.

It might not progress or perfection, but at least it’s consistent.

I’ve spent my day doing nothing
Just nothing at all
Feeling what it’s like to life with myself
Without the cover up of something to do
Somewhere to go, or something to buy.

Only pacing around
Feeling the moments
Of emptiness that lives in between
The spaces of things I’ve already done
Waiting for another thing to come along

Some time does pass fast
Most minutes melt slow
Like a candle’s wax
Burning low

I’ve noticed
When the candle is blown out
The candle still looks the same
The only change
Was the atmosphere.
Then suddenly my fear
Of productivity
Disappears, and fades away
Traveling like smoke,
Making it’s way to my ceiling
Then I get this feeling
That everything is alright
I’ll be just fine.

Some time does pass fast
Most minutes melt slow
Like a candle’s wax
burning low

I love the smell of the once was a flame
It reminds me of a birthday
After a wish is made
Sometimes I wonder where all those wishes go
Or the one’s we paid for in the fountain.

Early on
I was taught
Happiness can be bought.

No more wishing in the fountains
Off of cakes, or stars,
Anything I want to be
Cultivates from me.

Anything I want to be
Cultivates from me.

It’s not something that I need
Just something that I know
When did I become so comfortable
With being miserable?

I know how this goes,
It works until it stops working.
And this time I had a pretty good run.
But no matter what I do,
It never feels like enough.

I know where I am,
I’ve been here before.
I didn’t think I would again
But this is the result of letting things get of out hand

It gets the better of me
And it’s so easy
To slip, and activate this cycle
While it’s so difficult,
To do what is best:
Follow the steps.

I don’t want to continue meeting dead ends.
Having to always begin again.

And again, and again, and again.


The best medicine is something I’ve already done.
At this time, it’s not an available option.

Though it would probably be the best
Rather than this mess:
A homemade version of recovery I’ve created.
The bootleg copy
Not even left over’s, just crumbs.
Something equivalent to a Band Aid applied on a broken bone.

Tonight I chose healthy coping.
Process everything through journaling.
Funny how
How pain brings out
The best insight;
Sometimes the best of what I write.

I’m hiding.
There are so many people I’ve been
And it’s like I’m waiting until I’m the vision
Others want to see
Before I step out, and show the world
This girl who is me.
But I am all things;
Not my past.
Not my present.
Just as I am,
Today.

Pick up the plate
From which you never said thank you
I’ll take your leftovers
Because that’s all you ever give.

I remember a time
When I did more than settle for less
Now I’m headed in a direction of unworthiness

Fear stops me from speaking my truth
Would it be so bad to rid of you?
All you do is take,
And I know I can do better
But I still can’t say it’s over

I’m waiting for a change
Now I realize, I needs to come from my own inner strength
But I’ll continue to be weak
If I restrict how much I eat

I am settling for crumbs
And I’m finally feeling, how it’s not enough
I’ll either starve to death
Or you’ll take everything I’ve got left
Either way, a life of misery is headed my way

Then acting helpless
Playing the victim
Believing the idea the world is out to get me
That might have been the condition in which I was raised
But now I’m in another stage
A different place
I can hold the power for my future to be shaped

I can create a better life, through my choices and words
Unless I move, and speak my truth
Chances are the same pattern will continue
Freedom is found in a new direction

From experience I know
I deeper I go
on this co-dependent road
It will only be harder
And take longer
To reach the light
From where I long to be
Where I should only be.

Now it’s my turn to speak
Listen to me
I won’t settle for crumbs
Or take pathetic remnants
Children don’t grow
From taking bits and pieces
The body, spirit, and mind, needs substantial nutrients.

I might not be a child,
But I’ve never stopped growing
I am worthy of only the best
Starting today, I won’t accept anything less
With God in my heart, he’ll take care of the rest.

I can't keep up with my heart
It jumps from fast to slow
In a rhythm my body doesn’t recognize or know.

The thoughts I think are questioned
Fearful to make a move, but anxious about standing still
Confidence has left, making my voice soft and shrill.
All that is left are the fragments of me I pretend to not have
Pressed in so deep, I forget it was there
Outta sight, outta mind
But it’s only a matter of time
Until those things travel to the surface
Creeping out from the abyss.

Permission is given for everyone to be insecure
We are fallible, destined to mistakes in order to learn
Yet the unrelenting and impossible standards of this game I play
Say perfection is the only way you win
In this case, would it be so bad to lose?
At the end of the day, who but me, is really keeping score?

Emotions rising and falling
Going up and down
Like sit ups
And I’m running low on energy
I’ve lost count to how many I have done
But still say it’s not good enough
Somewhere along the way,
I finally stop.
Confidence sets in and I realize
I constantly put people ahead of me
Never then getting anywhere, because I’m always taking a step back
Where is the logic in that?

I wasn’t given life to give up my life.
I wasn’t gifted a voice to silence myself.
I wasn’t blessed with a mind
So it wouldn’t mind at all.

My compassion can sometimes make me naive
Guilty of putting my faith in each hand I shake.
Gracing other the benefit of the doubt
While I doubt myself, and everything my heart tells me
Said in a weak whisper
From all the times I’ve denied my feelings inside.

In order for my voice to grow strong,
Actions need to be taken that feel foreign and wrong
Like to Believing In Myself
Something so simple and essential
Yet leaving me tremendously fearful
From all the what if’s created in my mind.

