pain and perspective

I love the sting of a shower so hot you can hardly stand to be in it. I love it because of how glorious the relief is when you then step out into the cool air. Everything has its opposite, including pain, both physical and emotional. One doesn't really exist without the other. How much more can you enjoy a victory when the battle was hard fought? The end of a race is so much more gratifying when you pushed yourself to the limit getting there. And when life's great rewards seem out of your reach, you learn to appreciate all the small accomplishments. When your heart is truly aching, you learn to recognize each small kindness. The destruction of a fire gives way to unprecedented growth and reproduction. Agony eventually gives way to ecstasy. So I appreciate pain as a great teacher. I like frustration and sorrow and injury too, not because of the way they actually feel while I'm experiencing them, but because of the way they amplify joy and elation and pleasure. I do not regret life's unpleasant experiences because, without them, I'd have missed out on some very important lessons... and how much more might I have missed?

Anna wrote a poem for me:)

My love's hair is brown, she has green
eyes, and her favorite colors are blue and green
and she loves to read Shel Silverstein
books, and she most of all loves me!

by Anna Jackson, age 7

my comedian

Me: "Amy, I think my coffee is ready. Can you smell it?"
Amy: "I will not accept coffee in my mouth. I would like chocolate milk."
Seriously. The way she says things always cracks me up:)

work and worry

Hard work pays off... in a promotion. In a very nice place to live. In respect from my coworkers and my family. In neatly dressed children.And still I want so desperately to get away, to move someplace remote where life is slower, quieter, greener. Everything about my life sometimes feels like a trap. And yet, I know I'm so lucky. I'm so very lucky to live where I live and have the job I have when so many people are struggling, have lost everything they had financially, have lost everything they had in love, have lost a parent, a best friend, or their child. And I've been so much worse off with no money, no job, no place to live. I have SO MUCH. But I want so much more... and so much less.I want crickets and wind chimes instead of engines and air conditioners, more music and less internet. But I've no idea how to obtain that. I want to pack up and move to a place where I can start over with my girls, hopefully with good friends, where I can grow a garden and have chickens and think and write and create and breathe and be.I've been dreaming of kittens and beetles. Not a great combination.I'm in a wonderful relationship though. And I feel loved. And respected. And comfortable. And I love him.

sweet without a spark

Is it okay to trade exciting for respectful?Is it okay to give up passion for kindness?Could I live without fire if I had earth?Or will I always wish for one if I have the other?

Edit: The answer is no.He may not have given me much, but at least he gave me something to write about.I sure as hell don't want the same thing, but I know that I need something inside to stir or I get stuck, stagnant, trapped inside myself.

green

Whenever I'm at the grocery store mid-morning picking up more styrofoam cups and coffee beans for the office capresso machine or I'm hurriedly trying to do some lunch-break grocery shopping... I'm intensely jealous of all the moms I see doing their grocery shopping with their children. Intensely.

vulnerable

sometimes I feel so exposed
and the scent of my insides turned out
brings the vultures awaiting my failure

