Dull noise flickers
On and off
On and off
In rhythm with
My dilapidated heartbeat.
I feel everything;
Blood in my veins,
Snapping synapses,
Gurgling acids,
Slow expanding chest
Rushing air
In and out
In and out.
I feel everything;
The scratchy wool,
Manufactured breeze on my neck,
Aching eyes rolling
Left and right
Left and right.
I feel everything

And then nothing.

The books upon the shelf do gather dust.
Their wilted pages mem'ries plenty hold,
But sit we two on piléd broken trusts
And move we not until the house grows cold.
Our things lie 'bout the room in disarray:
Your broken tools, my shattered figurines.
The garden, too, has started to decay,
Along with ***** dishes in the sink.
The wicked vines have wound around our walls,
An ivy cage we fed with foolish pride.
Now in this house of ruin do we stall
Avoiding what we still have cast aside.
     And so within these broken houses stay
     All lovers who throw not their pride away.

Today, I see the world in you
Soft lilies bloom in hazel eyes
Mountains rise in your heart
Giving way to green valleys
And life made anew.

Today, you are a new thing
Made of softened mirrors,
Delicate lace linings,
And spring's cherry blossoms.
You are a lamp lit

In a dark room,
Illuminating forgotten windows
And doors left ajar.
There is a chest hidden
Inside of you, waiting

To be opened and rediscovered
By only those who earn its gratitude
Starting with you.
Today, you have begun again
In the same place you were before

Now brightened with candles
Burning jasmine and vanilla---
A new home for an old soul;
Comforts from the heart
Without the bitter barbed wire.

It's been said before, yet I'll say again
That I love you and your beautiful mess;
You deserve all that life can give.

There is no such thing as
"Strong women."
There are only women who hide
And women who hide better.
Women who shelter their fears
In the attics of their minds,
And women who carry them
In their back pockets;
Women who hum little songs to themselves
While wolves wait at their feet,
And women who dance with the beasts.
Women who cry quietly
In bed next to your
Snoring mass,
And women who turn their heartbreak
Into art and music and poems
That rip at the hearts
Of those who hurt her.

The woman you knew---
The woman you loved
Once upon a time---
Hides better.
Her screaming nightmares
About the man that ruined her---
His hands revisiting her innocence;
Night after night,
Waking to underwear
Stained from the dirt on his hands---
Are transformed into drive.
Drive to create, to love,
To touch, to live.
This woman you knew
Hides better.

But strength ebbs,
Like the tide,
The sadness sweeps into the mind
With the rising moon.
But the strong woman,
She doesn't break;
Not until she is tucked away
Into her empty hope chest
Next to the dusty photos
Of lost friends and lovers
And the strings of pearls
Formed from silver tears
Of mothers and grandmothers.
Only then is she weak.
Only then does she allow
The darkness to enclose her,
Like a blanket of familiar discomfort.

What one must realize is that
Passion is not a constant.
Every woman you have ever admired,
Every woman you looked up to,
Every woman you worked beside,
Every woman you passed by,
Falls apart in private.
The body must have a rest from strength,
Let vulnerability prevail.

We've been driving for what feels like
An eternity, rolling over and over for years.

It's only actually been ten minutes but
I can feel my spine beginning to

Ache, and my legs are pasted
To the polyester seat and there are

Nails in my feet and shoulders.
The car is spinning now, out of

Control, I'm losing grip no seatbelt
Cold sweat on my cheeks.

A weight is slung on my chest
Breath is impossible

The edges blur
Until darkness.

Quiet.

Don't ever tell me that
I need a man to ground me,
To stable me, to protect me,
To reign me in;
A man to be the bit in my mouth,
The collar at my throat,
The bars of a cage
Like I'm some wild animal.
If I did need a man,
I don't need to feel
The weight of his control
Crushing down on my ribs,
The incessant ticking of his
Calculator mind
Playing overhead like muzak.

For the love of all good,
Do not suffer me
The cautionary tales told from a lover's lips.
They slither down my throat
With their false slimy sweetness,
"I tell you this for your own good,
Baby, I promise, I love you."
But their faces twist with the words
And their hands clench,
And you know they're really just
Waiting for you to shut the hell up,
You're making a scene.

You can't pair a poet
With a grounded man,
The same way you can't pair
A lily with a flytrap,
A rhinoceros with a lapdog.
I was not meant for the life
Of a housekeeper,
Bound hands and feet
To the homestead,
My sole purpose in life
To cook and clean,
To serve and produce
Squealing piglets succeeding
In his pigheaded line.
I need more than that, so
Don't try to force feed me my "man,"
Mr. Sensibility, Mr. Every Woman's Dream,
Mr. Right,
I don't want him.

Give me a man who writes,
Ballads and sonnets and epics
With words handcrafted
By decadent Grecian gods,
Who spends his nights bent
Over an antiquated typewriter,
Rushing to get the mid-dream thought
Down on paper.
A man who paints his soul,
Turns a blank canvas
Into an emotion,
Raw and real and ravaging,
Who will wait patiently
While his model fidgets
Just so he can get
The ***** of her neck just right.
A man who plays music
Sweet and soft and slow
Serenading me to sleep
When the night is cold,
Who hears songs in
The rustle of rabbit's feet
And the whisper of slumbering breath.

I don't want a man to hold me down,
To show me how to act.
I want a man to create with,
To fight with and play with,
A man who loves with encouragement,
And not reprimand.
I am not a mistake to be corrected,
And I don't need a man
That will convince me otherwise.

I took a picture of you once,
In the waning hours
Of a family road trip.
You were asleep in the backseat,
Mess of red hair strewn across the pillow,
Tucked inside your favorite sweater
Like an infant,
Your hands, your beautiful hands
That taught me
To write and tie my shoes,
To put on makeup and make art,
Just touching the lips
That kissed my forehead
Every night before bed.

You were caught in a moment
Of childlike innocence,
Your beauty free from the marks
That years of discord and tumult
Had etched into your skin.
For that moment,
You were you again,
Outside of the confines
Of married mother life.
You were a child,
Just taking a nap in the backseat.

You are my mother
And you always will be,
But don't forget that
You're a child, too,
And that it's okay
To let go sometimes.