I am learning,
Decisions aren’t about being wrong or right;
Decisions become the directions of the road map to our life.

Now I question,
When and where do I begin?
Is there a designated place and time?
Or has my destiny been delayed from the limitations of my mind?

Not all change is chosen;
But the most beautiful are brave enough to accept change.

Sometime change is ****** upon us,
And we have no choice but to allow the change to happen.

We could spend our days and hours on this planet
Rejecting the change, pretending it didn’t happen,
Or forcing ourselves to be something we aren’t.

But then we risk to never live the life we were given.
Though we are resistant,
The change is undoubtedly part of our development.
Not meant to have judgment.

We are Living.
An adjective depicted for The Now.
An active, functioning element of The Present
Essentially defining us as a Gift.

If by the end of this poem it isn’t perfect,
It’s not qualified to be seen by others eyes.
It’s not good enough.
I might find the poem pleasing,
But it doesn’t matter what I think.

Poetry is often an extension of me.
Recollection of an event,
Reflection of a day
Withholding multiple purposes
Even the purpose to have no purpose at all.

If by the end of this poem I don’t have your attention
Why bother writing in the first place?
I write, you listen, we agree
Or at least have you see from my point of view.
My poetry has standards, regulations, and rules
It must consist of significance.
Errors are not allowed, and frowned upon like a disapproving mother.

And then I found Hello Poetry.
A site designed for people to write in spite of what other might think.
I pass through hundreds and hundreds of poems each day,
But never do I question its worthiness to be seen.

Let’s go back to when I mentioned a poem is an extension of me.

If by the end of this poem it isn’t perfect,
Then I’ve done exactly what needed to be done;
Letting it be seen regardless if my mind thinks it's good enough.

It’s time I smash perfection
Snap off it's ***** little head
And twist off it's twiggy little legs
No better than a barbie doll
That really looks like no one at all…

It's time a banish perfection for good
And it's good for nothing existance.

I’ve already started breaking the glass ceiling which is close above me.

Sometimes I feel like Alice in Wonderland,
Trapped in a house too small for her body,
Or locked in a room, feeling so tiny
The key out of reach, but I can see it daunting me.

Either I feel suffocated with the walls closing in,
Or the cliché of, so close but yet so far.
We have all been there.
It feels endless when we’re in it
But once we are out and looking back,
We realize it wasn’t so bad.

When I look back, I catch myself saying,  
“That's it? That's all I was worried about?”

But I understand, when we are in, we are in it.
We are neck high in ****, and the **** is still rising.
Nothing feels worse, because we have nothing to compare it to.

It feels like we will never survive this
But somehow we do.
We always do.

When the world feels so big and I feel so small,
I try to remind myself of Alice.
She got out somehow.
Either on her own, or someone came along.

We are not alone.
We are just like Alice;
Sometimes feeling trapped
But once we look back
It will only feel like a distant dream…

Someone will shake us, and they will say,
"Good Morning, you over slept, it must have been a great dream."
And we will tell them,
"No, I fell in this Hole and it was hell, but I got out like Mad Hatter, and even made some friends along the way."
They will say,
"Now that you're awake, I made breakfast, would you like some Toast on the side?"
Then we would just look at them with the most Curious of eyes...

Don’t say I love you
I won’t say it back
Don’t say you want me
I will walk away

I want to be
The mouse and you the cat
Don’t say you love me
I won’t say it back

I like to chase
The silly boys around
Don’t get close to me
Or I will just leave town

I want to be
The mouse and you the cat
Don’t say you love me
I won’t say it back

One day I know
I won’t want to flee
I will fall in love
But he won’t want me
Until that day
I still like to chase
Darling, be the cat
So I can be the mouse.

I don’t want anyone to get hurt from my carelessness
Like having my shoelaces undone
And someone else tripping over them
It’s unfair, and it should have happened to me.

But I guess no matter how hard I try,
Or even how my shoelaces are tied
Sometimes the laces will come undone
And someone might come along
and fall.

I could spin the thought
And ask the question
Was it my carelessness which had them trip,
Or the carelessness of their very own?

I am conditioned to take the blame
Growing up with a father who ceases to never admit fault
Even when his hands are stained with the mistake.

I have a chance for that cycle change.

Practice allowing others to take responsibility
Instead of pointing fault at me.

Regardless if it was my their fault or mine,
I can’t go back in time,
And change the fact they fell.

What I do have in my control
Is the hand I can extend
To help raise them up, and stand again.

I said don’t worry about it
But I didn't realize I would be carrying the weight of the worry.
Moral of the story,
The worry always gets passed onto someone else.

Like tag
Until you find someone else to blame
Or wait until they make mistake,
You’re it.

And some people go great lengths to remove the shame.
Because as time goes on
The weight starts wearing on us.

Only so much pressure we can all take
I know we are all fallible, prone to mistakes
But I am a lightweight
When it comes to the amount of mistakes I can carry.

Something as small as a stolen penny,
My heart immediately begins to feel heavy.
Relief does come to rescue if I can say, Sorry.

A solution so simple, and only one word.
But when the moment comes to admit my mistake,
It seems I have swallowed my tongue
And bravery all at once.

I'm a leader
Not a pleaser
I do things in the name of Me.

My father is a generous man.
Generous with his money,
And generous with his criticism.

My mother is compassionate, yet ignorant
Almost childlike,
And puts up with my father’s put-downs.

