Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Thursday, October 18, 2018

Footy Pajamas

I have been trying
to step into myself 
for 
so 
long 
now
41 years 
to be specific 
Stepping into oneself 
is sometimes like trying 
to put on 
a pair of unruly footy pajamas 
I can never seem 
to get my first foot
in the right hole 
to begin with
and then I lose my balance 
trying to stand on one leg 
to get the other foot in

Can't ever seem 

to find the armholes 
stretching my shoulders
back behind myself 
like a pretzel
like the
awkward
human 
pretzel 
I am 
struggling with the zipper 
Its always the cheapest damn zipper
in the world 
and I always
get it stuck 
in the fleece 
at least 
2 times 
You know what they say 
42 times a charm
Finally 
I zip it
up to my neck 
feeling choked, panting and sweaty 
like a pathetic bedtime superhero 
who didn’t accomplish anything 
Certainly didn’t save nobody
By then I’m exhausted 
and all I want to do is go to bed 
NAKED

Maybe 

I don’t want 
to step into nothing 
anymore
Maybe 
I just want 
to run around 
like a happy toddler 
barefoot and dangerous 
NO diaper on 
bellybutton hanging out
Full of joy and freedom 
A squeal in my laugh
spark in my eyes 
that says 
look out
because I’m bout 
to start 
some trouble

Monday, September 3, 2018

Thoughts on giving up




Don’t give up 


When the world outside 
is asking too much 
and everyone I know 
grows sharp teeth
and everything they say 
sounds like a request for blood 
I look inside 
Take a walk across my desert 
Feel my feet fall upon sand
that is dry and cracked 
Listen for the rustling 
of dying leaves 
Brush the tallest weeds 
against the palms 
of my outstretched hands
When it seems like 
the stranger is pushing 
I wonder if maybe 
it is the friend who is pulling 
Who will not give up 
Will not let me give up on myself 
I play games
of hide and seek
I place bandaids of pride
on my dodgeball strawberries
and I pick myself last 
for kickball 
every time 




Not yet deciphered


The Magpie has a bad reputation
for thievery and deviance
but the truth is
they are curious and misunderstood
Crows and Ravens are labled
with omen and mystery
but actually they speak complex languages
not yet deciphered
with variations of accents, regions and species 
Like a parrots phrases 
begging for attention 
and connection 
Squawking
with obnoxious reitieration 
we mimic the separation we are shown 
In the midst of our instant replay disbelief
we loop the recording on repeat 
Polly want a cracker
Polly want to crack
Polly wants
and then cracks


Sometimes

Sometimes
we push ourselves to broken 
before we allow ourselves to rest 
in another’s arms 
if we ever do at all

Sometimes we live inside our shells 
wrapped in our own arms 
never knowing the difference 
until we come to the end of our life 
and rot inside our egg 

Sometimes we wiggle the constriction
hairline fractures appear 
and we peer out
eyes pressed against the openings 
Blinded by the light 
wide-eyed 
watching from the inside 

Sometimes we bust and fumble
with clumsy excitement 
dance on eggshells 
fall to the ground 
and bounce hard 
stretch our wings  
and try again 

Sometimes we figure out 
how to slice through the thickness 
that holds so much resistance 
and for a moment we know
that falling 
is not 
the end
Sometimes




Wednesday, August 29, 2018

Thoughts on Work


EXHAUSTION

The skin on my hands is raw
My eyes feel full and tired
My back is stiff and worked
The third cup of coffee 
wakes my numb lips
just the same as the first one didn't 
Welcome to exhaustion 
It is uncomfortable 
and satisfying 
in a blue collar kind of way
in a good worker bee 
well trained minion
proud and strong 
ain't nobody got my back but me
kind of way
It is honest work
that holds it all together 
keeps my feet on the ground
kills my horse at the end of the day
keeps me in my place in the world 
My wings nicely folded in place
And I could do it
until my body fell apart 

I wonder how long that would take
since I am no spring chicken
anymore 
so I am told
and furthermore 
my head has been full 
of different dreams 
ever since I hatched 
Dreams that are starting to squawk at me
Scream through my knees
Gasp in the weak center of my back
Moan over pulled muscles
Wince with arthritic fingers
Fingers that were meant for different work
Work that can only be made by these hands
But the hands on the clock are ticking
And it is getting louder
Steels my sleep and wakes my dreams
Opens my eyes with 
Morning anxiety 
Fills my mind with Poetry
why is it 
that I do my best work
when I am empty
Welcome to exhaustion 



TICK

I have a tick in the tock of my brain 
When the work day is done
and the quiet sets in
and I am supposed to be resting 
any repetitive 
rhythmic
cyclical noise
will 
drive 
me 
insane 
The whir of a fan
Dripping rain drops 
The softest of snores
Click clack of a clock
It is the persistent pattern 
on to which 
my mental engine latches 
Must each round of sound
insist on stirring up questions 
Within a pot of stew
That should already be done?
My ears turn red 
from the fire 
that still burns in the hearth
scorching the contents 
whenever it is left to sit still 
for too long 
I get up 
in an insomniatic smoke alarm 
and rip the clock off the wall
so my mind can have 
a piece of sleep 
for the mere possibility 
of turning down 
the records of regret and repeat
so maybe I can sleep in peace 
A pause is all I'm asking for
Just a break from 
the 
tick
tick
ticking
reminder 
that life doesn't get any longer
It only gets shorter 
That a watched pot 
never boils 
But the watching 
The listening 
The ticking 
isn't about what has already 
been done
It is about what 
still 
hasn't 
even
begun