I am a woman.
Does that make you want to hurt me?
Do you look at me as weak, vulnerable, ******, emotional, insignificant, manipulating...a pleasure dummy?
Am I excluded from conversations, education, emotional relations, fair evaluation... I am a woman, here is my exclamation.
I eat. I ****. I read. I sit. I learn. I grow. I don’t like to be called a **.
I have thoughts. I can take a joke. I care for others. I’m not just something to poke.
I work for my money, 77 cents to your dollar.
I have control and my intended purpose is not for ironing collars.
The notion of the nagging woman bothers me most.
There is much beauty to us, if you look close.
Not on the surface or underneath our clothes.
Listen when we talk and you will see we are not foes.

Raccoon on my roof
Lift up your feet when you walk
I like you otherwise.

Friends, synonymous with companions
Family with love,
Lovers just know,
this table won't move,
this salt keeps pouring.
I can't stop it.
They won't stop it.
Keep eating,
go faster!
before I burst,
before you say something you don't mean,
before I say something I do mean.
The answers to the questions you won't ask,
they need out.
They aren't bad.
I'm not bad.
The salt needs to stop pouring!
Someone move this table,
someone chop this ******* table apart!
I need to go through it because going through things is how you come out different.
A professor once told me that.
You won't ask the questions I want to answer, so I need to go through this table.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
see your bright face,
and the freckles that run lost on your cheeks,
I wouldn’t be crying myself to sleep.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I would ask how your day was with every fiber of geniality inside me.
I would not just say the words to progress the conversation to get to what maybe was really on my mind.
I would start with your day because that is real and important and helps me know you;
keeps me knowing and loving what I know.
Your day is more real than the delusions I came here to talk about.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
my hands would stop shaking when they touched yours.
I would order coffee because you did,
trying to hang with the big dogs.
I would ask the waitress for 10 flavored creamers and use them all for one cup as I cooly smiled at you across the table.
You would use one creamer, no sugar.
You like the unaltered smell of coffee.
It’s one of your favorite smells, in fact.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
you would already know what was wrong, so I wouldn’t have to. You would make me smile before I had the chance to tell you what I thought it was.
You would look at me so intensely that I could feel all you didn’t say and believe it so honestly.
We would make jokes about the corny verbiage of the breakfast titles as our inflection steadily escalated as we repeated them.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I wouldn’t be here wishing I were meeting you at a diner right now.
I would instead be memorizing the changes in your face, the way life does that.
I would love them the same because they belonged to you and told a story.
Your laugh lines would be exacerbated from the laughter you created and allowed in you,
by those lucky souls graced with your presence,
hopefully appreciative of it.
Your lips are still soft.
Your skin is slightly touched by summer which brings out your telling eyes that I can see when I close mine.

If I were at a diner right now, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be with you.

Big white fluff,
you have no form really but you are every form truly.

Your distinct milky knobs present a welcoming entrance; a "Three's Company" vibe.
I wanted to catapult up to say hi
And ask "What parts of you, were parts of other clouds I've seen?"
I wanted to know where it has been; what it means.
This kind of magnificence is a collaboration.

You strike me through the glass as I wind around the pass.
I know there is more that I am missing.
Your colors may be richer, crisper but as I see you now
is blissful–
Orange, pink and bright white hues surround the few cues you are giving me,
that say " I Choose you, sullen traveler ! Look at me and be happy!"
And I was, right then– Happy.

That word that is over questioned and often fleeting went through me and however brief, I can say it was there.

"This too shall pass"
is a phrase that I apply to remind me this anchor will detach,
But as for now, I stare blankly at a fellow passenger's rust colored shoe,
paying close attention to the stitching--every detail.

Pushing down the urge to *****.
Angry at every beautiful thing that's here when you're not.
My ears muffled with despair at every voice I hear that is not yours,
Reminded of the lively ants that littered the porcelain sink I bent over when I got the news.
REminded that their lives were pointless.
I could thumb their bodies into the porcelain and end them.