Over the years I have witnessed her tolerate the abuse
I try my hardest to just stand back
I know getting involved solves nothing at all.

I’ve learned that stirring the *** doesn’t always stop the overflowing.
Sometimes it’s the heat that needs to be turned down,
And adding my voice is like turning the stove on high.

Speaking of *** and water analogies
I can’t be true that a watched *** never boils
Because countless times I have seen my father mercilessly spout malicious things to her as if there wasn’t even a fly in the room.
Either he is unaware of his behavior
Or he is confident no one would dare to question his authority.

I hope for the sake of my mother, it isn’t the latter.

I don’t stand back out of fear
I’ve gone head to head with my father enough times to have a concussion.
In that regard, my father is fair
Lending me the equal share
To be his victim
Dodging judgmental and figurative swings.
Usually I am very good at defending myself
But even the best get blindsided
Even boxers get time out’s
A referee to call the cheap shots
And a doctor to stitch up the cuts

You get in the ring with my father
You go in alone
No sponsors, you’re solo.

I’ve never submitted into submission
Or developed passive aggression
Unlike my mom.

My dad and I
Never quit the fight,

I can admit I am no angel.
I’ve said some nasty things
Behave and say things driven by inner pain.
But unlike my father, I feel a great deal of remorse
Barely an hour later I’m beside myself with tears

Asking him to please forgive me
As if I’m confessing my sins to a priest
Almighty Father, please forgive me.
but it takes more than few Hail Mary’s and favors Until I’m worthy in his eyes again.

Over the years, my father has developed skills at the coyly hiding snarky comments
Able to say something insulting in public
And not even an eyebrow would be raised at his statement.
Strangers would conclude his behavior to be plain playful sarcastic banter.

Hah! Fooled you didn’t he?

And I would like to ask those observers and strangers,
Audience of any kind
Do you consider fire to be playful?
They might not understand,
Look at me confused and baffled
I would continue to explain
“A small fire of course,
Only a few burns here and there”
Speckled all across your skin
Looking like ripples in the ocean
“And a few just deep enough for a skin graph, but don’t worry, the skin might come back.”
For the skin that is permanently gone
Extra skin will be extracted from your backside
Replacing that ugly nose that stuck its business in the wrong place.

But what I wish, is to tell them this,
“Now when people see you
They can be reminded
Of the *** Face you really are.”

You have no right to tell a person whether their burn is justifiable to hurt or not.
I would show them the figurative burns on my arms, legs, cheek, back, and neck
From the literal words my father slapped.

And each burn hurt differently.
Some just a little
And some that hurt so bad, just looking at the scar, I can feel my skin begin to sizzle.
I would ask them to stand in as my double, my dummy really
Because that’s what they symbolize
A dumb somebody.

And I would ask them to take a few hits
While I sit back and observe
Saying not to complain, that it doesn’t really hurt.
The angry part of me wants to never come back
Keep you stranded there.
In the pit of my father’s fire
Burning in hell until relief can come
Or at least someone
With enough common sense and decency
To put out the fire they see.
But people never come, You’re stuck their for eternity.

Sometimes I wish I could have a break
Or someone to toss me a hose
Or a bucket filled with water
But people act like we live in a desert
Regulating help like water in a drought.
Asking them for a hand is like asking them to dump all their water into the dry cracked ground.

People hesitate to even give a smile
Something free.
Don’t ask people to spare you a nickel
I will spare you the answer they will give you:
No.
And that is if you’re lucky
People don’t even look at people anymore.
Shame, pride, nervous, shy
Who knows why.
But remember a time
When people look each other eye to eye

Shook hands for an agreement,
And actually kept it.
Now we need to sign contracts
For the most nonsensical things
Contracts for our contracts
Lawyers for our lawyers

People always covering their ***
From people who steal, and don’t know how ask.
No wonder we don’t look each other in the eye
Afraid to be hurt after so many lies.
We don’t have trust.
We don’t feel safe.

I know how that feels to be scared and unsafe.
Even this place
My home, meant to be a sanctuary
Not a factory where I am worked
Not a laboratory where I am analyzed.
Sometimes when I look through my window blinds
It reminds me of a prison
A room I am trapped inside.

So don’t patronize
My fear and my pain
My feelings are good enough as they stand
No matter where you might stand.
Each burn had their own type of hurt

Who are you decide that degree?
Especially when the burn
Happens to me.
Some still might disagree
Or refuse to see
The point I am trying to make.
But if you understand what I’m trying to say
If you ever see someone on fire
Don’t look away or stand to judge
Throw them hose or a water filled bucket.

People choose to give their opinions
When you never asked for them
It’s hard to have compassion
When it feels like you never win
It’s hard to hold onto the good
When you hands are tied behind your back
And life refuses to cut you any slack.

I need to take a break
Just a moment to breathe
I’m trapped within these walls
With people who can’t be please
It seems like nothing is done with any urgency.

No one to count on
If you want the work done
Everyone looking to cut corners
Even in conversation.

As if you’re in the way of their agenda and tasks
The questions they ask
About your day
Only have to do with what they want to say.

Conversation can’t be completed
Because people are always competing
To have the last word,
To be heard,
Even filling up the air time with uhms and errs
Reserving their speech

All you can do is listen and wait
And you begin to remember
You called them first
Barely able to spit in just a few words
You were the initiator, when did this reverse?

Now you regret ever calling at all
Thinking you’d be happy with silence
Than little fillers and empty language.

