claire can't see me.

a mom who is cooler in words than in life.

Because every once in a while I write too much.

(& because in every book, i identify with the reckless girl out of admiration of passion.)

dearest you then and not you now,

sometimes i forget how my imagination works. how for survival as an only child i took to befriending walls at night time carrying on extensive, albeit onesided, conversations to pacify my fear of the dark…which was really just the precursor to my fear of being thought of as boring. my love of brick morphed seamlessly into my love of sheltered hearts. & my night time routine of creating grand story lines out of the stoic silence of sleeping chests only served to turn my imagination into reckless abandon for your truth. to me you were no longer boy with quiet charm, beautiful in your simplicity. you were a half filled beaker of potential in the endless experiments of my life. my objective was to find the combination of concoctions that would cause a stir, a rustled feather, a gut reaction, and ultimately an explosion that would turn the dormant liquid at your core into something solid…some tangible thing that would serve as your souvenir to remind you that you’ve been in & survived my chaos. A grand & shiny new object that you would eventually turn into a wedding ring for the next girl…because i acknowledged what your heart only mumbled…i was never meant for you. reckless girls like me, too big for their britches, too loud in their outlandish theories (crafted in freshmen lit classes), too selfless in their sacarfices but too selfish with their attention, never amount to more than a cautionary tale in the memories of a sheltered heart. so we learn to be hurricanes. a downpour of something so foreign that in the first few moments you are in awe, in the next few moments you are terrified, and in the last moments you are planning how you will rebuild in preparation to avoid all future disasters.

so back to my imagination. i made up a story line for you the last night you slept so soundly in a bed too small for my dreams & your needs to fit. you were always going to be too boring for me, I told the hairs on the back of your neck. you were always going to need me to draw you a treasure map to find me, complete with land mines for you to memorize to avoid, i whispered to the rhythm of your breathing. you’ll never know when it is time to limit me & time to give in completely, trusting my gut over yours, I reminded your shoulders as they rose & fell in a shrug. & then I prayed into your spine that you wouldn’t remember me at all & that I would only remember the story line that I created of you.

because if I wasn’t a girl who feared the dark, & feared being boring, & talked to walls (or men built of them) you wouldn’t have been there to craft a story out of.

with love from me then and not me now.

6 summer time adventures

1. Lemonade stand to fund Amiia’s film project. Lesson? It takes a long time to sell a cup of awesomeness…and some people won’t ever buy it..but keep going because someone will come along. Took four hours to make $37. Perspective? Four hours ago, Amiia, you were at $0.00.

2. 10 mile bike ride in 93 degree weather to teach that even when you want to quit…you parked too far away to stop now.

3. Swimming…to prove that summer has actually started.

4. Percy Jackson Picnic in the park, but to gain entrance to the picnic everyone had to buy something worth at least $3 to contribute to our snacks. Why? How else will they learn to contribute to the community?

5. Caught fireflies to practice patience, but let them go with a wish on each wing.

6. (tomorrow) Going to learn to churn butter…to teach “it ain’t where you’re from, it’s where you’re at”.

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Saturday’s Adventures

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Bike ride sounds like great exercise, right? What happens when you ride straight to Five Guys? Ha!

free write: yellow brick road girl.

ease on down, mister, & let me lie an explanation
in the psalm of your hands
because religiously i am lost
but here in our chapel i am holy Married
to the sweet hymn of our collective misguidance
you the tin man
crumpled under the weight of your shoulders
& me, the wizard disguised as Dorthy
hidden, yet unassuming
i am the yellow brick road
golden with good intentions
& merriment
& no clear direction as to how i got this far
from a proper introduction
one where i don’t whisper crucial facts
or send smoke signals that resemble heart shaped clouds
you don’t know me aloud
with you i neither roar nor wail
i ease
i ease
i ease
on down the road, paved & golden
with no clear direction
as to where i’m leading you next.

six quick “i guess i should update this” thoughts before midnight.

1.  amiia asked me what “fly like a g6″ meant.

2. i adore that my kids are so clueless to “popular music”.

3. avery started kindergarten. day 1-3 were good, day 4 was not so good, and day 5 we started to act like our momma is crazy & ended the week on a good note.

4. i really should be taking a sleeping pill & trying to sleep through the entire night without waking up to add something to my to do list on my iphone in the dark.

5. that is an incredibly long sentence…that’s how i know its grammatically incorrect.

6. green curry. what a yummy thought.

7. (the jewel) so, if you know someone that is constantly criticizing the things you do, don’t reevaluate your life, just reevaluate keep THEM in your life.

