I feel you there in the place with electric trees.
You are playing games, making casseroles, and sometimes thinking about me.

I type the words and wonder if you're watching the dots bounce and then I retreat.
Backspace.
No, I can't. I need to leave you alone to heal.

I picture you in the tub.
Candle lit and octopus shadow cast on your ceiling.
I wonder if you ever sink down beneath the water to drown me out for just a moment.


For a moment I don't think about you. I am fine. And, then there you are.
A comment online not even directed my way.
Seen. Lingered over and then I scroll on.

I argue with myself and make bargians with the you in my imagination.
Would the real you be receptive?
Maybe?
But, we would just be kidding ourselves again.

Maybe we never should had started?
We knew the risk.
We discussed them all in detail.
We both stepped into this eyes wide open.

But, would I do it again?
Maybe.
Would you?
Maybe.

And, then I remember how you kiss me as if one of us is off to war.
How you smell me when you think I don't notice.
How, your blue eyes run hot when you are inside me.
And. I know I would.
I wouldn't give those moments away just because it hurts now.
I'd still chose you even if I knew I would be losing you soon after.

I'm either stupid or romantic.
Well, let's admit I am both.

Know this,
Every time I pass the electric trees
-for the rest of my years-
I will remember us there.
Moaning, laughing, snoring.

She has big eyes and a big heart.
Both are telling.
Neither she can control.
She forgives easy and holds grudges.
She's complex and simple all at once.
Simple in the ways that make her happy.
Windows down
music up
long winding roads
and a full tank of gas.

Complex in how she sees the world
ugly, exhausting, alluring,
and so beautiful.

She has a gypsy soul.
A little from her mother and mother's mother
and a lot all her own.

She loves too much.
No, she loves just right.
She gives too much.
Forgiving those who rarely give back.
Those who don't deserve her love and take her light.

She doesn't know how beautiful she is.
She's more than big eyes, curved lips, *******, and bone.
She is light, laughter, strength, loyalty, and acceptance.
She is a safe place for the broken, the weary,and the weird.  

There is a war in her.
It leaves her tired and battle scarred.
But, she's still standing.
She's still fighting.

May she always know she isn't alone.
May she love herself as much as I love her.
May she see herself as I see her.
May she know she taught me every bit as much as I taught her.

My daughter.
A woman now.
No longer my Tater.
Forever my friend.

There is a secret place where I've buried all my questions
never again to be asked
never again to be contemplated
I lit the flame to burn all the photographs but I so hesitated
No I can not
No I must not
No no no
I will not
But I must
I must burn them and keep the images in the deepest parts of me
I must never look in that direction again
I must never speak of him again
No what ifs, Whys, or hows.
It never was.
I must dig a hole and bury the evidence
I must plan my alibi
My future is uncertain as it relies on lies
I was never here.
He never hurt me.

I want you.
I want you in me.
I want your mouth.
I want the salt of your skin to linger on my tongue long after we part.

I want you.
I want your bad jokes.
I want your lingering gaze.
I want your smile when I say "Hi." when I mean to say "I am falling hard. And, it scares me."

I want you.
I want your fears laid out for me so that I may help conquer them.
I want your emoji game to get better and better. (Gimme all those gifs, Baby)
I want your indecision spoken aloud so I can  help you choose us again and again.

I want you.
The guilt you carry for things long done.
The things that keep you awake at night.
You can trust them with me when you're ready to tell.

I want you, but I don't need you.
I can live without you.
I am plenty strong.
I have survived worse than losing you.

I am choosing you.
Want is stronger than need.
Need is desperation.
Need is suffocating.

I don't have to love you.
But, I want to.
I hope to.
I will.

He paints.
He paints me.
He paints what I left behind.
The marks I made.
My lingering parts.
He uses lines.
Copper paint such as my hair.
True blue such as my eyes.
Chaos, passion, pain.
Always beauty.
To him I am beauty.
To him I won't leave.
I am his even if I am not.
And, so he paints.

All the admirers want to know what it is they are staring at.
What they stood in line to buy.
He speaks pretty words from a pretty mouth and says nothing of me.
They hang me on their walls.
Then it's no longer me. It is what they see.
But, to him
the lines,
the copper,
the true blue,
the spattered black.
It is me.

Maybe if he told them I wouldn't be a ghost?
I wouldn't be someone lost to grieve.
Maybe if he hadn't hidden me in lines I would be more than paint and memories?

He speaks with paint.
His art talks about what I left behind.

He forgets he left things, too.
A lot more than just his faded shirt and spare key.
He left his mark on me forever.
A wound that will never heal into a scar.

I have never been as strong as people say I am
I don't know where the notion came from
I don't know why they assume and leave me alone
to handle what comes at me
What pulls me down
What takes my joy
What clouds my judgement

For once I would like someone to say:
You have been strong enough alone.
I am here now, too.

Spin me 'round
Spin me 'round
and spin me 'round again
Spin me 'till I am dizzy
                  and
too confused to see the door

Waste my life
Hurt my friends
Wait!
What friends?

Oh, spin me 'round
Spin me 'round some more.