Cease and Desist

There are laws written over my body 
that I don't recall scribing. I woke with them today
painted in blood 
telling me I was not myself. Had become theirs 
in a midnight where all my decisions were deemed 
unsuitable for consumption. Where they placed a baby 
in my arms and took away my credit card. 
Stared at my college degree like it was 
an eternity away from them.


 They want us smart enough to be mothers but 
not enough to be women. Somewhere between 
doormat and silent. Because when we're loud they 
call us crazy and when we're right they 
call us bitches because little boys get their 
feelings hurt when you take away their toys. 


Leave my decisions
to the cramp and intellect of my own skin and I promise, 
when I'm ready, 
I'll birth a sun so bright you'll have no choice but 
to see yourself for what you are. 


Darkness.

Growing

   This was the weekend of garden 2012. I had to make it good because, as we all know, it's my last chance! Stupid Myans... some of these are biennials. Sigh. Anyway, this year I've gone very herby with a few veggies thrown in for good measure. Basically I can put everything I planted in my mouth. And that's a good thing. There's something so satisfying about growing your own food, it's very Little House on the Prairie but with a manicure. The list of yummy, as if any of you care, goes like this:

~ 3 types of tomatoes
~ 3 types of basil
~ 4 types of mint
~ 2 types of oregano
~ sweet peppers
~ aloe
~ rosemary
~ lavender
~ sage
~ cilantro
~ stevia
~ arugula
~ lemon balm

   Dinner everyone, will be served in a few weeks, promptly at 7pm. Anyone who likes to dead head, prune and water, come see me, we'll work out a trade. I am sun kissed and exhausted. The back porch is alive and feels absolutely wonderful, absolutely alive. Chris even got down and dirty with me. He helped me pot and plant this morning. Moving dirt and hefting pots takes it out of you. I managed to escape with only one blister and a splinter. Easy living.

    We enjoyed being lazy for a little while after that. Pain free domestic bliss. It's amazing how long I resisted the calm. I used to hate being home and my home reflected that. It was disorganized, dark and messy. Now, well, it's pretty much the same but I promise, I'm trying! Laundry get's done much more often, as do dishes and now I have this big leafy garden sitting proud, waiting to keep me patient and healthy.

Settle Sister, Settle

   Today I am thinking of friends. Of the people who come into our lives and rebuild it from the inside. The people who, when necessary, call us on our shit.  Strong willed masterpieces who love much more than anyone could possibly, ever, hate. And some people do. Some of god's children are throwing rocks at my smile are placing pennies on the tracks. My train is derailed. Practicing for my interview with clouds. I'm a rainstorm. Muggy faced on the pillowcase I'm drowning. Which is hard... because I'm a good swimmer. Ask my mother.
   I've never had a poker face. Can't tell a lie to save my life. I'm transparent like that. Red cheeks and smeared mascara I'm a beautiful wreck with a mouth full of popcorn watching BBC on my days off. I have too much time on my hands. So I get in trouble. I pick apart my smile and wonder when the walls will come down around me. I've started sleeping under school desks remembering tornado drills, plugging my hears against the noise. But it's just my lover snoring in a bed plenty big enough to share. And he's propped up on one elbow staring sleepy and confused at the pile of me, (the girlfriend with the bruised arms and thinking eyes staring wide eyed at peacefulness like she has many many doubts), and he's thinking 1. Oh god... what have I gotten myself into and 2. Woman come to bed before I'm forced to write a country song about this situation.
   Because right now things are twangy and tragic. Tinged with the sort of melody you hear on infants heartbeats... soft, but getting stronger. I don't fit small easily. My mess is much too big to portion out. It's a buffet of interesting flavors. Plenty to go around if you have the appetite to attempt it. I used to be angry. Unsafe around glass with something against soft closing doors. I banged words onto paper, spit at the corners of my sentences, this is what I had to say and all I knew. I placed comfort in the fact that no one wanted to know the girl behind the lines, verbal bars to which I swallowed the key. But lately, I've let my guard down. Have begun finger painting kindness across my face. Becoming a warrior of light.
   They never told me how hard it was to trust. Didn't explain that there were risks involved. In spite of all the venom I'm learning where to place my feet. I can now walk though the dark with falling. Steady in my sober heart. Without hate to hide behind you get to see all of me. Imperfect little fire starter with the crooked smile and more than a few off color jokes. I'm learning how children are supposed to play. I'm putting some of my more dangerous toys away and accepting that kindness is well worth the vulnerable price tag.

