I saw my mother for the last time
The mortician whispered in a silent voice I'm aware your mother didn't wear much makeup, but we had to put some on her as she had some discolouration."

I walked through the slightly opened door
Across the room was a light brown casket
Roses as red as the breast of a robin surrounded you

I couldn't seem to get my feet to move
My feet cemented to the ground
All your artifacts lay around you

Step
By painful step
I made my way over to you

I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes
My orchid hearts petals fell slowly to the pit of my stomach

My mom didn't look like my mom
Not with that makeup
But they put it on you to cover the discolouration, the discoloration of the carbon monoxide that corrupted you beautiful mind, or maybe it was the demons that had haunted you for so long

When my tears began to overflow my red eyelids I could have sworn I saw you breathing
My mom is gone
My mom is gone

I kept repeating over and over

Drawn from experiences you bear
Men are not one to care, for strength in their women's demear
weaker ***, we are not !
having to be able to stand on the spot

Men have muscles ! we have brains
they hold strong !    we love fierce

Finding a man, we help him to build his life, his will
we toil for years, trying to bond
developing patterns as we travel along

Making our own history, hoping it last
through tribulations of fighting, cheating - aghast !
Life is good, you love; you laugh;
taking care of your household, forgiving the past

You have dreams of a nice, fine life
so, you work hard, building bridges; making cakes; washing;
cleaning; loving -
Then, out of the blue, he looks at you
It's not the same, what a shame ...

No more communications; no dinners set;
no more sleeping together - nothing,
to offset, the love or potential that you get
when there is love or respect

You fight, with all you have
this is the man you gave your heart ...
he is dead set, because of another
young, fresh, no regrets

It was tough, you burned, yearned
got depressed; fought the tears
the demons on your chest

Its been a year; long, hard year
he's set to go
so, you pick up your skirt
head for the door

I love the colour of his skin,
And the warmth in his eyes,
I love the freckles dispersed across his nose,
The mark under his right eye,
I love his his brutally embarrassing dance moves,
that he calls me "my girl"
I love How he can throw me over his shoulder like a doll,
how he makes me feel beautiful, brilliant and ****,
I love How he calms me when I spiral,
How he makes me laugh so much I cry,
I love his clear ,crisp, distinct voice of reason,
And The little things he does to supprise me,
I love his road rage,
And How he makes me feel brave,
I love How hugs me when I cave,
His smell when I nuzzle in
I love how we never run out of topics,
How the day can fade away.
I don't love that he loves not just me,
The pain I've caused him,
Spit Roads to uncertainty,
I don't love how I fear he can sink and drown,
And I don't feel strong enough to rescue him,
To bring him back to safe ground like he could do for me,
I'm not qualified in that field, like she.
But what I don't love the most is even though I would try my hardest to save him I'm afraid he could drag us both down.

All three together, rock bottom searching for stable ground.

never was or in between almost
and here on paths of worn leather
and jeans left in the corners standing
almost on their own
with bass drums from hell and guitars from heaven
lightning away
we went to together a dream
a wondered place of blacklight and innocence we
really never had or tasted sweet like
in a rush to maturity
we ran on all fours
drooling about doors and
Zeppelin and emerged
kind of.
Ten Years After.