Sunday, August 1, 2010

what is so wrong with me?

i just want to be

thought about
read to
sung to
cared for

for fuck's sake
i just want to be


Thursday, July 29, 2010

i am falling
and i don't think
that i care to be stopped.

Monday, July 26, 2010

I don't know what's been going on with me.
I don't know how I got back here, to this place.
Where everything in life gets to me
except for what matters.
Where I go into the bathroom at work
multiple times during the day
to cry and cry and cry
without know the reason.

How did I get back here?
To the place where I go to sleep every night
hoping to not see the sun the next morning?

And how do I get away from it?

Sunday, July 11, 2010

I got in a fight with Poppa today. He was passing through and said something to Abbie about how she was putting the recycling straight in the box so she could fit more in there. I was joking around and messed up all the papers so they were going all different directions. He didn't think it was funny apparently because he grabbed the box, dumped all the papers on me, threw the box at me and said "now pick it all up and do it right" and went out to the garage. I seriously didn't know what to say because he hasn't acted like that towards me for so long. I started to pick them up and turned to my sister and said No way am I letting him get away with that. I went out to the garage and said "Seriously, what the fuck is your problem? It was a joke!" And then I started sobbing because we've had such a great relationship for the past few years and I just didn't know how to handle him reacting to me like that.
He could see how much he'd upset and my dropped everything he was doing to come over and try to calm me down. He tried to hug me and I told him I didn't want to hug him or talk to him if he was going to act like that. He apologized and told me how he was just so tired. I can see it in his face, his eyes, the way he moves slowly the weekends when he's home. He's happy to be back at work but the things he has to do are so hard on his body. I worry so much, every single day, that all this hard work is going to take it's final toll on him and that'll be the end. It terrifies every little bit of me, down to the core.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

i have a feeling
that writing what i actually feel
and think and am here
would not be a good idea.

so this is it.

mother come back (with all of you)

she knew there was trouble
when the sewing machine
started talking back.
when the simple task
and action that saved her
no longer came
as a first reaction

you can't do this,
not anymore

the thing jerked
below her hands,
no longer humming
like it used to.

that was the year
her mind started to go
along with her body.
the hands that had flown
so effortlessly
making wedding dresses
and later, christening gowns
were now bent brittle frail
and refused to put
pins to fabric.

she just forgot how,
claiming that her head
wouldn't let it happen

i was taught at a young
age how to run that
damn contraption,
how to whip-stitch and
hem everything by hand.

no matter how many dresses
and pillow cases i made,
nothing compared to
how hers had been
(when they had been)
before time crept up
and ran away with her and
all the talent those
fragile hands had possessed.

time came and took my blankets
and pillow cases and dresses
before it finally took
my mother along as well.


sunday's litanies

we were predictable
like seasons like
storms, you could just feel us
brewing in the air.

every sunday we'd be
sitting on the porch,
on the wooden swing
your father made for us
(before finding out we were
'living in sin')
my eyes fixed intently
on your pen as it
danced over page
after page,
barely making contact
with the rough paper,
(like the way you touched
my smooth skin)
making each gentle character
blend so beautifully
into the next.

i'd kneel before you,
waiting for the day
you'd claim me
and be my salvation.

your words were my scripture
and i called you my bible
because you were the closest thing
to god i'd ever known.

you'd bat me away
on days like these,
shooing me like i was
one of those pesky moths
on a hot summer night,
beating about as if
you were the flame.

claiming my attention
and observation made
everything difficult, you'd
banish me
to the bedroom
singeing my wings
and dousing your flame,
even though
you knew this closeness
was all i desired.


she will see him soon

i sat in the chair every night,
holding his hand
and talking -
like he could understand
a word i was saying.

the only response
i'd ever get was the
of his i.v. pumping
and pumping more drugs
into his body,
trying to force
life back into him.

the beeping of
every other machine
on the floor
laid the beat for
the saddest song
i've ever heard.

and pearl,
oh pearl,
provided the lyrics,
something about
her dead husband,
starting the chorus over
every five minutes--
i'm going to visit him,
soon, she'd say,
so very very soon.

i'd never envied
someone so much
in my entire life.