I once told a boy, who didn’t stop talking the moment we met
“You have been talking this entire time.”
I felt awful, like I was a little out of line.
But you should have seen what happened to his eyes,
It was like he snapped back to reality
Then quickly apologized, not even having realized
It was twenty-five minutes of a personal monologue.

Now I give most people the benefit of the doubt,
If after ten minutes I have said not a word
I’ll interject, and I’ve learned
There is no polite way to interrupt
The experiences I have had thus far
People didn’t even know what they were doing
Which to me, seems frightening.
These are the same people we see driving or operating.

Then some,
Just like the sound of their own voice
In those cases, they are a lost case

As a practical joke,
By them a voice recorder
Once you give it to them and they look a little confused
It will be an inside joke between me and you.

If some stories and poetry were so brave to tell me their truth, which I can relate to, maybe I could write something to save somebody.

Maybe, maybe.

I lack the bravery. It’s scary to show vulnerability in a world of people wearing metal masks, acting as if they have it all together.

I once told a woman at my work, “You know, I cry every night because I know I got problems, but I’m surrounded by people who pretend they have no problems at all. I think they need the most help because they don’t even know they need help.”

She just smiled and laughed, and said, “Oh, I hear you.”

For a moment I knew she understood what I meant.

I connected with her.

The desire is to connect with everyone, but instead of focusing on the “every”, which can seem overwhelming, I can focus on connecting with just that “one”.

Isn’t that what those authors I admire did as well? From their words I felt connected to them, and I am considered as “one”.

Why else do we post our work? Sure, I can say it feels great to process in written form, but the act of sharing the works sends the underlying message that I want to be heard and understood, by at least just one.

Interesting thoughts...
Who knows, I could be totally wrong.

The last thing I will say,
Remove the metal mask from your beautiful face.
Don’t be surprised if water cascades.
Your mask was a great shield,
But it's time to remove it
Let your face be revealed.

Happy face
Heavy heart
Master of words
But where to start?
All the things I could say
To make you stay
But our minds have decided for us today.

We speak
But who listens?
When we are pointed in every direction
It’s hard to navigate our own voice
When our internal compass broke
Many miles ago.
We would replace it
But some of us prefer to stay lost
Living by the signs others give.

Adults find it difficult to speak their truth
We could learn from our children
Who are confident in what they know.
Though their experience is little
Their answers are primal
Driven by instinct
Not what others will think.
In this case, less could be more.

More importantly, what they know is good enough
Sometimes not having all information
Does not make us ignorant
But willing to risk.

Life has no guarantees;
Even in the things that say what they mean
There beholds the possibly
It could lie or cheat.

When we rely on one answer
Our limitations are just that number.
The logic passed down
Is we should have a plan
Beg for a challenge
Say, my plan are no plans!

Live in the present
See what unfolds
You might be surprised by what was planned all along.

Not many people share the same amount of passion I feel.
It doesn’t mean it’s too much
But it sure feels lonely some days
Enough to where I want to throw it away
Because the love I have for life
Feels like so much more
Then what I get back.

I try not to focus on how
Much I receive, because
To over think in what I believe
Scares me, undoubtedly.  
To think I have been living
Wrong all this time
Can shoot the ****
Right out of my pants.
Which is unfortunate
Because I am on a budget
And these were on the only pants had.

I ignore the questions
And instead write a song, or a poem, or paint.
I’ve learned the hard way
That playing along with the mind games
Only drives my heart away
And invites fear to stay.

Sometimes the only way
To make it through the day
Is to take each situation as it comes
Rather than worrying what might happen.
I have a great imagination
Filled with ideas, insights, even rhymes!
But from the same hand that can hold
Or smack you cold
Across the cheek
My mind fabricates stories
Which kills creativity and breeds anxiety.

I once heard a monk say
That joy comes from being grateful
More so, living gratefully
And ceasing every opportunity
That life brings to our table.

But if life has all these opportunities for me
Why am I still unhappy?

Hopelessly searching for the answer
And looking all around
The answer was right in front me;
The table is empty
Only missing one piece
Me.

I stopped
Pulled up a chair
And just sat
Ending the complaint over what I don’t have.

The present will always provide
Just what I need
If I am willing to believe
I am right where I need to be.

I was always told
You look just like your mom
And I always hating hearing that
Because it felt like it stole thunder over my identity
I was a selfish spoiled daughter for thinking that then
Because I’d give anything to be compared to her again.

She is so selfless, compassionate, and kind
In fact I can recall there was the one time
I called her in tears because I forgot my lunch
And without hesitation she threw on her cape
Super mom was ready to save the day.

And she flew so fast
Because every second that passed
Her little girl was still hungry
And to her, any feeling that wasn’t smiles and laughter was unacceptable.

And her giving kept going
Because in my brown bag lunch
She would leave a note
With enough X’s and O’s to play tic tack toe.

I am not my mother
But I care like she does
And I am not my father
But I speak with his wit
I am an only child
But I am not the only child
Who feels lonely from time to time.

In fact I can recall there was the one time
When I realized what it felt like to be out casted
At only age four
I was stricken to glasses
Thick wired frames with lens that were massive.

Between you and me
Something about glasses
Makes kids really mean
I was called four eyes among other things
I would shout:
“You’re the one who needs glasses”
I would plea:
“I only have two eyes, butthead
Clearly you can’t see!”

