Don't Shoe Me Away

Much has come to pass between us

I have sheltered you from many thorns

along your path. I only ask

for sand every once in a while

I like it when it rains unexpectedly

Only then do I ever taste a muddy puddle

or feel the cool, moist pavement

brush against my skin

You never take me dancing anymore

Outside of the occasional toe-tap

at the coffee shop or desk chair

I’ve forgotten how it feels to fly

I’m left abandoned in the back of your closet

Once adored, now I’m the butt of the joke

“What was I thinking?” you said

Our season must have come to pass

IG: @daydreamifications

4/18/14

The Sunset from My Backyard

Every night

the sun dangles from the rooftops

her head slowly draping

into the sea of nightfall below

I beg her to clutch tighter

on the days I still need her

beaming smile

But I always understand

when her lavender exhale

whispers goodbye

I admire the tenacity it must take 

to drown like that

every day

IG: @daydreamifications

4/18/14

Love and Cupcakes

Friendship will tell you the half-burnt cupcakes you’ve baked

are delicious.

Envy will say they’re not hungry 

and flattery will go for seconds.

Spiteful will admit they’re disgusting

but gluttony will be content to lick the frosting.

Narcissism will want the recipe to make a better version

shaped like butterflies so they can feel a fleeting kind of love--

the only kind they know.

But family . . .

Family will eat them and optimistically declare

they’ve had worse.

Their right hand will slap you in the face

with an ice pack of truth.

Love can be cold like that.

And that’s the only kind I want.

IG: @daydreamifications

4/15/14

Turlock

A shotgun rests on his lap

Rocking chair creaks

Breeze kicks up pollen

from the am-uhnd fields

Wispy white hair don’t notice

Lungs full of manure with

no time for rose-smellin

He oversees

behind beady, wrinkled eyes

what he worked so hard

to steal

Waits

for the next devil that dares

steal his freedom

Lives under the model that

everything has a price tag

Tax him and it’s robbery

but he don’t mind when the cattle

come cheap

Believes in Jesus

but fails to notice

the miracles all around him

How the blossoms unfurl in spring

or how the sun melts behind the barn

and paints the evening violet

Used to be a tough guy

Fought for his country

Listens with a filter

fashioned out of confederate flags

Stubborn, proud and ornery

Even his liver spots are angry

as they mosh about his pale skin

Will die to defend a constitution

he interprets only protects

people like him

Rocking Chairs on Main House, Painting by Richard R. Russo

4/10/14

Ask Me Who I Am

Call me inside of my name

to what I am beyond a name

“I am” merely conceit

To ask what is self is to ask

what is God

Ask me who I am

Send a carrier pigeon

to the center of the universe

Write down the message sent back

on the ears of kindred strangers

We do not live on as dried ink

The stars remember our memories

long after the scrolls have burned

All of this searching for the light switch

All of this progression towards purpose

or the belief there is none

All of it is still darkness

Our evolving beliefs and unknowns

are victims of perspective

Ego shows face in the best of intentions

Ask me who I am

to learn of who you are

IG: @daydreamifications

4/8/14

Winning

Sometimes the odds

even out

and you win

You are outstretched

arms in surrender

to victory and joy

The first to cross the tape

But contrary to popular belief

there is no such thing as losing

only loss

We can only lose each other

There is no finish line

Even if there were

being last is just a new

beginning

There is no race

There is only here, now

and the hope for tomorrow

There is grief, struggle

pain

and there is starting over

We regenerate, forgive

love

So as you are running

from point A to point B

know

that it is still only just

a circle

The fact that you are still

here

is winning

On your worst day you have won

[source unknown]

4/7/14

He Beats Her

He beats her without ever laying a finger on her.

Does it with his posture

when she shakes a man’s hand.

With his words when he asks her

why she’s so dressed up today

instead of letting her know how beautiful she is

in everything she wears.

He beats her with his fists

on another man’s chin

for looking at her too closely.

Body slams her with guilt trips and insecurity

stemming from his own dishonesty.

Choke holds her in a relationship

that holds her back.

She can’t even be herself anymore

because she’s lost all sense of who she is.

Sacrifices everything for her family.

Picks up the slack on repeat

and never complains.

He doesn’t even see her.

Not for the strong woman she is

but as the object he feels entitled to.

Has beat her down for so long

she doesn’t even recognize it anymore.

Doesn’t even flinch over the fact that her hands

won’t

stop

shaking.

IG: @daydreamifications

4/6/14

Hope

Hope is an open embrace

Escapes when clung to

like sand in closed fists

Hope will ebb and flow

washes over unannounced

There is no control

Hope should move freely

and cannot be owned

Fear intensifies the clutch

IG: @daydreamifications

4/5/14

Between Us

There is no greater distance between us

than when you linger just outside

my parted lips.

But when your kisses find their way

to the core of me

I am not simply connected to you

but to all things. 

