pain = weakness

When I was a child my mother was constantly telling me not to do things.

I could not run with the other children because I had asthma.

I could not play any sports because I could not run.

I could not play outside because I had allergies.

I could not climb a tree because I might fall.

I could not do this, I could not do that.

But rather than accept my limitations as some children would, I rebelled against them.

I tried to run with the other children, I even staged a race with my step-sisters, but of course I didn’t win and sadly, I don’t think I was even able to run the entire length of the church’s driveway, but I kept trying. In high school I decided to go running every day after school – admittedly I ended up with shin splints in short order, but it was not my asthma that kept me inside.

I tried to play sports, and even managed to get on the JV softball team, but my first time up at bat, after I hit the ball I slipped when running (or to hear someone else tell it I flipped my whole body over) and stressed a tendon in my left knee. I was on crutches for the rest of the season, but next season I did return to tryouts.

I always wanted to be outside, even when we lived in the apartments and the only outside I was allowed was the back parking lot. I could not go on the grassy area between the building and the trees because it was dark and bad people might be hanging around there. I did venture into the darkness a few times and there was nothing there except the darkness, and this ridiculous door in a pit, as well as the constant fear that my mother would catch me disobeying her command.

I always tried to climb a tree but soon learned my body is too short for many of the branches. However, to this day I still dream of sitting on a high limb and swinging my legs with a warm summer breeze. This year it might actually happen since there is a tall pine tree in my yard that has wooden steps drilled into it and I know more than a few kids and adults have climbed it safely – including my own! Soon it will be my turn!

changing waters

Change is not always a good thing.

Sometimes it is the tried and true exercise of daily life that brings you happiness. Sometimes it is the little adventures life takes you on, rather than the excitement of unexplored hills and dales.

Sometimes, just sometimes, one needs the consistency and reliability of a calm sea amidst the chaos of life.

Sometimes one needs to seek out those calm waters by dashing through the waves of storms, in order to find the calm blue waters that gave birth to you.

Sometimes one needs to be held within the ocean of serenity before one can venture back out into the world again.

phasing shapes

i am a woman of many phases,
many shapes,
many sizes.

i can fit
into any space
you give me,
unless you try
to shape me
inside a space
i don't want to be.

then i'll push and pull
and if that doesn't work
i'll yell and hit
and if that doesn't work,
well, i'll take out my blade
and cut you,
or shoot you
with one of my arrows.

then i will take a step out
of the box you have created.

i will then take
another step back
and another
and another
until there is
a safe distance between us,
until my hand
cannot cut you,
until my arrows
miss their mark,
and only then
will i begin to listen
to your words,
only then
will i begin to trust
what you say is true,
but know
that at the merest hint
of raising a wall around me
i will bolt away,
out of the box
you wanted for me
and i am armed
against your next betrayal.

miraculous happenings

i am a miracle worker.

the world caters to my every whim,
slips and slides into my every desire,
spins chaos to conjure my destiny,
relinquishing the thoughts
and needs of others
to adhere to the barest
of my notions of grandeur.

i am a miracle worker.

the webbing of events
surround me to bend
and stretch to my every need,
shaping the web
of future events
into the essence of my being,
threading through passages
once thought too small
to slide past
until all that is laid before me
is exactly as i need it to be.

i am a miracle worker.

divergent pathways

roads diverge

roads follow

roads travel

along byways

and highways

too long to travel alone

too far to travel apart

wandering from the intended direction

straying towards a reflection

of what once was

the call of sirens past

singing their praise

for glories lost

wandering beyond the grave

one must save

such meanderings of the mind

in the present time

lest ye be swayed

and bent to obey

the masses of contradiction

and disruption

with the only function

of chaos breeding contempt

until one repents

the sins of the father

begotten and beheld by the son

of the daughter

lest ye be sent to slaughter

for things best left unsaid

to a child’s ear

within the heart of a woman

within the heart of a woman

lies chaos and contradiction

a predilection to grandiose verbosities

of which there is no recovery

so one must forge ahead

and think before words are said

of the eccentricities within the mind

of the inanities within the soul

of the banalities within the heart

of the compromises within the body

as it tries to comprehend the things

that are better left unsaid

because there is no way

to form the letters

that form the words

of such gross inadequacies of the spirit

there is no way to form the sentences

and paragraphs of frugality

when all one wants to do

is run free with the wind

and play barefoot in the summer rains

2011

the year is quickly approaching its halfway mark and i am no where near reaching my goals.
i do not have another draft of 'sweet blood', nor do i have many more pages of 'beyond the walls', and 'sathanas' has been lost into the ether of finished and unpublished projects, similar to all the poems and prose i have written over the years and shoved into a file somewhere. all of them are there for me, in their proper place whenever i choose to look at them again, like on the rare occasion when i enter a poetry contest, but for the most part they just sit there, mocking me with their letters that are strung together in half coherent run-on sentences and paragraphs that could be expanded to pages and pages of brilliant scenes and amazing connections.
the only excuse i have to offer for this gross inequity of accomplishments is: my family and i were sick for half the year, and while this is a truth the other truth of that statement is that that excuse is getting old. it has been used too much, and voiced even more to become the crutch i fall on as to why i have accomplished nothing this year.
but, ya know what the strangest part of all of this is?
i have found myself again,
truly honed down to my core
i am finally ready
to say to the world:
this is me!
this is who i am!

writing goals

i finally have a concrete schedule for writing!
and wouldn't you know it?
the doubt monster has stopped in for a visit :(
fucking figures :(