Month: November 2022

Where I’m from…

I am from wash rags,
From dish soap and pans.
I am from the pile of wood behind the house.
(Normal logs had the aroma of rotten eggs.)
I am from the blue bonnets,
The oak tree
What was once my playscape
As if it was my jungle gym.

I am from sam which photos and blonde hair
From Liana and Joe Bob
I’m from eating together and being ajar
And from learning together.
I’m from working diligently and no eating grass
And honesty is the best policy.
I’m from Family Heirlooms.

I am from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Leander, Texas
And from Cajun Chicken Pasta and Corn chip tacos.
From a remarkable dad
The most obnoxious but caring person on this planet
I am from those moments-
The laughing, the crying, and everything else-
All in four walls

I try to breathe but the pressure drowns me
I can’t stay afloat
I’m trying so hard to reach the top
But it’s always out of reach

I need to stop and flow with the waves
Instead, they take me down
Falling, falling, falling
Further from the top once more

I’ll get back up but what the point
The waves will take me down each time
But, what if it’s different this time
What if the sun shines through and the waves calm and I’m able to reach the top

There isn’t always a storm at sea
The waves do calm eventually
The sun does shine
And laughter returns to the shore

I will wait for the storm to cease
I will breathe again
I will reach the top
I will fight the waves

I am the green of the trees
The grass is as still as space
The shining sun with little gold lace

I wonder why the moon and sun are never together
Why the little small voice is always whispering hush

I hear the small breeze
and my breath being released
and the swings in a sea of rust

I see the green mixed with the night sky
of the chairs, the sky blue as a ripe blueberry

I want the yellow roses with rocks and sticks of all colors and the grass to brush my feet as I walk

I am the sky, the clouds, the sun, and moon
I am me

buried alive,
stuck inside
a body with no cure,
little hope,
not much left to give

a record on repeat,
running out of time.
why this body?
why mine?

In this city again
I gaze in awe
At the paper fountains
That haven’t changed a bit

Still folded
By the loving hands of an old woman who knows about
Too much
Depth of the world
Love and hate
That she enchants into the water
Too much

Still crafted
By the candlelight in an otherwise dark room filled with
Too much
Sadness and hope
Love and hate
That she enchants into the water
Too much

The water from the stone fountains
Is sickly sweet
It tastes
Artificial
Like the color yellow
Like the sound of tinkly bells
Like the feel of plastic
Like the smell of perfume
Like lies

The water from the paper fountains
Is bitter
It tastes
Real
Like the color green
Like the sound of drums
Like the feel of sand under my toes
Like the smell of sawdust
Like life

Still created
By the power of a fall thunderstorm that has
Too much
To cry about
Love and hate
That she enchants into the water
Too much

Little, black, and hairy, that’s Lucas.
The most friendly dog anyone could ever meet.
His little face lights up the whole room.
His teeth rip apart toys.
Dumber than a nut, but smart enough to know the word “treat”.
Lucas is like a little teddy bear that just sits on your bed all day.
Nothing makes me happier than having him by my side.
Little, black, and hairy, that’s Lucas!

The leaves falling.
The wind blowing.
The smell of pumpkin spice.
The pumpkin patches are open and scarecrows are out.
The most important football teams playing on the TV screens.
The beautiful colors that come with this exquisite season.

It is library day
the teacher is Ms. Fay
she says to be quite
I do as she says
We check out books
I ask “May I pick two?”
It is time to go
I say “Thank you”
She says “Thank you too”

Anger
a raging storm
like scissors to paper
a monstrous beast
hard to tame
we’ve all had it

Inner beauty is what matters
Inner beauty starts to scatter
You hear a tatter in your head
All it whispers is your life that matters