Your palms have held the space between us

have turned the slippery hourglass

and left time breathless.

My heels can tell the story of your spine

and from across a crowded room

I'll remind you of once upon a time

with my eyes.

IG: @daydreamifications

4/4/14

Hungry

Sentences are my sustenance

but lately I’m starving

So many cute piles of breadcrumbs

and not enough bread

I sleep a little less

and pray a little longer

Steady wishing to be enough

to suit my own standards

Holding the bags beneath my eyes

I travel lightly

and draw cave paintings on the dark circles

so tomorrow can know

I am the light at the end of the tunnel

and not a baker

There is never enough time when you measure it

Still, my stomach growls

IG: @daydreamifications

4/3/14

Hold On, Alice (Not Today)

Perhaps you’re in Paris

A picture you’ve seen of a cobblestone street

An alley with laundry hanging off a terrace

Bicyclists pedaling their daily bread

Arm in arm with your best friend

erratically staggering to the sing-song melody

your own drummer’s beating

It rains. Shouting now, faces to God you keep chuckling

grinning like Cheshire cats and stumbling with the wonder of living

Somewhere behind your eyes flickers a candle

wishing for this moment to last forever

when suddenly you see him just around the bend cradling a cigarette beneath the streetlight

Tips his hat at the sight of you, nonchalant

That familiar avalanche of ice unfurls in your chest while your heart stills, embalming

in a stubborn, lingering love

The soles of your shoes meld with the stone beneath you as prayer hands do

Foot to boulder begging you to keep swaying, keep howling your dreams to the rainclouds

Turn around, Alice, before it’s too late

before he tenderly abandons you between the rocks and hard places that have so easily become home

before this crevice of desire becomes the rabbit hole you keep falling in

Rip open your breast just a little to let the droplets in. Let your heart thaw so you can remember

the sun is always shining, even when it hides

Perhaps you’re falling

Lightning strikes, it’s thundering. Vision blurring behind the torrent and your stomach is drowning

Clocks begin swirling, up is down is up is down is up

The symphony is halting. He silently reaches out his hand and you eagerly clutch

It burns sharply, but you’re accustomed to the pain—

it’s as temporary as the relief

It’d be simple if he were menacing, violent. Instead he taunts gently and leaves invisible scars

Addiction reveals himself in the loveliest places

is the shadow behind the treasure chest

the bee sting hidden in rose petals

an empty, rusted pot at the end of a rainbow

Sweet surrender seems the only escape of his draw

Hold your breath, Alice. Through gritted teeth repeat after me

You will not, you will not, you will not win today

IG: @daydreamifications

4/2/14

Stolen Little Things

Your granddaughter

She has learned to tie her shoes since you have been gone.

Sings around the house to music I do not identify with,

dances to Frederic Chopin,

tells me she loves me

as unconditionally as you had loved me.

Grandpa, you have been robbed of these years

down to the paltriest seconds

of after-school pickups

and botched auditions.

You are missing out on so much of so many

little things.

Your daughter

My pulse has lost its rhythm since you have been gone.

Find myself whistling when I back out of parking spaces

and guessing arrival times when coming home from long road trips.

Took your kidnapping to remember

how much of you I am.

Father, there must’ve been thieves in the attic

that morning our heart’s beat was stolen.

You had once told me you could help me with my poetry.

Neither one of us could’ve known it’d be in this way.

I am missing out on so much of so many

little things.

IG: @daydreamifications

4/1/14

Gathering Storm

In my mind

brews a constant swirl

of the ideal, 

perfect 

me.

Some days I question everything.

Then there are those

I feel so sure-footed

I step on slippery boxes 

and shout my beliefs 

without warning

to the point where I have to wonder

if it is a violation.

       But when the rains come

instead of letting it 

wash away my sins

I stand vulnerable,

guilty 

and ashamed

that there is no longer a box left

to stand on.

Never wanting to admit

I have sins

in the first place.

My legs intact,

I watch them

go nowhere,

because instead of belief

I am left standing on truth

in the eye

of my perfect

storm.

I am

every day gathering pieces:

Workout

Help with homework

Analyze blood sugar numbers, make insulin adjustments

Wake up 

every three hours 

every night for weeks

   to check blood sugar numbers so I can

   pretend I have I have the ability to 

   analyze them

Pretend I am not sleep-deprived

Take mom to somewhere

Practice flashcards

Pack lunches

Cook healthy 

   low-carb, 

   gluten-free 

   mostly raw

meals from scratch

Fold laundry (always the laundry)

Pray

Read (books/articles/blogs)

Write (poetry/blog/letter/journal)

Play games with firstborn

Bedtime story

Shower

Clean bathrooms

Wash kitchen floor

Vacuum

Work (be on time)

DO IT ALL 

   and be in bed by 8:30pm so you can wake up at 5am 

   and be at work all day until 5pm. 

(So, roughly three hours.) 

DO IT ALL in three hours.

