you’re every melody and every song
you’re the pounding in my head all night long
pounding, pounding all night long
bleary eyes and heavy cheeks
you’re the sore in my bones that make them meek
and every other week
another year come and gone, so long
the ringing in my ears
the salt in my tears,
tongue long against my face
catching them before they slip away
down the roadway
to your doorframe
come 2nd place
but who’s to say
i kiss you anyway
2020 is almost over
May 9, 2014
When you’re sick,
counting quarters from the cup holders
to purchase a card for Mother’s Day,
you give in to cry and it feels like the first in so long.
Pep Talk Monologue,
June 15th 2014
Write please, while you can still see your words
even though green flashes may occur.
God knows there are things we don’t want to see
but do not give them up for one autumn leaf.
Or one leaf of paper, to see your own words.
Words are all there are; there is no more hiking.
Words give a sense of overcoming obstacles
in a way that can’t be done now.
Though it is difficult to enjoy reading,
to be let down after getting off hands-and-knees.
You may have stood for the smallest second,
breathed air that tasted less like grass
but there doesn’t have to be a silver lining to loss.
There isn’t a salve to make everything work.
However, it is not wishful thinking to say
if ANYTHING good comes your way
you’ve earned the right to smile and enjoy.
I was hesitant to post this, but due to the time and situation, it's essential. I doubt I have too many poems from these years, as I was struggling too much to write.
when I was asked to talk
about my trauma,
I opened up again and
let the words spill out.
I didn't tell them how
badly it burns when
they come back up.
I talked about depression,
about feeling alone,
about attempting suicide.
I talked about deaths
and pain and everything
that I have witnessed.
and then I began to
talk about my assault,
and the men who still
haunt my dreams.
I started by saying,
"the first time I was *****..."
I paused there.
I realized I said
"the first time"
meaning there was
more than one time.
there was more than
one hospital visit,
more than one police report,
more than one court case
that went nowhere.
there is more than one
****** still walking free,
living his life and not caring
that he ended mine.
I said it so ******* casually,
the same way you'd make
small talk about the weather.
I said it like it was normal.
I suddenly felt nauseous.
I needed to spit out more
than just my words.
I spent the next hour
hunched over a toilet bowl.
I think that my body was
trying to ***** the memories
out of my system.
I said it like it was normal.
I said it like it was
an everyday occurrence,
like it's something
you hear about daily
and no one bats an eye.
I said it like it was normal.
I felt so sick, like
I had been poisoned.
I climbed into bed and
didn't get up for days.
I said it like it
was ******* normal,
and the worst part was
when I realized it is.
A questionnaire of my family history is only a monologue I tell myself.
Practicing in front of the mirror to get better.
So, the next time the doctor’s words I am sorry falls back into their lips.
& I am onto my feet.
A vapid, monologue screenplay.
The rehearsed version of my life.
Answering the questions.
Somehow still fumbling through the words.
Yet leaving voids in my answers as my family’s members absence did.
Two strokes. She’s alive but not apparent enough to know it.
Her blood runs too thick.
Blood pressure always boiling.
Mother knew how to live fast but never well enough.
Dead. He was alive but never long enough to hold it.
Heart always dropping and head into the palms of his hands.
Thirst never stopping.
Alcoholism is a wicked thing I say.
Brother. Alive somehow not present enough to count it.
Healthy. We count his days as tick-tack-toe though.
Family history has a lineage that says the roots in this family tree are rotten.
Sister. Victim to mental health.
The prodigy of a broken foster system.
I reckon her days are counted in lines.
Between days she’s alive & the days she wishes she wasn’t.
The doctor does an homage in the way she bows her head.
Makes the hollowed-out chest of mine seem like it’s filled with water.
I let out a gasp.
Trying to fill the room where all the air has seemed to have evaporated.
Hoping to catch my breath.
My story filling their break room like a lingering coffee smell.
Keeping them brewed in satisfaction that it could always be worse.
My story always seemed like the punch line for better days.
Our family has been waiting since genesis for such.
These are the days I wish I believed in something.
A god to drown every nightfall with dawn.
family sickness death grief history health wellness doctor god
It’s Election RAGE AGAIN
Yet here I AM
Cozied into a very appreciated bed
With widely opened window and
Blue October skies
Bluest October skies waft thru
To kiss my right nostril-n-cheek
Unchanged GREENEST leaves
Cling tightly to a transient's home
Patterned harbingers of Spring & Easter
Last VISAGES to Summer
Looming doom remains willfully un-ACKNOWLEDGEd
Looking SO brave & permanently stable
We've wistfully learned this isn’t the case
Via Charlotte’s entwined web, she’s coached us quite well
That garbage truck’s beeping
I hear you
A block or 2 away
Tuesday’s circadian cadence
No amount of voter’s RAGE will stop YOU this time.
Lastly is a beautiful MAN
Self CRAFTING a HOME roasted morning bean’s brew
This is the stuff of LIFE to love and LOVE well
My GOOD guy
For ALL that YOU DO
Or MAJOR cultural praise
Such quietly EXHIBIT-ed LOVE
Is NEWsworthy for sure
So go ahead campaign RAGEr!
Rage on…RAGE ON
CNN thanks you MIGHTily.
Fo the past 11 months I've been really sick, doctors are still trying to figure out exactly what's triggered these symptoms. I've been mostly bed-ridden this entire time. My husband's taken up the cross of caring for me full time until I am healed. This means he's had to paren, work, cook, clean, AND care for his sick wife. He's done ALL of this without complaining even once. A health crisis quickly solidifies what's truly important-including all this election noise.
Contagion you have made some ill, some die
Some weak, some weaker still but I
Have found in you an unexpected Alibi.
Confined I find like mind apt to remind
Of a former time. Yet, your spiky crown
First afflicting then affecting did come down.
The most depressed people ,
Hide it the best !
I kid you not .
They'll talk about their darkness in the most humorous way possible .
Everyone has different stories yet people make comparison with one another .
All pain is individually valid !
Those who say share your pain are the ones who turns their backs .
Fighting every second just to feel something ,
and another moment never want to feel anything ever again !
Depressed people fake smiles , because they don't want to be burden .
They take responsibility to take care of others even though they feel unimaginable pain .
The most empath people are the most left out people.
Sometime they just need someone to tell them how proud they feel for being strong all the time .
Depression doesn't look the same to everyone .
Some wear it like trash , some wear it like grace .
The sad thing about depressed people is that often their desire to heal others is a disguised cry for help for their own healing .
They fail to understand 3 am in the morning is not a time to sort out life .
There is no going back from depression , it makes people something completely different from what they were before .
Depression deaden you brain to the things it used to know how to do .
Those people aren't good at asking for help , because they're so used to being the helper .
This poem is about those dired souls around us .
I was conceived
At a drive-in movie
Maybe that’s why
I get motion picture sick
Both are actually true...I forgot to ask what the movie was