NaPoWriMo: Stages & Different Pages

I was staying up late, fueled solely by sugar-filled Energy drinks,
with my head in the books, as they say.

But really my head was perched upon one hand
the other, set on the keyboard,
finger tapping the “J” as I read and reread my lead,
trying to drum some life into my words.

While she was sipping a light-beer in a country bar
with a man twice her age, as they say.

But really she was only a third-less his,
Wearing a new pair of the old flares,
and the same faux-suede shoes she’d soon slip-off
to slide on the dance floor in her socks.

Later, I would slip out of the newsroom
to answer my phone in the quiet college hall.
And return with a silent wonder,
Or a buzzing worry, rather.
But I hadn’t time to think of matters
not worthy of my front page.

So while she was becoming a mother
to one, and two and four,
I was chugging a glass of water
between 2-for-1 long islands
trying my best to keep a dizzy-head
level on the crowded dance floor.

She’d be passed out
in an old wooden rocker
for the brief silent moment
between the many midnight wakings.

And I, would wake to a friend jumping on our bed
and hold tight to the sheet –
the only thing between his feet
and our tangled limbs.

While she was growing her family,
one by one by one, and eventually two,
I was learning to manage my own team
of six self-deprecating stylists
and trying my best to love them
as she loved hers.

NaPoWriMo: Magic

My eyes caught hers
like a fast pitch
into a catcher’s mitt.
The sting blinded me
and sent my mind
wandering to another world.

A world where
colorful confetti
danced in the air
and eyes twinkled
like stars
illuminating the night sky.

Lover’s hearts
tore from their chests
disappearing into the clouds
like helium balloons
let go too soon.

The sunset fell
like a warm blanket
on the village
and the constellations
sang a sweet lullaby
putting them to sleep.

They only woke
when at dawn
a freckled fawn
would bless them with a kiss
upon the heart
and wake their soul
from wildness.

 

 

NaPoWriMo: Identity

Oh sweet girl,

I wish I could hold your hand in mine,
tuck your thin blonde hair
behind your ear,
wipe the salted tears
that waterfall
down your freckled face.

I wish I could heal
your heavy beating heart
with my magic kisses
on your forehead
filling all the holes
left inside.

I wish I could look
in those beautiful blue eyes
and convince you of your worth
remind you of your strength
and tell you it’s OK
to cry it out.

But most of all,
I wish I could swallow you whole,
because we are one
but I am strong,
and you are broken,
shattered into a million jagged pieces.

Oh sweet girl,

I wish I could protect you
from the world that leaves you out in the cold.
But it turns out,
I need you more than you need me.
For your internal pain is what gives me strength.
And your fragile softness is what allows me love so tenderly.

But oh sweet girl,
please know that I will never
be the cause of your aching
And oh sweet girl,
please know
I would never dream of leaving you.

NaPoWriMo: Lines

Focus
on the lines,
they said.

But lines
lines are a funny thing.

Moving fast
and
slow.

When at the fair
you try to avoid
the long ones are a waste of time
but the longest of all,

might be worth the wait.

So, you start at the end
and wait
and wait.

Lines are a funny thing.

You highlight them
and repeat them aloud
’til in your memory
they are easily found.
But just before the final show
they decide to change them
ever so.

Lines are
a funny thing.

Sometimes you draw a line
to separate the right
from wrong
but sometimes
it’s just a fine line
between standing up for yourself
and hurting someone else.

At times, we blur the lines
between fact
and fiction
like when we enhance the catch
to feed the whole room
or relive a moment
that’s not quite our own
we assume the details
for story’s sake
but in turn, the tale
becomes ever so fake.

Lines are a funny thing.

We anticipate the front of the line
but we’re wary of being
on the front line.

Sometimes kids get out of line,
like when they swear at mom
because she said they need some time
off line.

Lines are a funny thing.

But, sometimes lines aren’t so funny.
Like the lines of work that seem to be known
for the power-thirsty bosses
who
get off the hook
when they cross the line
time
after time.

Perhaps, someone needs to
drop them a line
and let them know,

Time’s Up.

