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Jigsaw Love

Please forgive my uncertainty
and bi polar tendencies
In my mind
we fit together
like a jagged jigsaw puzzle.

You know, the brisk confidence
with delayed doubt
that comes
when you slide two pieces together
only to find one that fits slightly better.

You begin questioning
every move you’ve made
You know two cannot fit the same space
but have trouble deciphering
between what’s meant to be
and what’s a falsity.

Just as the puzzle seems to be coming along
a bump in the road
shifts the loose pieces out of place
and we’re left starting behind first base.
Where a forced kiss on the cheek
is the most you’ll get
because I no longer see the big picture –
only small fractions of what was and could become.

Please forgive my uncertainty
and bi polar tendencies
For no one’s shown me a finished puzzle
and I can’t imagine the full picture
unless I’ve seen the box.
But I know we are the jigsaw
because you can handle the challenge
and mild disrupts
better than anyone I know.

When I often run –
abandon the paradox –
you pick up my scattered bits,
and hold them gently in your hands
waiting.

When I stop running,
together
We mend the mangled edges
cut new pieces from corrugated cardboard
leaving no holes –
just questions – in our image.

People act as if the solution
is getting down on one knee,
putting a ring on our fingers
and saying those two words,
But a marriage is not glue.

You cannot mod podge
two lives together
expecting them to stay in that condition
forever.
Relationships aren’t meant to be
hung on the wall
of your parents’ cookie cutter home.

Some relationships stick
but it is not with a band of adhesive
It is the strong yet gentle hands
that carefully hold the pieces
in their place.

Some relationships end
with broken pieces
in a battered box
that we tuck into the closet
only to be pulled out
as a reminder of our failed attempts
at forever.

Some relationships are left
out
on the counter
in a ziplock baggie
with random parts
and no hint as to how they got there
or if they even fit together at all.

Our relationship
is the jigsaw
left on the table
night after night after night
slowly making progress
only to be moved
and shifted out of place
Our relationship is the piece
found under the couch
while cleaning the house.

Our relationship is not plastered
on the wall for the world
to adore or scrutinize.
It is fragile and complicated.

Please forgive my uncertainty
And bi polar tendencies
in my heart
I know we fit together
like a jagged jigsaw puzzle.

 

Internal Wounds

I’d tell you my heart is aching
but I don’t know that you feel
so instead I’ll show you
my trembling hands
as I wipe the tears from my cheeks
and push my palm against my chest
putting pressure on the wound.
But still you can’t see the cut.

You can’t comprehend
a disease without a diagnosis
a broken limb without a cast
a suffering organ without a surgery.

On my own,
I retrieve the needle
Sew together the scattered pieces of myself.
Try to make sense of the pain.
But I’m no seamstress
the edges of me left exposed
hardened yet vulnerable
I cover the scars
but the storm inside spills out
from my ill-sewn stitches.

Strangers watch the filth
of my internal mess
pouring out of the tears in my skin.
And finally,
through their eyes
you see the battle I’ve been losing
through their shock
you feel the pain of my heartache.
I force a smile as a tear falls to my cheek
because I know

It’s finally over.

Loves Stages

When we talk about love

the falling is what we hear of –

the countless stories and song

after which, we always long –

getting swept off our feet

as our friends watch in disbelief,

The fluttering of butterflies

and all the happy tears we’ll cry

thinking sweet nothings of the one

hoping that our search is done.

 

But what about the catch

and finally knowing your feelings match

The moment you look in each others’ eyes

and for the first time you realize

You’ve both dropped your pretty disguise

and stopped telling those silly lies.

Together you’ve reached real love

and you fit each other like a glove.

But not everyone is that lucky.

And no one will always be.

 

For next, comes the letting go

when one no longer knows

why they even stuck around

and they feel as if they might drown

so they start slowly slipping away

and everything just becomes grey

not knowing which way to go

but apart you’ve started to grow.

So you stop holding on

and soon enough love is dead and gone.

 

But you’ll still sense it around

because the next stage is breaking down.

You’ll feel your heart clenching from the pain

For love is a scar not a removable stain.

You’ll only remember the picnics in the park

and the memories that made Hallmark

you’ll wonder what you’ll do without

and think it a mistake to have backed out.

But you won’t risk your pride

so you’ll just wait until the tears have dried.

 

Eventually you’ll reach moving on

when to someone else you’ll be drawn.

You’ll forget how the old made you feel

and without notice your heart will heal.

But even still that scar remains

and at some point it’ll stir hurricanes.

For that’s when you need to recall

what it was that made it crumble and fall,

So you don’t hurt the one you’re with.

But what do I know? Love’s a myth.

My ABCs of Life

Adventure to far away places.

Believe in yourself.

Create and Celebrate.

Dream big dreams.

Encourage and Empower others.

Forgive and Forget.

Give and Grow.

Hope for the best.

Imagine.

Joyfully jump, jam and journey.

Kiss, keep kissing.

Laugh, listen, love, learn, and live.

Motivate, Make Magic

Nurture the young and old.

Overcome your challenges.

Persist through the hardships.

Question society.

Recognize problems and injustice.

Support small businesses.

Trust in yourself.

Uplift your friends.

Value yourself, Voice your opinion, and Vow to never back down.

Write and Welcome Wonder.

X out the negativity.

Yearn for greatness.

Zero in on the goal.

 

 

 

My words

I search for myself in my words
As if they know me better than I do.
But scattered across the pages of endless journals
Telling unfinished stories and
Unspoken dreams
They appear more lost than I.

Written in shaky cursive lettering
They are delicate and fragile
As if they are easily broken down
and yet they are sewn tight together
intentionally leaving no space
For any alterations or distortions.

They hold my past in a truer form
Than I could hope to remember
Though they skip the transitions
As if i jump from one state of being to another.
Sometimes so unrecognizable
I’m found questioning who I’ve become.

They hold every emotion
That I know to have felt
But it’s the sorrow
That reads the most sincere.
They are deeper and darker
Than I pretend to be.

They live in extreme metaphors
Increasing the intensity
Of every living moment.
But it’s more than just hyperbole
For I’ve felt the truth
In every mixed emotion.

Albuterol

I wake in a panic, gasping for air but outside my dreams, the oxygen taunts me.
I try to calm myself as to not wake you but the air isn’t finding my lungs.
I crawl over you and shuffle through my bags in the dark.
My fear grows with each missed breath.
Finally my hands grasp the little blue L that’s supposed to comfort me in times like these. I give it a shake, take a puff and hold my breath.

I wait for relief but know it won’t come. Puff.

I grab a glass of water and hear his annoying voice in my head telling me to drink water or step outside – “you just need fresh air”
I roll my eyes and crawl back to bed.
Laying on my back, I breathe in long and slow, hoping the oxygen will find a way to fill my lungs.
Puff.

Suddenly the pounding of the pipes begins in the radiator and my heart follows just as hard as it does every night in our old Seattle apartment.
With my heart beat growing faster and my breaths becoming weaker, the peaceful panic sets in and I envision myself slowing fading from existence.
I look at you and force a Mona Lisa, a single tear rolls down my face.
I wipe it away and snap out of it. Puff.

My insides forcefully shake, And I imagine the steroids pulsing through my veins trying to find the end to the maze that is my body.
My continuous fight for air tells me they haven’t won.
Puff.

My mind wonders if my body can handle an albuterol overdose. Puff.

I slip my phone out from under my pillow and Google it.
“An overdose of albuterol can be fatal,” I read.
Puff.