religion summer 2008

This is kind of a mess. I still can't find the right words to describe how I feel.Growing up I often felt like such an outsider. I was deeply religious and from a religious family. We listened to gospel music and NPR only when Garrison Keilor's show was on for family entertainment, and we couldn't watch anything that wasn't G-rated... even in high school. I always felt like I only knew a small portion of what was going on in the world, and I was right. I've always had enough conscience for myself and three other people. I'm a pleaser. I wanted to please my parents, my family, my teachers, my elders, my pastors, but mostly my god. And I was the golden child. I was obedient and hard working and quiet. I was as terrified of hell as the next person, but mostly I was afraid for those I knew who weren't "saved" going to hell... much more so than myself. I felt the guilt when someone else was sinning, and I wanted to take it from them and wondered why I couldn't be the one to show them the light. I felt there was no greater purpose for me than to become an obedient wife and raise children that would serve faithfully in "god's army." It was actually in my deeper study and intense reading and praying that it all came to fall away... instead of making me a better wife, a better mother, a better sister, a better daughter, a better Christian... I am now a divorced single mom, feeling very alone and sometimes as if I have a scarlet letter than only my family and former church friends can see, and when their eyes are on me it burns. But still, I feel like a Better Person. Less judgmental, less worried, less consumed with things outside of my control. I still can't escape hell, but the hell I know is within. I'm still on the outside of the world, looking in, feeling like there's so much I still don't know. I know I've talked about this before, but it still weighs heavily on me. I still feel the sting of disappointment when my father asks me if I've quit feeling sorry for myself and gone back to the church. And the most hurtful words are the questions about my ability to be a good mother because I'm not raising my children "in the church." It's hard for me to explain to my friends why it's still hard for me to break the "rules." There are two very different and distinct parts of me, the angel and devil on my shoulders, I guess, and they're still always fighting.I think if you haven't been raised in the world of fervent Christianity and then left it, you can't know what it's like... the freedom from the old chains but the inability to stop looking back and stop asking for forgiveness. I'm still looking for my family too... the people who don't see me as either a stain or a joke, and maybe even a few who understand.

Having dismissed the former fairy tale
Now standing on my own
I find myself searching still
For a system of belief
Somewhere to direct my spirit
In connection with others
With souls of compassion, understanding,
Acceptance, and good will.
What I got from religion before
Was not the answers
To life's tough questions
Nor hope for eternal life,
I received connection, direction
For love and giving
Until the rules and condemnation
And exclusion of
So many good souls
Pushed me away.
It became harder and harder
To find a like-minded"christian" because I found
that I am not one at all.
But I do still have a need
To connect somewhere
Beyond myself
With mankind and life
And death and
Something universal because
I believe there are
Unseen forces in this world,
Moving, flowing among us,
Between us and this earth
And beyond,
Something much greater
Than myself.
And the Bible holds
No answers for me,
The church has grown cold,
Yet my spirit is still reaching
For me to find something
To give it direction
Beyond my own life
Again.

8/23/08

I was cleaning the kitchen this evening, and Anna was playing in her room (she turned her bed into a pirate ship today), when she came to me and gave me a hug and said, "Mom, you're a good mom. You chose the right path." And that is all the assurance I need...."His heart grew two sizes that day."

a heart that never learns

I have a heart that never learns. As a result it gets broken and bruised, but the joy it felt during the falling keeps it going, keeps it hoping. I've never been good at hiding my emotions. I think that often leaves me far too serious, too stand-offish, and I've been told unapproachable because I don't know how to feign interest, and I'm not instant friends with the people I meet. But the friends I do make are lifelong friends. When someone clicks with me, I'm an open book to them, I have nothing to hide or hold back. My smiles are never fake, and I don't speak words I don't really mean, maybe too intense at times and too blunt at others. I'd rather not say anything at all than to speak without a purpose. I feel I approach new situations with an open mind as well as an open heart, but I think my optimism can blind me to reality. It happens so rarely that I feel I've actually made a connection with someone, though every now and then I finally do, that it's completely baffling to me when it turns out I was the only one who felt it. Maybe that makes me foolish, which is something that I don't want to be. My mind is restless wondering how I could have been so completely mistaken, replaying every conversation, every situation over and over again, looking for the signs I missed. It's a painful process when the answers can't be found.And yet I remain hopeful... And I'm not even looking for a Happily Ever After... just the opportunity to recreate joy, to share in the fun, to draw the smiles to the surface and enjoy the moments that become memories that cause me to smile later as I remember them. I have friends and family who tell me to live more guarded, that I shouldn't be so trusting or gullible or naive, to have a game plan, to be prepared for the inevitable let-down, but I don't even know how to. I don't know how to be more than I am or less than I am or to choose parts of myself to reveal and others not to. Plans usually fail anyway. Life is so much better if you just LIVE it instead of planning it, and if I remain withdrawn and afraid of what might happen if I try again or if I let go, I'll miss so much, maybe even the best parts. If I could, maybe I'd have avoided the confusion and the disappointment... but then I'd have missed the moments. Those few moments when I felt really happy, when I felt carefree and excited and filled with anticipation... and the ones where I felt adored and beautiful and comfortable... the moments that still make me smile. I never know where I'll find those moments, maybe a couple weeks, more likely a couple more years, but the fact that they happened reminds me that they still can, and if I'm patient, they will. So instead of learning my lesson, I'm more hopeful than ever:)