They were my only company though,
and misery likes that sort of thing.

The smell of travelers permeates the air.
My bag full of ***** laundry and this journal.
People stare at me and I believe their eyes say "sorry",
I must look like a freshly cleaned window.

I'm writing like you taught me to,
a poem,
like you taught me to,
Struggling with the decision to touch your now cold hand
or remember your warm one.

"Cold hands, warm heart",
You told me that.
With my guitar, I'd make like Orpheus and compose a melody,
to fish you back to me.
You loved when I played and I'd fall asleep to the sound of your piano---
laden with arthritic flaws, making it perfectly human.

You were my Beethoven.
I want to leap onto a bed of your clothes,
your sweaters, because you were endlessly cold,
your scarves that accompanied your overcoats,
Your lotion, your perfume, all items in your room..
NO little kid in India can have them!

You and I were friends, generations apart.
I hope I can live without my heart.
**** that house, all the doctors!
**** the faithless kin!
Anger resides in me like a squatter,
I don't want to be this angry-not for you--not on behalf of you,
NO. You are kind.
Hug the anger out me!

I will wait for the beauty to slowly leak back in and not be a nuisance as it is now.
The flowers **** me off because they live without you planting them.
I hate tea--I don't want to drink it anymore because that is OUR thing.
I am mad at all the wonderful things that exist because you don't.

A sign above me reads ,

Life vest under your seat

I'll bring it to you.
See you soon...

Red, square table.
Empty hot chocolate cup.
Reasons to stay are few.

Hi.
Hello.
Distanced greetings to replace what I would rather say to you.
You may be a "hi" on a Monday but on my day off, you are a "please come over".
On day off number two, you are a "see me, touch me, be with me",
not With me--with me, I could not handle that,
but be near me like we use to,
how we can manipulate the clock into making the day 25 hours long without noticing.

Time is more observed now.
I see an hour spent with you like I see a full moon,
waining, waining,
I am Waiting, waiting to effortlessly know you again.
Do not worry about your privacy, I don't want to take it.
I am not in love,
this is not about that,
if it were, I would know what to do.
No, this is something much more permanent than the fluctuating ecstasy of love.
This is loss.
You know that is hard for me.
I can't go on a date and laugh and drink and forget.
To be clear, I am not upset if you can.
Maybe all you are losing is me,
maybe that thought has settled in and been accepted,
look at all you can gain now,right?

I lose weight. I lose sleep. I lose support. I lose a second family. I lose holidays away from home.
I lose friends that were yours, that were mine, that were really yours.
I lose you and it is more than I am used to losing.
I stub my toe every time I say your name, think your name,
hoping it will force me to stop thinking your name,
this is not a fun game.

The pieces of us when we broke, no longer fit,
with that I agree,
but don't  you think with all the pieces of you and all
the pieces of me,
one is hiding to be found when we are whole people.
It's a nice thought anyway that stops me from down playing what we were.

I often convince myself of a truth that could be possible.
You do not care for me,
you will not call me,
you will not remind me any of this was real
because you don't love me.

You write in that book what I want to hear in my ear,
Please don't study me and take notes.
The experiment chapter is over.
You got the results,
I got what is left.

You want to see the puddle counterpart.
To mirror my behavior is problematic.

That's two people that won't call
Two people that won't say the words aloud
Two people who can't stay out of each other's head
Two people trying to break in
Two educated fools ignoring the rules of
attraction.
Two traveler souls who split at the fork to avoid the storm

Tell me a secret,
I don’t scare easily.
I’ll go first.
Confession: I want you to be ugly
Dark.
Caustic.
Honest.
Remorseless.
A Thief.
The thing I was warned about...ugly.
I want a reason, a vile reason you even look at me.
Selfish. Ugly. Reason...you believe in reason.
It is hard to imagine you are normal
I say that not to mean ordinary (which you have never even sat in a waiting room with)
You are the swirled colors,
the flowers I see in my imagination that has no occupants,
Not because they choose, but I chose it to be that way,
I chose you to be swirled colors and flowers I see.