I can look back and laugh
Insults were less personal back in 3rd grade
Entering High School
Things drastically change
Name calling became tailor made
A bully’s personal game
An ego’s selfish gain.

Kids made sure to hit you hard and fast
Sometimes it hurt so bad
I would go home with whip lash
From being verbally bashed.

But my mom never saw me cry
I made sure to hold back the tears until I was home
And finally when alone,
Door shut and locked
I’d lie on my stomach
Face down on a pastel comforter
Bed being my only source of comfort
Sobs and tears would soak up the sheets
Salty drops representing defeat.

My father would gently knock on my door and ask
“Are you alright?”
I’d muster up the strength I had left
To force a smile and say, “I’ll be right out.”

Then I’d turn over and lie on my back
Watching the ceiling fan circle its arms around my room
The cool breeze soothed on my red face
Like aloe on a bad beach sun burn.

I’d turn on my side and sigh
Shifting my weight, and getting ready to stand
Be a man, like my dad always wanted.

My feet hit the cold floor and now it was time
To go out and fake it like I have before
Wishing the insults remained at eyes of four.

It’s not that we are from different worlds
Or live to far
Or can’t make it work
If we tried

But I have trouble trusting your words
And what you say
I’m worth more than lies
Or fake forced smiles

I need someone constant, honest
Not just a fancy fling
Here’s the thing
Sweet boy
I’m smarter than you think
I read white lies.
And though you try
To smooth talk you way through me
I’m beautifully grounded
As strong as I can be

I’m better than this
And smart to know
You’re no good for me
It’s time I let go.

I know where this will lead
And I have to believe
I’ll find someone good
Who will love me the way
I wish you could

I’ve settled for less
And felt emptiness
But my head tells the story
You’re the one for me

I love you, Go away
I hate you, Please stay

My head is confused
My heart has been bruised
By the times I pretended
I needed you

Pluck my petals darling
Love me or love me not
Prune the dead stems
And watch me blossom

This potential person I want you to be
Is not the man you are to me
I’m a purposeful girl
With plenty of strength
To move myself forward
And push through the pain
Eyes stay front
And feet be steady
I’ve let you go
Whether or not I am ready.

I own an ugly sweater
It has tatters and tears
Misshapen patterns
And holes everywhere

From the missing tag
That’s been savagely clawed and cut out
Why companies make them so scratchy
I have yet to find out.

Cheese grader sized holes
From where hungry moths attacked
For their personal enjoyment
Or a midnight snack.

A perfectly good sweater
And being prone to sharp corners
Don’t pair well together
Just ask my unraveling thread
That’s been caught onto edges
And hideously snagged.

It’s humorously sad
Go ahead, you can laugh
Your sweater is next
The moths are coming
I promise you that.

The bottom frays like a hippy
I would say it looks cool
But that style died in the seventies
Just wait, that that trend will recycle
I’m not in denial.

The fabric and material
What’s left of it
Is a delicate cashmere…

Alright fine, it’s a scratchy wool
Ancient, archaic, and feels like Velcro.

Sometimes leaves cling
So I look like a tree
The optimistic side of me
Just says nature loves me.

But I could do without the bees
Ohh so many stings…

The insides are bumpy
From being cleaned on high heat
Now my sweater suffers from dwarfism
It’s challenged vertically.

The wrists are stretched out
From being rolled up and down
Permanently smells like dirt or meat
Depending on my activity
Or what I had to eat.

Blackened mascara speckles the sleeve
From dramatic tears
Or being too lazy to grab a tissue
As if my sweater doesn’t have enough issues
I drag in my problems
My pendulum swinging emotions
If my sweater were human
I swear, it would leave me.

It’s been thrown on the floor
Tossed in the back of my car
Tied around my waist
And forgotten in stores
I always say sorry
I hope it forgives me.

From the sleeves that cradles sneezes
Hugs are completed
Sharing germs or sharing love
All becomes one experience.
You’re welcome.

The front like a canvas
A Jackson ******* painting
Ubiquitous splatters of coffee stains.

Missing sips that dripped off my lips
From being scolding hot
Or scarce concentration
But nine times out of ten
It’s my deficient attention.

Looking like it’s been through hell
And no denying it has.
Sure, I could donate this human sized rag
But they wouldn’t know the story behind
Each stain and frayed thread.

They would see the sweater as just ugly
Dismiss there was even a journey
They wouldn’t ask
The why’s or how’s it came to be.

This sweater is not just fabric
It’s a memory
An extension of me.
…
..
.
But seriously,
I should get this dry-cleaned
It’s disgusting.

But I love it.

I feel the tears coming on
I push them away
Shake my head
Lift my chin
I refuse break
Not again.

I am stronger than to let myself
Be bullied around
By my own thoughts
Fingers pointed
In no specific direction
No fault to blame
No one to call out
Just my intense feelings
Overtaking me.

I push
And push
It’s no wonder I am exhausted
Always fighting to keep my head above water
Either drowning
Or falling under.

My well being getting smaller
Words of others get louder and larger
People don’t hesitate to walk all over
The weak or struggling.

Times have changed
Can’t trust my neighbor
If I need to be saved
Risk doing it alone
Or being disappointed
Options aren’t very desirable
Like choosing between
Bad or worse
Each comes with their own surprises
Hurt or be hurt.

Unsure of the girl in the mirror
Her reflection becoming unclear
I stopped checking glances
Because I only see
Things I want to change
It’s not physical pain
It’s the emotional damage
That keeps me ******.