cafes

I love cafes. I ate breakfast this morning at Magnolia Cafe on S. Congress, all the while wondering why oatmeal tastes so much better when someone else makes it. People are beautiful in cafes. It's a stark contrast to people in bars. People are not beautiful in bars. Everyone is trying to be something in a bar, trying to look a certain way, appear to be a certain way, or at least to make themselves feel something that they didn't feel when they walked in the door. And that's before the alcohol sets in. Once they're drunk, it's a different kind of ugly. Alcohol is a great lubricant - it causes thoughts that should remain firmly planted in your mind to slide right out of your mouth and asses to slide right off a barstool and into a bed where they don't really belong. Drunken people become cartoons of their true selves, and it isn't pretty at all.But in the cafe, people are beautiful in the way they're relaxed, with no agenda except to fill their bellies and maybe to visit. They're beautiful in the way they tend to their children, or to each other with quiet, intimate conversation and holding hands under the table. They're beautiful with their heads tossed back freely in laughter or quietly studying the morning paper. I love cafes.

music

I am SO ENVIOUS of anyone who can play music: who can make others hear what they feel. To take what's in your chest and manifest it into something audible, something tangible must be the ultimate release. I walk around feeling like I'm full to overflowing all the time, but the pressure just keeps building. I want someone to reach in here and grab what I'm holding onto and pull it from me. I spend so much time trying to say it, fumbling for words that I can hardly ever find. I try and try to write my passion, but I cannot develop it into something suitable, something that truly mirrors what I feel, something that releases me from it. I could take my heart and soul and freely give it, have it turned inside out, dissected, digested, if someone could just connect with me on that level. So when I find music that I truly love - it's because someone is creating something that I can connect with, that I can feel along side them for as long as I'm listening... something that releases a little of this pressure. Thank god there are people who can do that.

D-lightful

dropped, displaced, dismounted, discarded, disposed of.