You are not
Charred.
Jaded.
Broken.
Needy.
Weak.
Dishonest.
Misleading.

I am waiting to see your ugly...
But maybe there isn’t any,
You even apologize when you think you may have let “it” out,
I promise you,
I have never seen you
as anything but
Lovely,
Loveworthy,
Love Me...?

Why would you even look at me then?
How could you assess me the way you do,
And make me believe the tenderness you radiate onto me so thoroughly; permanently.
Gently touching my worn face with your ******-guitar-calloused fingertips
And giving me the look you do.
Seeing me without motive; without malice
I’m not Little Red and you are not the wolf,
It is hard to let that be,
But I will,
I am,
I have?
I HAVE.
The in-betweens,
The aboves,
The mourning doves,
that remind me of you,
your smell,
as well,
as the pillow I refuse to wash,
your skin to my bed cloth
to my skin to yours...

Lately I am really hoping I am not the Wolf.
History, I love you, but take a vacation,
Please,
Don’t mark this,
Don’t let this be another thing to take,
Let me keep my smile,
Let this one be with me for a while.

I feel big.
I am small.
I want to help people.
I push people away.
There is light.
I glow in the dark.
I feel safe.
I am the danger.

  Sometimes I think of this memory I intertwined with reality and my own additions. It can stop time. It can block the sound and blind the sun. It is a good thing this memory does not solely rely on reality. How sad I would feel when the tangible fleets into another realm and takes my pseudo-memory with him. But it is mine because I co-created it and it stops time…sound and those feelings that I tightrope across.
  
This memory makes me part of the whole just for a moment. The tightrope becomes thicker, almost like a rickety bridge to the other side of the precipice, where more decisions will be made.

I am the danger.

Time and circumstance exposed their twisted bodies,
Not caring to ask if I were ready.
I didn’t ask to empathize or recognize a feeling,
That may be leaving as soon as I taste it.
I didn’t ask to be something the wind could have it’s way with,
Someone that hangs on a word and can be debilitated by a look.
I remember welcoming the ground, in search of pennies on the sidewalk.
The way my granny taught me to.
If I had a care, I didn’t feel it there or where it ought be.
All of my concern was in getting back home,
because my feet grew tired,
and my eyes weary of the sandstone;
I wasn’t ready to not stare at the ground.
Somewhere on the dismembered pavement,
I grew up,
looked up,
to see someone locking eyes on the same track,
something was felt and I cannot give it back.
I wish I could.
This feeling,
that I surely did not inherit,
is not interested in my betterment.
I want to be a grifter.
jingle my cup,
make a quick buck,
and say good luck to any fool who dare give me that stare,
that screams for me to give it back.
Because I won’t.
After the last one who dared,
I can’t say I want to be paired,
Impaired,
lost in a circular pool of equivocations and ambiguity.
Forward not backward,
Trusting that I can trust trust.
Or I can trust the sidewalk,
since it will not cease to be,
like you or her or him or me.
I much rather look for pennies,
knowing they won’t look back.

You are a demon.
Haunt me after I have become stronger,
Letting me know you still rule.
All your evil resides in your subconscious,
Thus I am a girl livng with her favorite demon.
I protect you. I love you. I won't let you go.
But you don't want to either!
Go!
You stay which makes me stay.
Since you do not mean these things, I can't hate you,right?
I was taught to fight for what you love.
You were taught to love other things so you don't have to fight.
Temporary.
You are a demon and you are beautiful,
I wish I could see you differently.

