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: 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.

 

 

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.

 

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.

Breakthrough.

I’ve been living on the surface,
Going about my daily routine
as if I don’t have any other means.
But on a Wednesday afternoon,
a slight sense of isolation
is enough to wake me up,
Sending me in a spiral,
questioning everything but my arrival
– on this Earth –
WHAT is my purpose?

Am I no more
than the clothes I wear and the images they see?
The very thought
is enough to strike the icy surface
and suddenly it’s like water
bursting from my core
And I want nothing more
Than to be fully [submerged] in LIFE
So that I may finally feel.

Feel the gentle force
of his warm hands
holding together
the pieces of my heart

[love.]

Feel the rush of 10 thousand emotions
flowing through my veins
as the words begin to flow
from my heart to my brain
to the pen in my hand
giving [life] to the words
that I speak in my MIND

[passion.]

Feel my lungs expanding
with cool oxygen
as my bare feet
meet the pebbled ground
step after step after step
sending life waves
to my [soul]
and crushing any belief
that I am weak

[strength.]

all I want is to feel

something more

than just the surface.