relationship ramble

sometimes when you're walking the path you've got to walk, you can't see where you're going or even where you've been until you make it to the next crossroads and look back. sometimes it takes watching someone else go through the same thing to have any kind of objective view of your own situation. emotions so often blind us to reality, but... I guess what you feel is your reality in the moment. perception is everything, right? I feel like I'm finally walking out from under the big, dark, threatening storm cloud that's been following me around for the past few years. I've talked about this cloud a lot, my constant companion, the only way I could think to describe the way I felt about my life - in spite of my blessings. I'm just beginning to feel the sun on my face, but I still can't shake the mud off my shoes, the mud that reminds me of what I've been walking through.
I know this now: once you've crossed a threshhold, there's no going back. We were married for over 5 years before he ever raised his voice at me. But once he did, it was easier to escalate to that point each time there was a rift... or even a ripple. Eventually, what time dinner was ready or whether or not the laundry was folded on the same day it was washed was worthy of an all-out war. And it was daily. When you expect it to happen, it isn't hard to find something to fight about... you're looking for it. Once you've crossed a line, you don't step back over it... you inch up closer to the next one. Once you've opened the door to namecalling and hateful words, you forget how to "agree to disagree." And although you appologize later and you want to take those things back, you never really can. Words thrown at you in anger stick, they stick to your heart where they sink in and take hold where love used to reside... and resentment starts to build. You then doubt the compliments, you look at positive dialogue with a wary eye, uncertain if you can believe it anymore. And once you've laid your hands on each other in anger, those hands never feel the same in love. Sometimes you can manage to behave yourselves and things will run smoothly for a few weeks, even months... but when stress arrives, as it always does, the old patterns of aggression and defense return. And knowing that it's coming, fear replaces faith in your relationship.
I also know that to WANT to forgive and forget is much easier than actually accomplishing that once either of you has shared with another lover what you should have reserved for each other, and that may not even go so far as a physical transgression, but even an emotional connection can do the same kind of damage. A heart just does not love the same after that... you have a need to protect yourself, to be cautious, to be wary so that if and when it happens again, you aren't so crushed. You become untrusting, jealous. You want to get back to what you felt before when you fell in love in the beginning, so you become more passionate. You're more affectionate, at home and in public, the "I love yous" and "Darlin's" are always on your lips... as if you have to convince yourself as much as him or her and everyone around you that everything will be okay... as if you can force it to be. The sex even gets better. But there are some things you can never wash your hands of... and even if the heart loves through it, your mind does not forget it. You're no longer free to love with reckless abandon, to fall back on each other with your eyes closed. You start looking out for yourself instead, and it drives another wedge. We tried for more than 2 years to walk the path of "forgive & forget" and ended up hurting far worse than if we'd called it quits the first time we separated. Sometimes it's even harder to let go of the promise than the person, and you don't want to be the quitter.
I've also learned that you grieve the death of a marriage, just as you do the death of a person - with the same steps (and most relationships that last more than year are much more like a marriage than a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. your breakup really is a divorce, you just don't have to have a judge's say-so). The first, the ugliest and often the longest phase of break-up grief is denial. You aren't forced to accept the reality of the death of your relationship b/c both of you are still alive and fighting for it. You do the separate, then back together, separate, then back together dance, and each time you pry yourselves apart again, more of you is left stuck to the other: it's like trying to open a grilled cheese sandwich. You can't make a clean break. Your lives are entertwined, not just your hearts. You belong in each other's families, you share your possessions, and your memories aren't even your own because you did all those things together. Your shared lives are routine, comfort, habit. It's hard to accept that you're never going to be the same... and your life will not be what it was before. But once you realize that you will be ok, your families will still love you, and that you're now giving yourselves the opportunity for something less destructive, something better, the acceptance is relief like a late August rain. Let yourself stand in it. And then keep walking.
I don't know where I was going with this. I generally need to talk things out with myself by writing them down: emotions come through my fingers much more freely than my mouth. And one of the things I still have a hard time with is my need to share my thoughts with someone and realizing that I'm on my own now. There's not someone waiting to hear what I have to say at the end of the day or to occupy my time with their stories, and that's ok, but it's still new. I've been left alone with my thoughts, and it's crowded in here! So, I reach out through blogs and e-mails, bulletins and text messages. Having someone respond and feeling understood feeds me still.

the tree

words, words, trapped words, tiny
words from an infant mind
stunted in the overgrowth of a heart
grown large before it's time,
expanding beyond walls: could not contain it.
roots wrapping tightly round the dreams and aspirations,
starving out the dreamer,
branches, thick and mangled
shading thoughts, obscured directions, lost the seeker.
peering through the twisted burl,
only moving thing remaining,
beating heart, seething core,
from which all emotions pour:
hate and love are passions equal,
being fed by bated breath, deception gradual
soaking in just like the rain.
nourishment withholding,
selfish wolf sleeps in the shade
til the leaves reveal his doing,
curling, fading, falling, wither
like the rest do in the winter,
but it's prime time in the sun.
shadows start receding,
fall the branches, rot the anchors,
but still within the knotted hole
the pulse is beating on,
and the thoughts are reemerging,
voices silent being heard,
and the trunk crumbles to fall, become the earth.
now death must find, to stop the aching,
throbbing heart - steps in the waking
mind.
struggling, not painless,
wrapping tightly, holding, strangling,
dies
the writhing, breathing hatred - trapped inside,
love too must die.
sorrows seeping,
now released,
from the hollow now escaping
dreamer,
seeker,
now the wind its voice must find.