& with that i bid you adieu.

half half poetry month remnants.

her name

ive never said this louder
than a whisper pushed into closed palms
on a train headed north
with an empty winter jacket
watching barren trees wave goodbye
to my reflection on the window
& my legs resting on the unoccupied space beside me
i distinctively remember my phone
no ring
no call for my return
or pleas for explanation of missing weekends
no concerned voice to swallow me whole
& demand my safe arrival
i tried to wait
but my ticket was paid for with
the weight of your response
nothing was left
between us
or in me
by the time I reached back home
i had left the whole story
in a city too crowded to be noticed
my comings & goings were never detected
until you asked me
why i left
completely turned away from you
embracing the blank night
that hung between the remnants
of unclaimed lovers
you deserved an answer
but i never told you
that i liked the name
coraline
i only whispered the letters into
cursive prayers
etching them into my
empty hands.

for a.k.

you can’t write a love song
for someone else’s husband
no matter how bitter the name of his wife taste on your combined tongues
piano chords can’t disguise betrayal
but it can turn it to a radio friendly excuse
for star crossed lovers to dance silently under
& i might even hum along
sometimes
cause the artist in me understands the complication
of mistaking a muse for a lover
in the wrong light
decisions can be made easier
but since a spotlight follows you on & off stage
while you try to sing empowerment into the backbones
of women possibly left broken by missing husbands
i’d think you’d understand
my hesitation to clap.

 

“im a recovering undercover over lover/recovering from a love i cant get over”-badu

the wind stopped by today
told me you were in love
& left as quickly as it came
with no further details of how
or when
you changed the meaning of space
& needing it
she must be an astronaut
or something else that im obviously not
but if you woulda left breadcrumbs
i woulda figured out a way to become it
i’m something of a poet
so i coulda similed myself to your liking
it woulda been worth the midnight oil
but instead im left unchanged & unsure
if i fit my own image of love
any more
cause i saw you as my reflection
& now i don’t see you in me at all
love is blind like that
& i didnt foresee this outcome
thought it would be too cliche
too redundant
to happen to me again
this time i loved harder
broke bled bent & believed
beyond any doubt that i could
out love you enough
to take on your burden
of loving me
that I could love us enough for us
& survive off the droplets of whatever runneth over from my outpouring heart
i thought I would drown
any pause you had
any silence
any sigh or shrug
any straight to voicemail call
i thought i could outlast
your doubts
your second glances in opposite directions
your fidgety fingers in my hands
i tried to bribe venus
& offer my allegiance under any other
planet that was found more compatible
for you
because I knew
pluto was no longer considered significant enough to draw you in
& i tried every trick in the book
to keep you
but you werent into keeping
another character flaw of mine
you said
& before i could try to change that
you put on your space suit
& apologized to the wind
for taking too long.

rough draft

“i know things fall apart/intentions shatter” -The Roots

i never rewrite poems

because i don’t regret the first draft
i’ve gotten plenty of practice being the mistake
in the love lines of some boy’s palms
my intentions are always misinterpreted
by lonely fortune tellers
& earth signs fascinated by the dangers of waves

by you

& i can’t edit me out of your life’s story
just to save face
from the future advice that you’ll give your sons
regarding love
but i’ll accept the blame

for you

i tried to offer different versions
of the truth
sweet on the tongue tales
sultry sung lullaby’s between sheets & lips & letters home
& you probably didn’t notice that love
in a milder form
was always the foundation of that
that i had fashioned a hammock out of lies
for you to comfortably sleep in
without being awaken by the door closing behind me
i always knew i would leave
i just thought you would have been ready by then
i had spent many nights trying to strengthen your spine
stretched out in my therapy
i massaged your ego into form
& hoped that you’d see yourself as art
but instead you made me your museum
& gave credit only to the artist & not the muse
so i had no choice

i left you

like an incomplete poem
no hope to be had in the conclusion
no moral of the story
& no further points to be made
i just have to accept the blame
& the fact that
i never rewrite my poems.

6 thoughts about snow

1. I thought I liked snow, and I think I
still might. It’s snow days that I loathe.

2. Miia thinks we have the best snowman on the block because he has a mohawk.

3. I have lost 7lbs since New Years, but this “blizzard” is fking with my work out schedule.

4. Who needs ice cream in freezing weather? Anthony. We risked life & limb on black ice for a pint.

5. If you tell anyone that I bought Kanye’s album I’ll bury you under an avalanche.

6. Dead birds falling out the sky, dead fish washing a shore, and snow in Alabama? Yep, Babylon is a fallin.

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