NaPoWriMo: Those Eyes

Your piercing green eyes can’t hide behind
the black chalk dirt
and scars of time –
time spent holding
your rugged hands
over your mouth
to prevent the words
from coming out.

And your Earth-shaking screams can’t be silenced
by battered fingers
pressed against your lips.
For your eyes
cry out to every alley
and like ink on the skin
they stain the souls
of strangers in the desert wind.

 

NaPoWriMo: Put A Dog In There

It’s three weeks short of two years
since we played Tetris
in the back of our blue Escape,
with our plastic tubs
of folded black shirts and flannels,
mismatched towels and utensils.
We shoved the pliable goods
and bulky bedding
into the cracks between.

We drove 1500 miles
across four state lines
to an old city studio
where we unpacked our boxes
and replaced the furniture
we’d left behind
with second-hand pieces
to create a new home.

But even after two years
under the same roof –
which is the longest lease I’ve held –
I still get lost
wandering the side streets
too far off my perimeter.
And I’m still left nodding my head
when someone mentions a suburb
outside of my daily commute.

I’ve shared great moments
with the new friends I’ve made,
but we’re still comparing schedules
to make our plans
two weeks in advance.
We’re still relying on Yelp
to find the best eats in town
for Sunday brunch or late night Happy Hour.

But there’s exactly 57 days
’til we board the plane
to our old home.
Where we know without a doubt
we’ll be pushing our way to the front of the stage
to sing along to ’90s tunes
and throwing back Kamikaze
upstairs with our crew.

We know we’ll wake groggy-eyed
to a friend jumping on our bed
Then, pack ourselves into several cars
and take the short jaunt to Grizzly’s
for a burger and bloody Mary.

I know I’ll pull up to my family’s home
and be greeted with a hug from Mom
in the driveway
because she just can’t wait
until I get inside.
I know I’ll choke back tears
when I’m not nearly plowed over
by two excited pups.
But I know Mel will smile down
from the split-level stairs alone.

I know my sister and I will stay up all night
laughing about the Spring of ’04
when we unwillingly sacrificed
a shoe to the muddy Earth
in the middle of a cornfield.

And I know when I leave again
to board a plane to my new home
their eyes will tear up
and I’ll just smile
until I’m out of sight.

NaPoWriMo: Name the Band

The Day Dreamers

Caught in the Sun

Sand Castle Queens

Buried Too Deep

Freckled Fits

And She Was

Part of Nothing

Escaping Envy

Trouble Is

Everyone Falls

 

 

NaPoWrMo: Nothing

“Nothing happened”

I read, with no punctuation.

I close my eyes and squeeze out a tear.

Until this moment,

I’d never understood how two words

could have such contrasting meanings.

“Nothing happened”

Is an implication of our shared denial.

“Nothing happened”

Is a threat of contradiction.

“Nothing happened”

Is a worried inquisition.

“Nothing happened”

Is a simple statement,
a reminder,
a reassurance.

I try to play it back.

But my memory is lacking.

I can’t recall the external exchange.

Only the internal back and forth between

my slowing fading conscious mind

and the alcohol taking control.

The scenarios that play

like a whirlwind

in my mind

are so far from my reality.

Or are they?

My body temperature rises

and I can feel the sharp

all too familiar pain in my chest

as I reach the most severe sequence of events.

In my mind,

I let myself off the hook

to cool my core.

I’m slipping.

Nothing happened.

I repeat, Nothing.

Is what I remember.

Nothing.

Is all I have.

Nothing.

 

NaPoWrMo: A Nutty Love

I’d heard your name before,

but never really knew what you were.

And I didn’t care to.

The sound of you repelled me

and aside from a delightful cousin

your family wasn’t one to excite.

 

I never would have even given you a chance

if it weren’t for him

seducing me with the sounds

of Beethoven in the park

on that warm July day years ago.

 

He incessantly offered you up

as if he knew we’d change each other’s lives

in the slightest significant way.

 

Me breaking through your hard shell

to reveal your subtle sweetness and vulnerability.

And you, enriching my very existence,

and guarding my soul from heartache.

 

At times, you challenge me

when your protective wall

is too strong to crack.

But still,

I continue to devour you

with ravenous fervor

even when you’ve been left

salty from a hot burn.