unfinished

heard the songbird from my window
i broke the bars to get outside
reaching out to catch the music
trying not to hold too tight
loosed my grasp, and he took flight

longing

to watch a man play a guitar,
to really play and do it well
is a beautiful thing.
to see passion and intricacy
directed into mere fingertips
that have memorized the movements
in perfect timing and succession
is erotic.
any woman would loveto have her body handled
in just the same way.
I've always imagined
making love
could be as beautiful
as making music
but I'd like someone
to prove my theory.

political views

"You're such a liberal!" you hurled at me
as if to call me something dirty,
a whore, perhaps.
But I didn't feel the insult you meant,
instead, I smiled, felt good,
or proud, perhaps.

don't give me silence

I can't sleep in silence
I have to have music
Or a fan humming
To drown out the reeling
Inside of my head
Twisting and turning
Pulling me away
From rationality
Confusing my reality
With past mistakes
And future heartaches
And the endless scenarios
Of what could have been
Or what might become
And how it all might end.
I just can't sleep in silence.

stalling

Sitting in the car
seething and suppressing
listening to Drink Lotsa Whiskey
on repeat
dawdling as long as possible
to prolong my quiet time
avoiding you while I'm
sitting in the car.

waiting for something

Hadn't touched it in years,
Ten.
Peeled back the cellophane,
Excited.
Stark white,
Waiting.
Shavings trimmed,
Yellow.
Inhaled the Artgum eraser,
Sweet.
Touched the No. 2 lead to paper,
Nothing.
Don't know what greatness I was expecting
From my two-dollar notepad.

music man

You play your women
Hard, fast like you play your strings
Cut to the chorus

freedom of speech

Nothing’s too personal when you’re ready to let it go. Most of my writing is not pretty, it’s not well-written, it doesn’t follow the rules. It’s not witty, entertaining, or poetic. It wasn’t meant to help anyone else, though I wish I could say it was, and it wasn’t written to hurt anyone, though sometimes I know it does. It doesn’t make me feel proud or vindicated... it allows me to feel released.I’m always having conversations with myself, constant internal dialogue, and sometimes I get tired of having the same discussion all day, every day, and I write it down. And when I write it down, I can put it away. I don’t have to keep talking about it with myself because it’s been recorded and shelved. I’m not denying that it’s there because I can go back and read it at any time, but it’s put away. And then sometimes I share it. I share it because carrying all of those emotions around in my chest becomes too heavy. I share because I want my friends to see all of my faces. I don’t like living a life where I have to hide any part of myself. It’s like living in a prison, and I spent too long trying to make it pleasant when it just can’t be. I want my friends to really know me. I want to be a beautiful person, not BECAUSE OF the beautiful things in my life, the good things I’ve done, the blessings that have come easily, but IN SPITE OF the ugly things in my life, the circumstances I could not prevent, the situations I mishandled, the bad decisions I made or allowed others to make for me. All of these things have made me who I am, each piece of my history, good and bad. And I claim each and every piece. I own them. Now I can’t say that I’m a completely open book because I obviously have stories that I would never tell my parents or my grandparents because, even though I often think it would make ME feel better, it would become a burden for them to know. As a parent, I know that they would search for ways that THEY could have altered my course, prevented the bad things from happening to me or influenced me to make a different decision when really they could not. I do not want my burden to become someone else’s. But friends are a different story. You are born into your family, whether it’s a good fit or not, and you owe your parents/grandparents a certain amount of respect, respect for who they are as well as the things they believe in. Friends are chosen family, and you should never have to be more or less than who you are with your friends.I write my experiences. It is my history... my story. And each time I can let go, it releases me from having to carry it around on my back. That chapter is finished, and a new one has begun. It doesn’t mean that it’s forgotten, but that it happened and then I moved on. That way there is nothing controlling who I can become except for me. And when I’m feeling the effects of any of the unhappy memories, which always happens because they never go away, you can’t undo what’s done, I go back and read what I wrote in that chapter, acknowledge the way I felt, and am relieved that there’s always an ending... followed by a new beginning. I also find a tremendous amount of comfort in knowing that the friends who are in my life now can read those chapters too, I don’t have to hide them like the family secret in the box in the attic. I can just be me in all of my chaotic, neurotic, mistake-making, intelligent, understanding, kind-hearted glory. And the people who are still here with me, knowing the bad but still seeing the good, are my support. They like me/love me for who I AM, not because I’m trying to be who I think they want me to be. A little self-affirmation is sometimes needed when life is starting to feel heavy again.