Anything can happen and Anything does
There isn’t a fond memory
where something opposite hasn’t been,
even if that something isn’t yours
The temperate wind that hugs your neck,
meets the dry hands that have already squeezed it
Noticing the altered colors around you,
as you meander through a dimly lit park after dark
reminds you that this isn’t yours
And because it isn’t yours,
there’s going to be someone who wants to take it
Beauty is ubiquitous and so are people,
that doesn’t mean the two ever collide
The eyes want to see the danger
The eyes want to see the one who will take this away
because it belongs to everyone
and we only want it when someone else sees it
That’s how we know it looks good; is good
But, Anything can happen and Anything does
The parental inflicted wound above your right eye
meets the tender care of a hand
that has potential to show you something different
The sullen lace that surrounds the face
of that person who eats alone,
can meet the smile of someone who cared to look
Living,
is revisiting a mirror that doesn’t show you the same image twice We don’t go back to a mirror to see the same thing,
if that were true, why would we need it
We look to see what’s changed
How life disrupted our once groomed hair and tattered our clothes
And life does that!
Nothing is as permanent as the day you  were born

I want to build a house around us
And in it our favorite things,
Walk here, jump there
sniff around, pull the strings
Laugh loud, spin around
And when we are through,
we will rest in the mess we made.

Strong, then fleeting
after each meeting.
One is never like the next or last and
as times pass I want to preserve the greatest feeling I have ever felt.
It brings me to my knees that we may never be,
that you could be with someone less deserving than me.
See Me, please see me like you once did.
You aren't looking hard enough, long enough.
I want your eyes to melt into me,
like they did when seeing was our only activity.
We were lucky.
We were perfect in that hour glass.

When I sleep in my stone cold bed,
I dream of your warm arms holding me,
your silky lips touching the back of my neck and your life
breathing into me, sharing itself like it once did.
Waking up from that fantasy binds me to the bed.
Still.
Motionless, except for a stream of salt that stains my face for hours.
Me without you is what I will do,
but me without you is not me...
I wish I could be young like I am and find another,
but it isn't fair to compare,
I don't want to run my fingers through just anyone's hair.
I want to run, fly, to another land to erase this mourning,
but I'll only wish you there and not understand why you're not.
So I'll open it later,
your texts, your emails, our photo albums,
I'll open it later when you are here beside me to stay.

Beauty in still motion.
Eyes unopened.
Move slowly,
crouch lowly,
brush lips,
against your fingertips,
calm down,
you'll be around.
I must leave
can't believe,
roll in the sheets,
until we meet,
it's in my head,
while you're in my bed,
want to cry,
need to pry, my hands away
from the day,
it can all be changed
out of our range.
The mind is deranged.
Can't be blamed,
for the unsaid
and the way I led,
the thoughts and oughts
and now I'm caught in a web
as the undead often are
and the treadmill of moments
in your car
pass
Incessantly,
while you are ******* me.
To my surprise,
I am comprised,
of these feelings
that aren't appealing,
that force my knees to regress
and my heart to stress,
that it's not okay
to have your way
because I can be molded into a flower
that is nice to smell,
But eventually,
fell out of reach

Young girl you are young.
young girl, you are a girl.
Young.
A Girl.
Skipping Through,
the graves of people you never knew.
Young Girl,
Your shoe,
on graves of people you never knew.

Twenty-three, not eighty,
the age of the grave outside your reach,
so you skip to remind yourself,
leaping to remind yourself,
screaming nonsense to REMIND yourself...
you are young.
Dance on the graves of strangers because you are free
and so are they
And why should that be a secret to keep.
Weep for me,
on these grey macabre slabs
countered by bright flowers,
Can you see the flowers?

Young girl,
you wonder things.
Young girl,
the moon says things tonight.
You are more alive in the home of the dead,
more alive than your society allows you to be,
more than your gender can handle.
Young girl, let the stars shine through you,
the same stars that illuminate your morose setting.
It is not sad, you are not sad.
This is a celebration with one guest,
young girl,
you invite the rest!

Why do we have these things that don't know how to stay together on their own?


                With an outline from a welcoming fingertip along
The perforated edges,
Of what's supposed to be hidden------
You found,
You poked through,
You left hollow.

With this hand, I thee write,
With this hand, I find other hands to hold.
With this hand, all that fits is yours...