claire can't see me.

a mom who is cooler in words than in life.

Archive for March, 2008


i stumbled across hippie talk the other week, no offense intended, a conversation that didn’t include me specifically, in a building that houses all the arts & farts at school. you know, english, theater, philosophy, women studies. & so ladies went back & forth about women issues, specifically vaginas & scented soaps. i’m nosey, so i listen. one girls tells the other that the vagina is a self cleaning machine (i agree to myself) and that you shouldn’t use soap up in there (i understand this point) and if a perfumed poon is really something you want you should use some essentials oils on it because that’s chemical-free…

i made the essential oil of cloves in class not too long ago…wanna know what we used? dichloromethane, hydrochloric acid & sodium hydroxide, just to get the oils separated from the natural source. wanna know what the smell of cloves chemical name is….eugenol. it is a chemical in the dried cloves responsible for the scent. & well….sometimes a labortatory may not get 100% of the dicholormethane evaporated off the oil..and perhaps there may be a slight chance of acid impurties left over. do you really want that up or on your tingting? i wanted to tell her friend not to do it…but i’m a science major & therefore i’m interested in experiments. so i’ll just keep sitting over there in that building for the next 2 months with my lab book recording any changes in the friend’s walk.

wanna know what these two did after talking about this…yep, you guessed it. went to have a smoke.

gotta love america.

poem for strangers: part 3

**when straight girls slant only in words.

if i were the kind to spend the night
the type that likes to touch waywards curls out of heart shaped faces
if i were less of a planner and more of a doer
less of a writer and more of a reader
less of a needer and more of a giver
if i were more mature about liquids
i would
i would
i would whispers poems into your womb
for you
run fast across town to buy booties in pink and blue
doublemint twin a pregnancy
between impossibilities and reality
we’d protest with our uterus
be married in the eyes of children who define love simply
by if its said from one to another
rather than who it is said in the presence of
namely judges of all kinds
for you
would never have to ask me if
if i was the type to stay for eggs
the type that liked complicated questions in the form of pillow talk
if i enjoyed being out done with dates & creative ways to say
lovely things
if i were really into reading hallmark cards
and cared enough to call just because
rather than yearn for the excitment in the waiting to be called
if i didn’t secretly enjoy being misunderstood
if i were more consistent with my wants
and even moreso with my emotions
if i was a girl without daddy issues
the type who understood the bond of sisters
with the patience to outwait silent treatments
if i weren’t me
if i weren’t straight & narrow in thought
type a with life
type b with love
for you
i would
i would
sit still in the shade under the hammock of your smile
lay out flat in your name
loop and swirl with the letters in the word love written in cursive
along your long back
bead your sweat in a string of pearls
i’d sit you down between house & home knees
part sections from forehead to base of neck
and glide oiled fingers between each line
then braid my history into yours
i’d sonnet you
swallow you
& allow laughter to errupt from your mouth to mine
in our space
i would enjoy those things that are lost on me now
if i were
if i were
i would
i would
for you
perhaps i would
but i know that perhaps is never enough
in love poems
& if is only a tease of a gesture
& would is a word used to bandage feelings
& hope was the last thing
in the box
so i don’t say these things
i just smile & nod
& leave.

just a fish, just a pond.

i grew up as the only crayola master piece on the fridge. the only first step to be amazed at & the only report card to praise. i was the center of my mother’s world. father be damned. loretta’s lullaby to me, from birth to boston, was that i was the reason why she breathed, lived and kept on keeping on. 

sidenote: yes she had her serious issues, but overall she was one of the best mothers a person could be fortunate enough to be messed up by. teehee.

how do you expect for a kid not to grow up with a god complex in that household?

so i grew up making monkey bars out of opportunities. every rung was a predetermined goal and once reached my passion moved on to the next out of reach landing. from sports, to grades, to leadership titles, to making boyfriends do what i want, to writing, to being a mother. & it was never about trophies or accolades or someone in the audience clapping. if you know me, you know i hate compliments. it was about feeling like no one could do what i did. like i was really the only one. the big fish in the little pond.

“so why do you want to be a doctor?”

“because it’s something i feel like not everyone can be..”

“but what happens in med school when everyone there is capable of being a doctor…? and what happens when you become a doctor surrounded by doctors? what will set you apart then? what will be the next goal?”

“i don’t know”

she who always knows the next line. the virtual script writer who practices her responses in the mirror. she who lives to know before knowing. she does not know the answer this time. so what does she do now?

she cries.
i cry.

here’s the truth. i fight only for the title. but once i’m there i flee, afraid that someone will challenge me. pull my card & realize that underneath all the blue ribbons pinned across my smile i’m just a pretender. i race to the top so i can say i did it then bow out early so that i never have anyone question me afterwards. i only want the appearance of being perfect.

“what is it about being perfect?”

“its always been my role. i know everything and because i know everything i think it will attract people to me for being….wise? for wanting to be close to my awesome glory?” ** I know…even I cringe at saying this but if I’m being real..I gotta tell it to you**

“but didn’t you say that people have been treating you like a know-it-all, so in a way, what you’ve been hoping to achieve by being the best has been holding you back from what you want? so, if this isn’t working…why not just try..not being perfect. why not just be yourself.” i’m paraphrasing here, but i think you get the jist.

the only place allow myself to fail and be riddled with flaws is ….here. in words. with you. & then again sometimes i think even here i am competing for the best victim certificate. no one can spin a sob story like me, i think. no one can make you cry and then see the shinning light at the end of the tunnel. only i could do that. hahaha. sorry to debunk the funk. i mean, majority of the tales i tell are actual and factual (you’re the one i wanna run back to…(c) tlc) i’d say 98%, the other 2% may be exaggerated for poetic effect. *wink*

so here’s what i must work on….1) everyone is special. GASP! how hard of a concept is that to swallow? how dare god give all ya’ll a talent too? i kid. :-p but that is where i am at. working through my lonely only issues of being the best. last week i told a boy i made a C on the biology exam. now i’ll admit i thought i was telling him i made a b, because i thought the professor had made a grading curve that would have included me…but apparently NOT. but when i realized this mistake, i didn’t fall into a steadfast depression. & also then understood his reaction. which leads me to 2) don’t be perfect. when i told him i made a 74, he didn’t say anything. i said “well, thats good for me” to which he replied “really?!” with a look of shock. it all made sense afterwards.

falling from perfection is a far drop. a thud i’d rather go without. i’d prefer just stumbling off the curb of being human. its a shorter trip back up from the fall.

i guess i’ll try that out for a minute. while i’m working on that i’d like to take this moment to thank you for being here, for reading this and for being the four or five folk that i can be completely honest with about me. flaws & all.