a woman, broken

Like a broken vase
Pieces glued back into place
Cannot be the same

monogamy / monotony

first mouth
then hands.
on top
then under.
in and out
and push
and pull.
grab and
grope and
kiss right here.
i fake
you cum.
always
the same.
no more
exciting
than lather,
rinse, repeat.

military wife

you want to fight a fair fight
don't bring up old shit
the past doesn't count
fucking apology doesn't count
when you don't really mean it
you negate and belittle
builds your pedestal
but all your jokes are getting old
when the butt is still me
can you insult one more time?
'cause I used a word you didn't comprehend
you condescend…yet again
did you win?
do you feel better?
are you proud?
proved you're the man
a martyr giving his life
for a people who don't appreciate
and a woman always fucking late
a stain on your green t-shirt.
put your woman in her place, didn't you
you man's man, you
with the big ego, confidence
mama's boy, they compliment
cause you're the best of the best
jar head, leatherneck
collecting accolades and bronze stars
emotional scars
you wear like the ribbons
on your proud chest
while you stand so tall
on my back
and the stack
of verbal vomit
used to justify it all.

figment

you are no longer you in my memory but larger than life, flawless, a symbol of what i wanted you to be. i've projected onto your image that I hold in my mind's eye a beautiful man with beautiful hands and a heart and a mind to match with a thousand hopes that didn't come to pass. so when i start to miss you, I remind myself it's really me that I miss.

still strangers

I didn't marry you
I married
A dream
A feeling
An infatuation
A change
An adventure
A promise
An ideal
Hope
But I didn't marry you
Couldn't have
I don't even know you

family order

i disrupted the order
just fifteen minutes
of alone time
letting the hot water fall
alone, relaxed
the first shower i’ve had
all week
with more than three minutes
of that precious hot water.
i’m always the last
after the kids
after him
i eat the leftover dinner
use the towel off the floor
and use whatever
hot water remains.
but today i got in first
i washed my hair
AND shaved my legs
and from him i get the cold shoulder
slammed doors
for not sharing my quiet time
for not sharing my water
for making him use the leftovers.
excuse me
while i move to the back of the line
again.
husband, children, then wife.

body art

modification
painting and piercing the skin
can't change what's within

daydreams

lying side by side
wrapped in a moment
purposely slowed breaths
smiling knowing possibilities
then facing, eyes flashing
from lips to eyes to open mouth
smooth skin and soft curves
excited racing heart
cheeks are flushing, feeling fire
more than blood pulsing
warm breath mingling
yours in mine, and then

relationship rot

when we "make love"
i hide my face
not because i'm
embarrassed about
an involuntary
look of pleasure
but because
I don't want to see
the look on your face
when you see mine's
expressionless

daily remembrance

Why's it so hard to let go of what could'a been
when you know what it really would'a been
and that it never really should'a been...

kaleidoscope woman

I know a woman who's like a kaleidoscope. What you see is never all you get. Turn her around, place her in a different light, and her pieces will fall into a new order, a beautiful arrangement you've never seen before, though you've been looking at her for years.I've seen people try to break the kaleidoscope over and over. They look at her and see this beautiful image, and they fall in love with the arrangement itself, putting her on a shelf where they can get up and look at that exact same picture again every day, having no appreciation for the thing that created that image. But stuck on that shelf, she collected dust, the light couldn't shine through, and they forgot what made her beautiful in the first place. So they took her down and shook her up, and in response she became something new. But they didn't appreciate this new work of art, not realizing they created it, twisting and turning, trying to put the pieces back the way they'd first come across them. It's impossible to do, and in disgust she's often been discarded.Beloved are those who can let go of the need to hold the pieces in place, who can appreciate the ability to change and become something new, who look forward to the view she'll give them next. There's no limit to what she can show you when you allow her to continue turning, holding her up in the light. She's like a painting always in progress yet always complete.