Happy/Discontent

   When I was young my mother told me to choose my battles wisely. Not every blip in happiness was worth comment. The thought process being that constant complaining takes power away from the truly worthy discussions. I was considering this logic while laying in bed last night. The gentle man was fast asleep, snoring into his dreams, as I studied patterns the tank light made on the ceiling. When so much of your life is going well how do you know when to speak your mind about the things that aren't?
 
   My relationships have always been investigations into myself. Since my dating career began at 15 I've only been in serious relationships with 6 people. All of these lasted for at least a year, most over two and my current is sitting happily at 20 months. I have been lucky to have stability in romantic investigations even though I determined, fairly promptly, that they were not longterm material. I believe the purpose of dating is not so much to find out about the other person but to learn about yourself in relation to them. I've had some great partners. Others fell drastically short. I've been incredibly happy and I've disappointed those who thought they loved me. I have too many poems with too many faces that I haven't seen in years. They only way I remember what they look like is by making connections between my lines. But I will never forget their voices. And sometimes that's a blessing. It keeps me from making the same mistakes.

   Now that I'm older I've learned a few things. Details that, at one point, I found tolerable I won't stand for anymore. I'm much quicker to realize a "no go" when I see it and I don't waste my time on relationships that don't nourish me in some way. This goes for friends as well as lovers. But sometimes things work out by accident. My happiness these days is partly based on my discriminating nature but luck also plays a big part. Right time, right place, right people. I give myself as much credit as I deserve but I also realize that sometimes the success of the equation is based on the formula. And anyone that knows me knows that math... isn't my strong suit.

   So here I sit, happy. An author oblivious about how to write a prince, even when he's staring me in the face. Or snoring in bed beside me. I'm uncomfortable with peace. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, the next poem to come. When something goes wrong, even mildly, the old panic sets in and once again I am a dry mouthed high schooler stumbling with my words. I'm afraid if I say, "We need to talk...", I'll be left alone in the boat with no paddles, just my own small hands to bail me out. So I'm staring at what looks like a vampiric rabbit painting with a carrot cast by led lights on my bedroom walls wondering how to season the word "unsatisfied" until it becomes palatable. This is not to say I am unhappy. It is rather my observation that even though I could write for days on end my throat is still a well run dry.

Initial Musings

Oh my, what a nasty day. This week as been full of weather that matches my mood. Grimy, wet and a little off kilter. Perhaps I'm not giving the rain enough credit. It does so much good. But, for someone who hates leaving bed, it makes it very difficult to get things done. This week has been a challenge for me. I've had to come to grips with the idea that, no matter how good my intentions, some people are just not going to like me. They're going to think I'm horrible and they're going to tell others how horrible they think I am. Though I appear to be a strong unflappable individual underneath all of this "performance armor" I'm a pretty sensitive person. I can take a few hits but after a good emotional beat down I bruise just as easily as the next. Monday night found me sobbing into my pillows wishing for a way out. I was so upset and disappointed that my efforts seem to be falling short of where others think I should be. I felt sorry for myself. My boiling point had been reached and I, literally, poured over. My poor gentle man had to coach me on breathing because I was gasping for air. The sobs lasted for a few strong minutes then I fell into a coma-like sleep. Woke up with a headache and a bit of perspective. It is my natural inclination to keep events like this to myself. Why share the bad stuff? But then it hit me... because the bad stuff is real! As a writer I am charged with the responsibility to write about what I know, about my life as it is, not a glossed over version of the truth. My life, at this point, is messy and filled with snot. It's ugly and a bit pathetic. It's humbling. So I wrote a post on Facebook about my night of rain. It was honest and insecure, totally human. I was afraid my friends would think less of me. Would see me as weak. (How stupid I can be!) My friends did exactly what friends do, they showered me with love. They said they appreciated my honesty and many wrote me private messages expression how, they too, had been struggling. Everyone was so sorry that I was going through pain but so grateful I was brave enough to share it. I was absolutely floored! My spirits peaked their tender heads out from under the covers and began to rise. The love that I felt confirmed my beliefs that sharing your heart is one of the greatest things you can ever do. Writing has truly been a saving grace in my life. It has allowed me to connect with others and to connect with myself. I continue to go deeper and share what I have learned. I encourage you to do the same.