I feel trapped or lost
So I run
But flight always leads back to fighting
Can’t ever fully escape
It needs to be faced.

I am brave
But not a hero
I have courage
But still afraid
I am powerful
But dart my shadow
I am complex
Simple would be nice for change
But I am overtaken.

Simply overtaken.

Logically, I know sugar on the occasion
Is healthy in moderation
Same with pleasure
I am viewing life in extremes
The pendulum swinging
Side to side
Never finding
Middle ground.

I am ***** for fooling around
And a ***** for only holding hands
I am fat for having something sweet
And rigid for measuring
Fear is what keeps me stuck
Rules I created are what
Keep me leashed
No better than an animal tied to a post
Waiting to be unhooked
To take a decent **** in privacy.

Is that my life?
Tightly leashed to my insecurities
How else will I grow
Unless I loosen the reigns?
Out of control!
The voice shouts

Just a little looser please
I feel suffocated
And I am bored of the same old scenery
I need a change
And these chains
Are beginning
To dig into neck
Peirce my skin and flesh.

When did the collar get so tight?
There once was a time
I acted on intuition
Suddenly I am in this submissive position
By my own disposition
What a sticky situation
To be in.

I am no *******
But I’ve created and casted
This rule ridden life
That has forbidden anything good
This pain has lasted long enough
Almost three years
I didn’t think my fears
Could have such stamina
And it seems that things are getting worse
Lack any improvement.

I am waiting for it to die out
But it might **** me first
Unless I stick a knife
Into this demon of mine
It will continue breeding
Infiltrating
The sanity of my mind
Stealing away a chance for a better life.

Roses have thorns for a reason.
If they were all beauty with out defense
Those hard, sharp edges
Extending from their stems
They would be easily plucked and clipped
Taken advantage of.

They would be used
For some hideous centerpiece
That would be adored for a few hours
Than ignored for weeks

Until the water turned black
Leaves rotted and decayed
The petals dry out and fall
Leaving bare stem remains.

Leave me in my garden
Where I am surrounded by friends
The daffodils, lilies, white chrysanthemums.

The hard working bees
Could make delicious honey
From my sweet nectar
That would be taken to the hive
And served to the Queen.

The words I speak
Are my thorns
Verbal warnings
That I am not to be reckoned with.

Release your the sheers
Remove your greedy hands
Grab me like that again
My thorns will make you bleed
You will be sorry.

Truthfully speaking,
You will never be a rose.
Even if you tried
You would result as a ****
A blight, a disease
Pulled from the ground immediately.

You are a hideous creature.
A monster.
Without you
I am stronger.

I am not a dandelion anymore
Easily destroyed
From a meager blow.

Let me alone
I am a Rose.

You said, “Ask me what I am thinking”
Obediently I did
Swiftly you kissed me
Tongue, lips, all of it.
And suddenly,
I felt
E v e r y t h i n g.

Chills up my spine
Arm hair raised
Stiff and straight
Senses heightened
Heart beating
Stampeding
Like a band of thoroughbreds racing.
Intense sensations
Swarms of tingling and tickling
Like someone softly blowing
On the back of my naked neck.

A shock wave of pleasure
Feelings immeasurable
To anything I’ve experienced.
This was no ordinary kiss
Warm, gentle, firm
Just enough wetness
To keep motion fluid.

Lasting only 10 seconds
But feeling endless
Like falling into an abyss
A bottomless pit
Deeper and deeper
Rapidly dropping
Picking up speed

Until your hands released my cheeks
And all the warmth left me.
Overtaken by an icy breeze
Compared to the heat I was just feeling.
Like pulling covers abruptly off a body
While in the middle of a slumber.

I never liked the feelings of being stripped
Unwillingly, unexpectedly
Especially
When the everything was so inviting.

You kissed me without permission
Then the position I was put in
Decisions I had to make quickly after
Because what I say now
Outlines our future
Defines our label
Of each other.

You put that pressure
Onto me
I wanted nothing of that responsibly
At least not to that degree
Don’t ask that to me
To state what I think we should be.

10 seconds ago
I only asked what you were thinking
I was unaware,
Completely unprepared
To know I would be deciding
The fate of our relationship
This now sinking ship.

I can swim
But I feel like I'm sinking
Having to live with the dreadful feeling
I’ve hurt another person again.

I got to be the lead
As I’d always dreamed
I never expected my role to be
Heart Breaker.

I want to go along with it,
Put up with the charades
Be the good actress
And pretend things didn't change
Say for your sake
I feel the same way.

But for this show to go on
For my role to be authentic
I must be honest.

I guess some friendships expire…

Even the best shows don't last forever
Enjoy the run for what it was
And say goodbye
Because it’s for the better.

I let you into a very exposing and vulnerable side of my life.
I am very fragile and sensitive.
The more you claim I am perfect, the less real I feel.
The less human I feel.

Perfect is not real.
Perfection is a perception.
I don’t want to be labeled as anything that is not me.

I don’t like it.
I will not allow it.
I’d rather choke than swallow
Those thick sticky words.
For once I’m happy to be
A picky eater.

I am not a body.
I am a soul.
Words I have said before,
But now found myself shouting
Loud enough to have you back away
Far enough to collect some space.

Your thoughts about me
Are not reality, just a fabricated fantasy
Created in your head.
I am not a made up character
Or this fleeting entity, like a fairy;
I don’t need claps to exist in this world.
I don’t need your beliefs for me live.

