Quiet.
It's something I thought I would never enjoy.
The lack of noise.
I couldn't stand the sound of the pounding of my heart.
Noise. Always noise.
Always boisterous boasting
cleverly roasting egos
(on more occasion than one, my own.)
Speaking, complaining
and
not necessarily
communicating.
But the hum of the fan just now...
I turned it down
to hear the quiet
not quite silence.
The hum of the city.
It makes me miss the still
absolute oblivion
that sometimes exists
in the country.
But, even then,
the time is thin
to sit undisturbed.
Three years is just long enough to learn
to love to learn...
and I have learned
how to be grateful
for more than just
quiet.

There we lay, our bodies tangled and our fingers intertwined, my hair in his face and our legs wrapped around each other. Such perfect knots make up the one image of our bodies laying next to each other. We can’t tell who’s finger is who’s, what leg belongs to which body. When we are together, we become one beautiful entity. A single being. His eyelashes are butterflies that are taking an afternoon rest. When I open my heavy eyes I notice that his lips are slightly turned upwards at the ends, and that is cheeks are tinted with pink. His jawline is constructed so perfectly and its chiseled edge cuts through the dim room. His fingertips press into my back so he knows that even when he drifts off, that I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't dare leave his arms. They are my home. There I am laying next to him and I see perfection in front of me, and I listen to his heart give the beat to the song that is made by the rhythm of his deep breaths. My absolute favorite song.

All smiles and giggles when six
Turns quickly to fussing and fits
Whenever is said,
“Naptime. Go directly to bed.”

Yet sleep achieves a great feat,
For when they are woken
The grumpies are beat.

If only all woes were
as easily solved.
Imagine a workplace
that had evolved

To give people a bed
Whenever they needed
more sleep for their head.

Can you imagine, “Siesta right now.
You may not metaphorically plow.
Until kindness to rule, you allow.”

If only siestas for adults
Would bring forgiveness for insults.

Perhaps sleep would like magic reduce
The times of backstabbing and power abuse,
The number of errors, but creativity loose,
And lead to more income and clients profuse.

i love you when we're alone
because you eviscerate me in front of your friends
but alone you kiss the veins in my arms
press your small hips into my hips & sigh into my neck
& blink so slowly that i can hear your eyelids whispering

you won't hold my hand in public
because you blatantly want to seem available to other men
but when it's only you & it's only me
we lie on our backs letting the summer rain collect in puddles
in our bellybuttons & you swear to god
there's only one way this can end

you say i can't meet your parents
but everything i do reminds you of your father
that tall strong man of your childhood
singing sinatra to your mother in the kitchen
just like i do when i sneak behind you &
tickle your neck with my tongue you're
giggling as i carry you like a bride
into your bedroom for naptime or playtime

you only miss me when you're by yourself
like a flower hidden in a fenced-in backyard
but you ignore my texts most days
because when your friends are around you're busy
dancing toward the sun & lying to them
about where you spent last night &
the blueberry pancakes you ate for breakfast
you don't mention the ticklish new rib spot i found
or the quiet music we make together at night
or the stars we wished on with our pinky fingers tied together

i love you most when we're sticky asleep alone
you humming in turquoise ******* snuggled into my armpit
with your warm hand melting into my chest
& me in the pinstripe boxer briefs you bought with
my arm under and reaching for your exposed breast

To Nick, Love ******

Don’t grow old.
Don’t leave behind your
skinned knees,
chubby cheeks,
and toothless
chocolatey grin.
Don’t grow old.
Don’t forget that nothing is too big
to fit inside your pocket
and to forget about for awhile
(like your crayons.)
Don’t grow old.
Make time to pretend
the floor is covered in lava
and the only way to be saved
are the throw pillows from your couch.
Don’t grow old.
Remember playtime,
and naptime,
and snack time.
Retain your sense of wonder,
feel free to proudly display blankie,
and keep that childlike beauty you wear so well.
At least on the inside,
don’t grow old.

it's not even noon, but
my thoughts are drenched with
***, bound and gagged.
you're dancing around the kitchen, clad
only in a pair of
lace ******* you paid
too much for at Victoria's
Secret liaisons by the
seaside, sand sieving through your hair:
all forms of metal-backed currency taste
like ***** on your fingertips stuffed
roughly in my mouth,
call me a ****
pretty please?
promethazine slathered over
watermelon sherbert and
soaked in Sprite; put a lid on it and
shake vigorously until well mixed.
Xanax exacerbated migraines mean
naptime for me, and I forgot to tell you
the Gatorade is spiked with *****
(or maybe tequila; I've well and truly
forgotten) and all of this
is just another means of
replacing you.
you're wrapped in an
ecru trench coat,
cinched at the waist over
concealed weaponry:
unlicensed pistol and wet coral *****
constrained by a black leather holster and
cobalt cotton.
you kissed me with
******* in your nostrils and
nosebleed on your lips;
you killed me with
contempt in your mouth and
venom on your nails.

