Yellow Hearts and Black Hair Ties

My brain trembles
head furrows
deep crevices
sagged skin
on the corners
especially on the corners
of the eyes, ears, mouth
And the edges of
heart, life, cliff,

I can focus enough
for now
I can forgive myself
for now
I can figure it out and
its ok that I haven’t yet
Do my best
honest and true
Joy, Love, and Acceptance

What are you missing
Reruns of Glee and New Girl
His third birthday
Little League and AYSO
Man 2
Marriages and divorces
Births and deaths
Being tired and worried
Curled up on the couch with them
Family moos and Bunny books
Remembering your favorite toy
The next bell sleeve
Letters to Santa
Swinging in the big kid swing
Pride and joy

The best way to act my revenge
on a loving deity,
a fatherly god,
a parent,
is to be dead to them,
to have them lose a child,
like for like,
you took mine – I’ll take yours.

The anger takes me away from her –
sitting here where she first realized nature was better.
I’m hiding from thoughts of her
because my anger and her love
can’t be in the same room.
I feel shame –
feel my mind’s eye avoid her face
and disappointment.
Just let me be here Meg.
It will serve me better in the end –
to not hold hope or faith or belief
in beauty or proper ness
or courtesy or civility.
Jealousy, rage, pain,
gut punches of reality
will serve me better – living here.
Knowing being good won’t save me
because you were better than us all.

In the beginning of my second life or was it the third or fourth? I know it will be my last. i swore i would not be broken I would not be angry.

Now – those make up the warm blanket I crawl under, the bath water I soak in, the light that fuels me.

Broken and anger pushed through – worked through to survive

love – because people said it was better that way.
That makes a fool

Not quite though – I feel a tug mostly from behind the eyes at my wrists and ankles, sometimes in my gut

back to kindness – not the outside to others kindness
no need to bring others to this place before their time
I won’t play that role –

Kindness not to show them the tug I feel
in those first morning moments,
sometimes in the breeze that tries to cools the burn in my chest
or in the seconds as i turn my head towards the rustle in the trees in the evening – anticipating the light in the leaves, in the impulsive smile of another
i turn away – only a matter of time before i choose to hide from those too.

those tugs are a personal desire for beauty and glow I feel that tug during the day still but like every other precious thing it’s only a matter of time until that pull is take form us too

Taken from implies i have no responsibility in it, to it, for it – that’s not the whole truth , maybe not even a little truth.

I lay my anger
in this book
that I carry
in my bag
that hangs from
my shoulder
that bends to the weight
hooked on my arm
that crease and bruise
held by my hands
till they itch and burn
To keep it contained within

She’s relentless
in telling me
she hears me
in pleasing me
in answering me
challenging me
proving to me
that she didn’t
leave

Were her prayers for his
salvation
stronger than mine for her
safety