screaming secrets

I'm always screaming
for someone to hear me, but
shhh! please do not tell.

a wrong decision
it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth, the way a banana in your lunch box permeates the sandwich and ruins the whole meal.

fulfillment

we are all chasing
illusions of happiness
that do not exist

dry

like a fish out of water
dry skin
parched tongue
the dust settles
over my eyes
filling my ears
layers upon layers
encrusting, encasing
dehydrating the spiri
tmummifying the heart
petrifying the soul
the desert is
sucking the life
right out of me
i crave the rain

a good mason

last night i laid in the bath
hot, hot water
submerged and relaxed
face, nipples, and knees exposed
the only sound i could hear
was my heartbeat
and i stared at the beads of water
dripping down the shower curtain
and tried to hear
what it was saying to me
even with everything else shut out
i still can't hear it, my heart
i can no longer decipher the cries of my own heart
the wall i built is much too thick

on finding myself

People talk about finding themselves as if it takes an expedition, some great journey into unknown places to find an undiscovered self. When I think of finding myself, I think I need only retrace my steps to pick up the pieces I've left scattered. I imagine reclaiming myself would be like gathering a bouquet. Everything I need to know about who I am or who I might become in the future can be found in my past because I believe we all start out in this life whole. The obstacles along the road chip away at us, difficult circumstances file us down, piece by piece, some pieces being taken from us by greedy hands, and some pieces we freely give until we reach an empty feeling and decide maybe we need those pieces back. I need my pieces back.

balance

is there such a thing
as two people who
love, trust, and desire
equally
the pendulum always swings
one loves more and trusts less
the other trusts more yet loves less
for one, love is exclusive
number one, only one, no one else
can share in time, thoughts, secrets
of their beloved, their belonging
keep yourself only for me
for the other, love is INclusive
go love, learn, share, listen, GROW
with friends, family, teachers, mentors
for your gain is mine as well
feel free to spread your wings
one's paradise is the other's prison,
and neither can be happy
when the other is satisfied

alcohol

Daddy, where are you?
I can't see you in your face.
The monster in the bottle
Your countenance replaced.

I looked into your eyes,
Thought I might find you there;
Instead I saw the monster
Who sneaks in through the beer.

I'm starting to get worried
For your hands are empty too.
No warmth or caring in their touch
Daddy, where are you?

I waited as a little girl
Through crazed laughter, then the rage.
I waited for you through tears and time
To come back from that state.

I'll always hate the monster
That takes my dad from me,
Yet I open up that bottle,
Let it do the same to me.

shades of grey

In the black and white world I grew up in, there was absolute truth, and everything else was a lie. The older I get, the more and more grey I find while the black and white all but disappear.
Truth is one of these grey areas. You may think truth and lies can't be grey, they're black and white more than anything, but not always...

Truth really is relative. The mind is so complex: hopes, fears, denial, and imagination are often interjected into memories, intermingling with reality to create something that's part truth, part fiction. It's always been amazing to me that two peoples' recollection of the exact same event can be very different. I used to think one of the two must be omitting or embellishing or flat out lying on purpose until I came to see the inconsistencies in my own memories.

Photos, home movies, reminiscing with friends and family, and re-reading my journals showed me the inconsistencies. When I record something immediately after the fact and come back to it months or even years later, I often find myself thinking, 'That's not the way I remember it.'
But my point is that truth can be subjective. And while there will always be some absolute truths (i.e. a dog is a mammal, Earth is the third planet from the sun), many things remain true for one person or one group of people that are not true for others. My truth may not be yours or yours mine, but that does not make it any less real or valid for either of us.

on letting go

I write little pieces of my soul
On little pieces of paper
And release them into the wind
Watching them blow into the desert
Hoping they find you