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

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.

me around the time I wrote this poem

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?

Poetry: Risen

I wrote this in 2006.

some cravings are never satisfied

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

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.

me and my oldest in 2003

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

Poetry: Free

I wrote this in 2006 when I was frustrated and fantasized about leaving my husband.

deserving better

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

Poetry: Despicable

I wrote this poem in 2006 for my creative writing class. Men in general inspired this poem. Lol.

truth be told

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

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?

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

Poetry: Acknowledgement

I wrote this in 2006 thinking back on my time with Lucas.

Tired and contemplating life
me around the time I wrote this poem

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

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.

Me with my oldest son circa 1999
me with my oldest son circa 1999

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”