My skin has been hurt again and again.
Through my experiences,
My layers have thickened
Now calloused, and stiff
Which is why I’m self-conscious
Of holding hands.
And you’re not the man
Whose fingers I want to be laced with
Or tracing the tracks of my spine.

I am a hand written letter.
Never delivered
With an unlisted address
And words still unfinished.
Save your kiss, lips, and spit
For a different envelope
Don’t spend your pennies
Or waste your postage
On the mail that will come back to you.

I am free.
I am air.
Limitless, boundless, and ubiquitous.
Toxic if overdosed.

I change, never staying the same.
I circulate the room, and cannot be contained.
And **** the day you dare even try.

Watch me overflow, and spill all over the floor
Creating a sloppy mopless mess
Oozing through the edges
Seeping between the cracks.

I will not be held down
Wings clipped
And cage nailed to the ground.
I will not be suffocated.

I am air.
Yet, I cannot breathe.

I was never this soft
So breakable
I was a hard cover book
Strong and new
That you bent back to read
Allowing myself to be so easy.

Now my spine is broken
Cover clearly used
Abandoned,
Alone,
Abused
How could you?

My story remains
With pages still intact
Someone else will come along
Gentle enough
To repair my broken back.

I’m fragile
Susceptible to further damage
Cracked down the middle
Barely hanging
Slowly healing

Does this story get a sequel?
Another chance for something real
I’m fearful I’ll never recover
With pages badly wilted
Discolored
Torn, and bent back.

Greasy thumbprints
Smeared along my text
Leaving permanent imprints
On my once pretty print.

My story has changed too.
How could this remain a fairytale,
After consuming the forbidden fruit?

I’m half dead
And my book
Has been read through
By someone who skipped ahead
Just to know the end
And stupidly,
I let them.

Thinking that if they knew
All the secrets of my story
The struggles
The success
My journey
They would love me
Not leave me.

If only I kept my chapters safe
Knowing I’m worthy
For a slower pace
Not rushed through
And read in a day.

You might have read the ending
Little do you know
That was the preface.

Better yet,
I’ll remove you completely
Editor’s revision says
There is no space for you here.

Backspace, delete.
Now you're just history
All that is left
Is to empty the trash bin.

You call me a star
But even stars explode.

You call me a fairytale
But even fairytales end.

You call me beautiful
But things change
Grow old
Fade.

You hold me
And sometimes I feel safe
Other times I feel suffocated
Trapped
And want to runaway.

You get mad
When I say I’m tired
And I want to go home
It has nothing to do with you.

I have troubles in my mind
But how can I take care of them
When I’m staying up late
And save no space
To help the craziness
I’ve created.

I can’t remember the last time
I felt this way
Because I’ve never been here before;
How do I go on
Knowing I need independence
But also someone to love.

Your desires of me are destructive
They create expectations
I’ll never meet
I fear the only way
I can survive
Is if I drive away.

I have my Best Coast blasting
Penetrating my ear drums
It’s the only sound
That drowns out the voice
Telling me I’m full of mistakes
And I’ll never be happy.

Sing to me Bethany
Your music is the only remedy
That is able to save me
From this insane pain
Inside my crazy brain.

I have this amputated vision of beauty
I feel I am supposed to be
A specific set of criteria
I am expected to meet:
Shaped perfectly
Delicate and light
Designed and idealized
Like a crystal champagne glass.

Gripped with only *******
And a pinky erectly raised
To signify elegance
An object with little weight.

People would want me;
They would press their lips
Against my rim
Taking a sip
Taking me in.

They would tilt their head back
Scoff and laugh
Gabbing about the day they had
Conversations over choosing paint swatches
“Lemon or cornsilk, the choice is too difficult."
God forbid they pick plain yellow.

Flashing fake teeth
Giving compliments they don’t mean
Over 30 and still gossiping.

Is that who I am?
Is that who I really want to be?
This idea of a human
Consumed with aesthetic beauty
A mere champagne glass
But made out of plastic.

I am not a champagne glass
I am in a different class.

I am a hand painted mug
Born in a ceramic painting store
Surrounded by various pottery
Cups, plates, figurines, galore.
In walks a girl with the desire to create
Make something beautiful
To love and adore.

Everything she is
Was placed into that mug
Favorite designs
Her inability to stay within the lines.
But these
Little intricacies  
Is what gives her beauty.

Perfect isn’t relatable
In fact, it’s unattainable.

I am a mug
Cold and heat tolerant
I can be roughly handled
Won’t break from a drop
Off a counter top.
Ask that of a champagne glass
Watch a breeze,
Have it fall to it’s knees
And shatter into pieces.

Thin
Breakable
And only seen
Under the hand of another’s command.
Put back when finished
Into my showcase
Until the next holiday
With only one purpose:
To be used for looks.

I am a mug
Not societies type
But does that make me ugly?
Say that to the little girl
Look in her eye
Watch her cry
Tell it to her face
Bring her to shame.

Why do we talk to each other this way?
We need acceptance
Not lessons
On how to have the best this and that.

I am not a champagne glass
So am I automatically fat?

Tell that to the little girl
Strip her of innocent purity
Give her insecurities
Distorted imageries
Of who she should be.

My mother believes
Her perception is the exception
“Be a lady”
“Be dainty”
“That dress isn’t very flattering”
“Do you hear me, Lauren Marie?”