Do you know what time it is?

Is it springtime?  It tastes like springtime in every word I wish I could say to you, but I choke on petals and potting soil in the meantime.

Is it Sunday morning?  It tastes like Sunday morning every time I speak your ancient name that led me out of Egypt.

Is it naptime?  It feels like naptime in every toss and turn I take, even though when we lay down, we don’t usually rest.

Do you know what time it is?

You don’t wear a watch.  But if you did, it would probably be a Casio watch.  Because you’re subdued and kind of smokey and there’s nothing shiny about you

Until you laugh from the pit of your stomach and I feel like I’m home.

You don’t wear a watch.  And I’m glad because it shows off your arms more.  You don’t need to cover them up and you actually don’t need to cover anything up, ever.

Wait.  Is it naked time?  

Do you know what time it is?  

Is it dinner time?  Like the time when you smeared barbecue sauce on my face and got away with it?

Is it wintertime?  You make me feel kind of warm inside.

Is it bedtime?  Because even though your eyes are the color of ice and your spine is made of steel and your biceps feel like bricks, you are the softest and gentlest person there is.  

I’m afraid that the clock will strike twelve and you’ll see that I’m just a maid in rags who has mice for friends.  And that I am actually not a princess.  

I’m just a girl with a funny name who has completely lost track of the time.

The lights are out ......and the clouds sail past the window.
I can't wait until naptime is done....I want to play with my friends and have some fun.

I see the other kids and they fall off one by one....like a set of dominoes set up by a magician.  I'm laying on my back staring at the ceiling .....the teacher comes to my cot and asks me how I am feeling.

I said "I'm not sleepy", and he says "you should try".  Close your eyes and you will fall asleep....if that doesn't work ....try counting sheep.

I still couldn't sleep and was just laying there....the other children were all sleep now....and he returned to me.

He kneeled next to my cot and said "maybe this will help you sleep".  
The teacher unzipped my pants and pulled out my little meat.

The feeling that I received felt really good and I did go to sleep.

This happened two more times during the week......I never told anyone ....because I didn't know.
All I knew is that it made me feel good and I was able to sleep....he wasn't a teacher. This man was a creep.

He preyed on a child who didn't have a clue.  

I was abused at home...so I never said anything about what happened at school.  This was the place where I was allowed to have fun.....and wasn't confined to a room with a lock.  Instead of watching television I was learning how to block.....but I was always accused of flopping.

I've seen stars many times...and I've never been to outer space.  Those views came from several slaps across the face.  The memories don't produce any smiles....they just gave me a blueprint on how not to raise a child.

I didn't have any toys....or a bed.  I was a prisoner in a room that was blue......it's crazy that I like that hue.  My room was ***** trapped with pieces of thread....to see if I had been out....and I was smart .....so he put on a latch....he became mad because I learned how to take it off and put it back.

  He eventually installed a lock with a key.  If you have to use the bathroom ....you have to ask me.  Wow...you are my father not a sheriff or a deputy.

My father was on drugs and beat me like a stranger.  I felt school was the lesser of the dangers.  I'm a product of abuse and I sit here and write.

I'm realizing that Jesus helped me win the fight.  How you may ask did he help me win? I'm learning about this word called Sin.  When the teacher abused me .....he planted the seed of lust.

The enemy attacks when you are young.  His job is to steal, **** and destroy.  I was supposed to be dead....not helping other abused boys.

I now work with childeren who suffered from similar situations....and I say to them......allow school to be a vacation.....away from the abuse and cursing.  I'm rebuilding their self esteem and allowing them to dream about a different life.

I tell them that my life was also filled with strife.  The children with father's who seldom bother.....are the one's that break my heart.  My dad wasn't around....but God provided me with another start.  

I survived the tests and now I have a testimony.....To help those who are abused and lonely.  I've been on that street and I have ran away on several occasions.....

I almost died...but that's another story.  I'm just getting some answers about who I am......and why I make the decisions I do.  I just shared a real deep piece of my life story with you.

The reason.....God told me to.


Help prevent child abuse.....save a few lives

Give me rest.
The kind of slumber
that toddlers protest during naptime
but succumb to with a stream of drool
on their rested faces;
the kind of slumber
that enables my grandmother
to nap in a rocking chair
with a book teetering on the edge of her lap,
the sort of sleep
that wakes me up
an hour before the morning trumpets blast;

give me that,

because I'm tired
of the sheets clutching on to me
like handcuffs
engraved on criminal wrists.