what will you see?

I haven’t seen you in 15 years.
To think. I bet you look exactly the same.
I find myself slipping back into a daughter role, aching for her father’s attention and approval.

Oh, approval.
God, I wish I was… I was… so much more.
I want to impress you.
To be a statue, shining its significance into your daily brain.
Like a quality stamp not worth much but in a book.
Permanent (which nothing is), all powerful (we all know everything has cracks).

What will you see?
What will you say of me?
What will you want from me?
How will I be?

what do you see?

I feel shame.
Weird, why the fuck shame?
Shame and guilt?
If only I could be something more.
Socially powerful. Socially revered.

What will you see?
What will you say of me?
What will you want from me?
How will I be?

Stupid. He knows this takes time.
Well, not for her and him and her and him?
Things came nimbly, things came quick.
Stop it.
He gets it.

What will you see?
What will you say of me?
What will you want from me?
How will I be?

 

best time is Now

This Chinese Proverb runs deep and addresses any walk of life.
We are all guilty of saying, “I’m too old/young/inexperienced/it’s too late, etc.
But guess what? It takes guts to follow your dreams and give it a try.
Fail, and then fail better.  #WednesdayWisdom

Chinese Proverb

step up/meet it/match it/expand it

Walk into the darkness.
She said.
Don’t look back at your ghost, it’ll never serve you.
What once was, is no longer.
Step up, meet it, match it, expand it.
She said.

I stood stunned.
Who are you to tell me this?
How dare you.
How dare your courage, your groundedness, your skill, your success.
How dare your reason, your age, your wisdom, your heart.

Oh, child, you need to rid yourself of perfection.
It has never served you.
It never will.
Step up, meet yourself new; match it, expand it.
She said.

I said, fuck you.
I felt hot tears melt away makeup and mask.
I wanted to run away,
but I found myself nodding in agreement and making those “hmm” sounds like, “good one.”

Good one.
Ha.
Like, that’s funny.
And yet, she’s right.
She’s fucking right.

slow motion

Slow motion.
Heavy foot, right left.
Trying to shrug it off.
Get over it, just do it.

Flashes of humiliation.
Debilitating truths.
Two sides, one coin.
No one is right.
Yet it feels so real.

Jump.
Get out there, get out of your head.
Do it over and over.
Fail and fail better.
I am visited by doubt.
I am visited by weight.
I am visited by the Ghost of Comparison, who rears its lion head.

It’s mane as thick as cement.
As permanent as fake truth, fake facts.
It’s a lie, right?
Come on, pull yourself out of this muck.

A rush of cold water to the face, do it.
Do it now. Do it quick.
Heal this wound by ripping the bandaid off like, Right Now.
People are dying, hurricanes are whirling, our world is in need of less self-centeredness, more generosity.

But first, slow motion.

times up!

times up.jpg

You got an hour!
Like a prison alarm – BAAAAAAANG!
Time’s up.

Almost there.
Sit and write.
Close that door and swallow the stillness whole.
Throw it back like you mean it.
Take it, it’s yours.

Cuz you know that Quiet creaks opens the magic door…
Where the Still Voice lives.
The Still Voice, you know the one
Like an echo of an echo that whispers, “What about me?”

What about that book?
What about that play?
What about that movie?
What about that job?

tomorrow

Waiting...

An ache.
A pain so sharp, it cuts.
Senses are lost in a fog, come back soon.
And there’s a void.
A real one.
Why did he have to go?

Heart beats heavy sighs and legs demand a slower pace.
It takes a million years for arms to move this way and that.
Three weeks is a very long time..
Huge.
Ginormous.
And yet, benign.

I think of those who’ve passed.
Like the pictures of Ron Heren, taped to the fatal pole, the one that ended his life.
A corner where Jackie and I must wait for the lights to change.
Death.
Leaving your loved one is like a death.
And yet, so benign.

Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

Be tomorrow now.
Fast forward to the race’s end.
Change the lights quick.
Bring back comfort, my pillows and blankets.
Speed this time forward like a jet plane.

happy birthday [boom poem for lover]

happy birthday, my love

We celebrate my beautiful man’s birthday today.
I wrote this poem when we first met.
I haven’t changed my mind on any of it.

Happy birthday, my love.

He’s quite the badass.
He’s a rebel and he’s the too cool for school.
He’s behind the crowd, he’s the slow walker, he’s the leader of the pack without trying to be.
He’s the sage and the delinquent in one.
He’s the joker, the enigma, the shadow, and then also the ray that seeps in slowly, ever so slowly, before blasting up the room.

Oh, the ever present, Sun. The Son.

He walks into a space and, “All Hail Caesar!”
But he doesn’t like that.
Maybe he doesn’t hear it?
Could be that he tries to ignore it.
I mean, come on, it’s only natural.
Stupid me, should’ve known.

He doesn’t try. He allows all to just be.
He wants to be my Savior, the good spirit in my life, but then he also drags down the rose-colored curtains.
Shoves my face closer to the ever complicated, but neatly organized, brightly-colored (never grays or lights!) and intricate onion-skins, of life.

“Look deep,” he asks of me.
Demands of me.
Softly. Kindly. Delicately.
Skin.
Hot breath.
Touch me.

He’s quite the spirit, keeps me on my toes.
Keeps me thinking and reflecting, and then questioning, and then doubting, and then pondering, and then questioning, and then asking, and then thinking again.

His presence wafts in without your notice.
You inhale him long enough to gain shape of his recognition.
Exhale, everyone.
And then BOOM.
Like, that —

He’s gone.