I hear you mother
And all your opinions
But I am not open
To accepting any of them.

You love me entirely
But your words bully me
Like bullet in my chest
It’s hard to walk away
Feeling anything but less.
You’re in denial
Because you treat me like a child
I will never be
“Little Miss Perfect Lauren Marie”

I don’t want to be a champagne glass
Because I don’t drink
I’m not one for wine
I'd rather have tea.

Grab a mug, please mommy
We can cuddle together
And I’ll read my poetry.
But I see
You’re still reaching
For that crystal glass in me.

We own a kettle
One day you’ll want tea.

Sometimes, I still long for the taste of your tongue
In my mouth.
How your brutal hands that ripped
My heart from my chest
Once caressed my back and waist.

I wasted love on you.
My glass full
From years of saving;
Sacrificing other gentleman callers
and their date dollars.

Spending nights alone,
Extending my hand out the window
Collecting ‘love drops’
That filter in my cup.

I poured everything into your body.
How was I to know
You would drain

Every

Last

Drop?

Lost.
All the fluid of my feelings
Kept safe for good keeping,
Gone.
In seconds

…All


Drains


Away…

Amazingly,
All my feelings that poured into your body
Left no impression or influence.
You’re still cold;
A one-track mind.
A drain you are.

Maybe it be best
I fall in love with a plumber next.
To give back what was mine
And he can provide
The Tools I need to avoid
     Fools
        Like
          You.
Currently,
My cup holds ice.
But in time, the ice will melt
From the warmth of another love
And a pair of hands
That can hold my heart.

I painfully learned
That my cup is not meant to be empty
And completely given to someone.
The majority is for me
I won’t be left thirsty.

Drip…
Drop…

Hear that?
It’s my cup, re-filling.
Good riddance.

She hikes as a way
To escape.
She’s outspoken,
But internally broken.
She cries
Most the time.
Because she's learning to cope.
Loathing loneliness.

But more importantly,
She does her best
Each and everyday
To be forgiving
And allow herself the grace
To know
That perfect is impossible
Mistakes aren't her fault,
But a backwards way of freedom.

She's rigid
But only to herself
Believes people are inherently good
If only she could be included.
She speaks her mind
And sometimes her words
Are misunderstood.
She picks on herself for being different
Though people admit
Her presence is like a beacon of light;
Pure sunshine.

She has blue eyes
That see beyond the surface
In more ways than one
She is like the sea;
Vast, deep, filled with mystery.
Never shallow or transparent
Very powerful and her current
Depends on her mood
Some would say the moon.
But ironically
She fears the ocean,
Scared of depth and unknown
Doesn't like monsters or the cold.
She fears herself
And all her potential.
If only she could remember
She deserves something better.

It's hard to tell she suffers;
She's guarded, and hides pain beneath her smile.
But it's not a lie.
She adores the world
And prays one day
It may find peace.
Which is why she's still trying,
Getting up each morning,
Attempting to reclaim her body
Without disappointment or shame.

Give her patience
She will come around
Even the ocean has moments
When the current is down.
Wait until the moon is at its fullest phase
Watch the waves begin to raise.
Moods aren't meant to stay the same
They ebb and flow
transform and change.
She could complain,
but she knows each feeling has a place
bad exists to appreciate good days.

I want to be a wish,
Something magnificent.
Considered so carefully,
Desired so deeply.

I want to be a wish
Be the flame
Of every birthday candle.
With eyelids closed tightly,
And breath blown ever so lightly.

In that moment
That second
That instant
Before breath
Escapes lips,
And the fire is extinguished
She believed in herself.
Believed in her wishes.

I am that girl
Curious,
Insightful,
Tenacious,
Yet bashful.  
Begging the question
Who will I be?
Answer me, wish
Please, pretty please.

I want to be a wish
That penny tossed in the Trevi.
One cent is practically worthless
But as a wish,
It's priceless.
All those shiny coins
Sink to the bottom.

Hope floats to the top
Reflecting light
Shimmering bright.
Each coin represents a child
Who bared the same gleam in their eye
Sparing the time
And a little change
To make a wish
Heal their pain.

I want to be a wish,
Something marvelous.
Breathtaking and beautiful
Absolute and metaphysical.

I want to be a wish,
That star shooting through the sky.
Captivating,
Stunning,
Sparkling,
Something worth remembering.

I want to be a wish,
That well kept secret.
Never to tell
In fear it will leave us.
Like a prayer said in the quite of the night.
We asking for something
Speaking to someone
We hold onto wishes,
As a way to create reason.

In a universe filled with millions
There’s an epidemic of loneliness.
Wishes give us this sense of purpose.
Aid us to not feel helpless.

One day your wish will come true
I am your wish speaking to you.

Honey,
you'll always be
precious to me.
I see
how we
fit perfectly.

The heat
exchanged between
our bodies
generates enough energy
to support the universe.
We are the gravity
of our Milky Way.

Constellations concentrate,
emulate,
imitate
our shape.
A pattern worthy to create
for all to see.
Outlining our bodies
then painting
our figure in the sky.

Leaving a trace
for others to gaze.
Astronomers will say:
“look how they blaze;
burn bright,
illuminating the night”.

Shedding light
to guide
those striving
and fighting
to find
the kind of love we found.

How lucky we are,
and fortunate to be.
Honey,
you'll always be
precious to me.

Where are you in the world
my love?
I don't know.
But our moon glows
the same.