If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be, and why?
I used to wish I was anyone else but me…😪
Sorry it took me so long
What advice would you give to your teenage self?
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Poetry: Her Last, His First
I wrote this poem in 2006 about my Mother In Law and my second son. We lived with her for a year and she was enamored by him.
Almost frozen in her familiarity
Trapped by her body’s slow betrayal
Boredom and solitude embrace her tightly
Her unheard cries drown her
Forgotten, forgotten she was
Her world had come to an almost silent
Pause
Until
She saw him
With beady eyes as blue as hers
And skin rumpled as lover’s sheets
He was a heinous sight
But to her
He was splendid to her dying eyes
He became her last burst of joy,
Her last adoration
And her last breath of life
She was ending with his fresh scent of purity
And he was starting with her aged scent of experience
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Poetry: Fence
I wrote this in 2007 about my husband. I was frustrated that he was always so guarded with his emotions and his past. I hated that I could give him my vulnerability and he couldn’t give me his. Looking back now, I should have realized how incompatible we were at the time, but my stubborn and optimistic self wanted things to badly work.
A steel and locked fence guards you.
It does its job well.
Your insecurities and emotions never
come out to play with mine.
Your past never comes out to
join mine in a game of nostalgia.
Will your fence ever open for me?
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Poetry: Risen
I wrote this in 2006.
Rising from a deep sleep
That had become our marital bed
Passion woke up
In a sudden caress
Of your rough hands
On my soft bare back
Your eyes shone on me again
With that long lost stare
Desire
Our long lost friend
Is back
To reclaim us
From our endlessly deep and dreamless sleep
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Poetry: Emotions
I wrote this poem in early 2006 about my husband. We have always had completely different love languages.
Emotions for you
sway from
Good to bad
Every day
And I wonder
Why “we” can’t ever be
Balanced
Instead of
the disorganized mess
that we are
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Poetry: My Pride and Joy
I wrote this poem in 2004 about my oldest son. Even though, I was 17 when I had him, I always tried to be the best mother for him. I worked to support him since I was 18, he was one of my biggest motivations for going to college, and even though I was extremely insecure as a young mom, I learned to advocate and fight for him to get the services and therapies he needed when he was diagnosed with autism.
You’re a wonderful mistake
I never want to unmake
I was young and stupid
a kid having another kid
but with you I finally grew up
and learned the meaning of love
You are everything a mother could want
Such an admirable and fine son
you are my pride and joy
you will always be my little boy
And I will dread the day
When you have to go away
But I take relief in knowing
You’ll know how to spread your wings
And you will always remember
who you once were
A wonderful mistake
Your mom never wanted to unmake
Perhaps a creation of lust
but one who never lacked love
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Poetry: Free
I wrote this in 2006 when I was frustrated and fantasized about leaving my husband.
What if I don’t think?
About our precious link
And decide to go
Without letting you know
And let you wake up
Free of our never ending rut
What if I don’t feel your love
And am no longer good enough
And continue to fight for us
And leaving you becomes a must
What if I choose to be free
and leave you abruptly
and live my life without you
because I finally learned my value
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Poem of the Day: 1989
Day 9 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge . The prompt was “Drenched in Memories” .
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Poem of the day: Abandoned Wishes
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Poetry: Despicable
I wrote this poem in 2006 for my creative writing class. Men in general inspired this poem. Lol.
Despicable is the emptiness of talk
It is that which makes me gawk
The realization of your words so thin
Give my heart a monumental sting
I should’ve put on my idiot proof smock
You should’ve stayed silent as a rock
Instead of whispering nothings to me on the dock
That’s when I should’ve stopped listening
Despicable is the emptiness of talk
Your mouth should’ve been padded with a lock
Then you wouldn’t have taken me on a walk
To your park full of crock
I got on your moronic swing
I shouldn’t have answered your knock
Despicable is the emptiness of talk
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Poetry: She Flew
I wrote this poem in 2006 when my mother-in-law passed away. She was an incredibly kind and lovely person.
She flew one afternoon without warning
leaving us in a state of grief and mourning
Why did she have to fly?
Was it really her time?
And now everyone left behind
Has rivers running from their eyes
Why did she have to fly?
Was it really her time?
Regrets and remorse
Has become our two worlds
Why did she have to fly ?
Was it really her time?
No fancy words could ever express
How it feels to lose your best
Why did she have to fly?
Was it really her time?
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Poetry: Andrew
I wrote this inspired by the first time I met Andrew. I think I kept on thinking about him and getting nostalgic because I was so carefree and happy when I was with him.
Not a boy but not yet a man
He took my sweaty hand
Dancing was his aim
Andrew was his name
And with his clown feet
He showed me moves so weak
And an excuse I was about to invent
But then the moment went
And that was our when
the slow music started to lure
strong emotions started to brew
Innocent love soon ensued
I was his world, he was mine
We were the most perfect rhyme
But then reality hit
A truth we couldn’t beat
And even though I’ve moved on
It’s Andrew, I’ll always yearn for
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Poetry: Acknowledgement
I wrote this in 2006 thinking back on my time with Lucas.
A shadow of our friendship
is all there is left
After life gets in the way
of wanting something more
And when I see you around
A wave, a nod
An acknowledgement we once knew
Each other
Our conversations are now long gone
But we’re forever etched in each
other’s minds and dreams
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Poetry: License
I wrote this poem in 2002 about my oldest son’s bio dad. I had a lot of angry emotions about how he abandoned him.
A license to create is what shouldn’t
Be given to those who don’t know how to
Appreciate their child’s laughter
Or comfort their high pitch cries
A license to create is what shouldn’t
Be given to those who don’t understand
What it takes to be an example to
Those that descend from them
A license to create is what shouldn’t
Be given to those who leave children
In the dust to follow their own desires
Without looking back on their offspring’s
sad little face that whimpers,
“Daddy, come back”
Life on the BPD 