Put on makeup

“Do” hair

Dress fly

Grocery shop

Get gas

Go to the school play/meeting/talent show

Trick-or-treat

Put up Christmas tree, wrap presents

Hide Easter eggs

Replace light bulbs, air filter, batteries

Service vehicle

Pay bills

Budget

Talk on phone with loved ones

Change insulin pump

Upload photos from digital camera

Relax

Spend time 

   with loved ones

Remember

   to love myself

Some days I feel like every day 

starts from scratch and it is daunting.

After a bad day?

well, that's just what I need, isn't it?

a fresh start?

But after a few good days--to start over

again and again and again . . .

It is a never-ending task.

Some days I feel like 

I am deficient because I am not efficient

enough

and I can't keep up.

source unknown

2/17/14

Grateful for Gratitude

Last year I gave myself a Gratitude Jar for Christmas.

The idea is to take a moment each day to reflect on one thing you are thankful for. It could be a major event like a promotion, engagement or graduation, or it could simply be a joyous thought or memory you'd like to treasure.

I didn't put as many notes in the jar as I had hoped I would. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful experience to unfold all of the notes and remember what I had felt that day. One particular note was of a dream I had had of my father. I don't remember my dreams very often, but this one was vivid. 

IG: lizsousa

I was at a dance hall, panicked because I couldn't find him anywhere. When my eyes finally fell upon him, he was wearing his gentle smile that I loved so much. It was the smile that said "everything is okay" even if it
wasn't. I ran up to him and while I hugged him I said, "I thought you had gone." He pulled away to look at me and replied, "I never left."

Although it was surely burrowed in my subconscious, I had forgotten all about this dream, and to have the opportunity to re-live it once more was deeply moving, gratifying. I was awash in love. That feeling of joy and remembrance was the epitome of what the gratitude jar is for.  

Sometimes it can feel like the days and months pass by in a blur and we lose sight of all the precious moments we experience on a daily basis. A project like this is a reminder of all that was good about your life and sets the precedent to keep that mentality into the coming year.

As 2014 unfolds, I'd say this year's jar is off to a good start. . .

1/514

I Do Not Apologize

While sitting cross legged and hunched over on my parents’ bed playing Nintendo on a television that had seen a generation before me, as I leaned my entire body all the way to the right to ensure Mario would properly land on the koopa troopa and earn ALL THE LIVES, I had become acutely aware of my posture and had a sudden, strange impulse to feel the shape of my spine.

As my fingertips tiptoed along the length of my back, there were times I couldn’t feel bone. Again and again my fingers danced, lightly at first, and then fervently on where each vertebra ought to be. Worried, I asked my mother to check and she swore I was fine. But seventh grade proved otherwise. Seventh grade not only brought overwhelming vulnerability, lockers, crushes and acne, it also brought a clipboard-clad woman to confirm what I had feared not long ago. I was not fine.

I had scoliosis.

After x-rays revealed not one but two curvatures, a spine that looked like a map of the Pacific Coast Highway, I locked myself in a mental dungeon where I expected to forever mourn my disfigured body. The doctor said the percentage of each curve was just under the threshold to require surgery and added, “You’ll be able to lead a normal life. You won’t be able to enter any beauty pageants or anything, but you’ll be fine.”

Mom says I’ll be fine.

Doc says I’ll be fine.

But fine was the last adjective I could use to describe how I felt.

At school I would joke that I was the hunchback of Notre Dame because turning it into a punch line was the aloe vera to calm the burn of shame. “I mean, why get bent out of shape over it, right?” And with crooked teeth and thick thighs inherited from my aunties, I wore my insecurities as chains, clinking through life like damaged goods waiting to get thrown out.

A few years ago I lost over 60 pounds through healthy eating and exercise and it drastically changed how I felt about myself. I still have scoliosis, I still have crooked teeth, and Lord knows I still have thick thighs, but something incredibly unexpected happened. 

I was free. Free from the self-loathing, free from the mentality that I was broken.

I didn’t suddenly develop confidence because the pounds themselves were gone; I developed confidence because I allowed myself the right to feel good about my body in all its forms, to treat it with love, respect and even admiration. I am not defective. I know now, as Brother Ali puts it in “Forest Whitaker,” these are God’s fingerprints, but I’m still learning to unconditionally love every part of me.

Over the weekend, one of my favorite poets, Sonya Renee, gave me the reminder I needed.

I wish someone had recited her poem to me all those years ago, that that young pubescent girl could’ve known as she bent over in the dusky, damp locker room of Winton Junior High to have her spine inspected, that the life-changing news she would receive would not destroy her…that she would not be fine. No, not simply fine at all, because she was more than that. She was divine. Divinely made with twists and curves meant to be hugged, traced and loved.

For all the young men and women who still don’t know their divinity, who are still hiding away, here’s Sonya’s poem “The Body Is Not An Apology.” 

12/10/13