I walked behind my heart, Covered up to the thighs in its rivers, freezing from the chill that it became since life served it grief beyond winters, only seeing the calm of blood that passed the rest of my body on the inside. we learned to flow together, to search for ourselves On the walls & floors of my flesh, with no control as I got closer to feel its beats, as blood became my Feet I swam without ever learning but knowing & feeling how weak I could be in its strength.
Like morning she rises,
Full of light
she rewrites the sunrise each day.
Her name is the place between home and homebound.
She is my favorite place.
Smelling of sweet breezes
ink and spices.
She is a glass deliciously full
Your favorite song with just the right rhythm
A new pair of dancing shoes
with just enough room to grow into.
She carries herself with a special kind of optimism.
Tending to her garden with the hope
that each year new buds will come back.
Collecting seeds with the promise of new growth.
We are of the same garden.
She planted her roots in me
Teaching me how to blossom.
Gardens have seasons yet she is always in full bloom.
In a word she is perennial.
Unceasing in her love.
Like the flowers are singing for you.
June 26, 2017
a frustrated poet hides himself away from the world –
he is writing for his survival, FIGHTING to be timeless.
– Rico Lowe Jr. | @panafrico
It started with him
calling her beautiful, sexy
admiring her body
telling her how she fulfilled his fantasy
and so she thought it was love
then he started the insults
to get her to lose weight
to get her to change and form into
what he wanted
foolish girl fell for it
because she didn’t want to hurt him
didn’t know how to stand up on her own
thought it all comes with being in love
he then took it a bit further
wanted her to check in with him throughout the day
but never told her a word about what he was doing
only messaged her when he felt like it
but was furious when she did the same
she still stuck
she thought it was in the name of love
he never listened to her ideas, her thoughts
told her to stop making him sound dumb
so she stopped, she didn’t want to mess it up
she thought it was all love
and slowly she gave in to
every abuse he threw at her
into every game he played with her
slowly she was no longer herself
she was a fool
she was in a foolish love
a fake love
a toxin that killed her soul
photography by @chadmadden
made me to be
Continue reading The Creator
The ballad of the lemon
(Small poem on chromatic prohibitions)
(Yellow sun-blinding yellow-yellow yellow)
If you eat lemons will not have your period
If you eat lemons you will not have satisfactions
If you brush your hair while you have “those” things
You block them for sure
I come in and drop my bags. We arrived. 2 cats and our little lady for a month long excursion in the city. Neither of us is really seeking to complete this, however, it has to be done. I come with low expectations-as lowering my expectations was a strategy I used to sustain what is left of a 20-year long relationship. Lower and lower expectations went to find a level which was feasible to hold a semblance of balance.
I find myself tidying up the place while the baby is out my teen- our teen, actually, but mostly “my” day to day teen over the last 17 years. My day to day baby-as in the youngest vs immature- day to day youngest child.
I pick up clothing spilling out of bags and luggage. I place dirty dishes in the sink in prep for the dishwasher. I toss a load into the washing machine-set boneless chicken in the fridge to defrost for dinner. Log onto my computer to work from home; I cannot help but to bring my multi tasking habits with me. I sure meant to, however, I know an argument will ensue if I do not appear to be above the high expectations still expected of me as a mom, a partner, a house guest. An Apple living in an Oranges home for the next 4 weeks.
Sitting underneath the lamp at a side table located adjacent to the 50” screen flat screen is a book I have used a resource to building healthy relationships, “5 Love Languages”. Quizzically, I review the book -is it real? I am considering this because my partner clearly is missing the point of the book to know one’s own love language in an effort to leverage that strength-that language- to actively engage in a meaningful manner with your partner.
Acts of service
Words of affirmation
My #1 is Quality Time and #5 is Receiving Gifts. The exact opposite of my partner; per the book this combination is the hardest because the 2 people need to travel the farthest to get to a place of balance.
My possession of this knowledge has permitted me to give a pragmatic method to build strategies to have a semi-viable relationship.
Naïve at the time.
The book is not meant to be read alone; the challenges do not go away if only one person is the sole owner of the premise behind the 5 love languages.
My partnership has taken me to the point of desiccation where I have limited trust or reliability in this person. Where I now see this person and expect so little of him that a sur name and this last baby is what we share.
I have often thought that Gary Chapman needs to write a book titled, ‘Now that you are mature enough to be in a relationship- and have broken it-what can you do to get to center.’ Or a book called, ‘Were you ever at a center?’, because I suspect that is where I am at now; a desiccated Apple partnered with a plump Orange w/ hints of Apple undertones.
What is Poetry? Part 1
Poetry is the expanse of
the imagination that lies,
dormant though brooding
until it manifests itself in a bloom.
Poetry is a womb,
obsessed with itself
but self-aware enough
to know that it is bound for a tomb.
Poetry is a wound,
heartache expressed in words,
the reaction to how it hurts,
feeling how pain works,
like peeling back layers of a scab.
Poetry is a drab day,
suddenly lit by the sun’s rays,
bursting through gray cloud,
and splaying out, proud
to have finally beaten the gloom
and touching as much as it can.
Music: “We All Try” by Hendersin
Today I woke up to a hangry father
who had been awake for a few hours
but didn’t have anyone to cook for him
so instead of cooking breakfast for myself
I made sure his fragile ego was fed