Fire pit song 1

I wish your love songs

Were about me.

I wish the emotion

That runs so deep

Was carved by me.

My effect on you

Is merely surface.

I'm not the muse

I've not your heart strings.

Help me see past

The love you felt

Help me see that

You still have room for me

Want

Another night spent curled up, you asleep while I'm painfully awake.

Another morning spent crying. You would rather turn your back to me and talk into the pillow than sit up and find answers with me.

A phone call midday. "You have to decide what you want." I told you this morning what I wanted. I told you and you brushed it off with conflicting reasons why I was being dramatic.

I've thought hard since you told me I need to decide. I've told you I want you, but it's not that simple, is it?

I want the good morning texts you used to send.

I want time for a date every week. A date that isn't always planned by me, that doesn't involve being at one of our homes. I want to go out and see the world with you, even if that world is just a walk around a few blocks or to the park.

I want kisses when we greet each other. When did that stop?

I want to go to sleep tangled up in each other. Not to say we don't, but I want it to continue.

I want to be found beautiful, even when tired.

I want the possibility of chickens. Of a house built into a home. A dog, bunnies, and a garden.

I want to inspire.

I want slow exploring. I want kisses on my hip bones and fingertips that trace my curves. I want to kiss a trail over your body while discovering what makes turns all your senses to me.

I want to be comfortable saying no.

I want nights sitting on the couch, watching tv together, snuggled up in your arms.

I want to cook together. And meals fed to each other, sometimes off of each other.

I want to be able to have serious discussions on politics and playful discussions about superheroes.

I want passion and drive. I want each day to be welcomed, not dreaded.

I want to share the hard days. I want to be the comfort in the storm. I want a safe place when my nightmares find me.

I want to be known. I want to be held often.

I want lazy days spent silently near each other, absorbed in our own interests but still close to each other, enjoying the quiet peace of existing together.

I want to be more important than an obligation.

I want my son to be happy. Someone who genuinely cares for him and will be there for him.

I want to be desired. I want to desire.

I want to be pushed to grow but still loved in the process or when I fail.

I want to know we have each other's backs when it comes down to it.

I want kisses on the forehead.

I want to seek happiness together and find beauty in the ugly moments.

I want to make memories that we will one day look back at, smiling.

I want you. But I want me too.

Sleep Won't Come

I really should be in bed.
Don't I realize how soon the early work hours will pull the sun up?
Pushing, pulling the darkness deep navys into pale shades of robins egg, like stretching taffy.

You tell me to sleep but we both know
When restlessness grabs hold of my chest, limbs jitter fidgety
You have watched me pace floors, so much to do

Of all the times to argue with me, of all the times
Surround me with your arms, not angry impatience.
Everything is overwhelming, I am so tired but there is so much.

How can I explain, sleepy minded, thoughts too difficult to sort
Take me to bed, undress me, tuck me in that corner of your arm
Make me listen to your heart song beat, make me sleep.

Syntax

Words fascinate
Confuse words
Letters tangle
choking
syllables that stutter
stutter
stuck
words new
broken to pieces

4 years
4 years spent
practicing, practicing
Special class for 1
"These, those, their"
"Salamander" a
word, the animal
not.

I practiced, practiced
say, say, say
But no,
no one ever
said
asked
noticed
the words
jumbled my throat
tongue tied and stutter
stuck
No, no one
the words
broken into pieces
that my eyes confused
Letter Pictures.

For David.

88 Lines About 44 Times I Fell in Love With My Boyfriend, 
in No Particular Order

Standing in my garage, beer in your hand,

We just had met and your smile made me forget your name.

Then there was last Valentine’s, at my work,

You made me blush with roses and sunflowers.

Side of the road, buying mangoes to eat at the beach,

Standing close, smelling sweetness against cold beach wind.

Walking along Goat Rock Beach,

We took our first photos together.

A foggy memory, an exhausted night, the first time

You stretched out your arm, I put my head on your chest, and slept.

The first dark midnight you witnessed my nightmares,

I woke to being held close and told I was safe.

Walking the tiles of my house, you singing made up songs,

How could I not, the first time and every after?

Watching you, in your too-warm room,

Elbow deep in aquarium, speaking Latin names of fish.

Our first fight, you didn’t back down, and I was wrong,

You called me out and I respected you for it.

When you met my son, you did not push,

But let him come to you, talking of skipping stones.

Watching you, always shirtless, painting,

Using tea and paint, creating feathers in my kitchen.

The night you came over, I did not expect it,

So late that I thought you had forgotten.

Drove home sick from work, you were at a friend’s,

Still you made me miso soup, watched me as I sipped it.

The day you got my son to draw,

Side by side, you both sat on the couch, pencils in hand.

When my cat climbed on your chest,

You laughed as she hit your chin with her head.

When you met my parents, I saw

You shook hands and looked them in the eye.

The first time, by tickling, that I finally made you laugh

You claim a couple beers had helped you to relax.

Your best friend’s party-turned-weekend-trip,

As we slept under the stars, back yard camping.

Seeing the way you smiled with your friends,

Unrestrained, the lines deep around your eyes.

Feeling safe in your car, the first time to your place,

You called me precious cargo, I blushed in the dark.

That first kiss on the forehead,

And each one ever since.

When I discovered I fit just right, for standing

Means my head can lay over your heart beat.

Easter Day, in my green front yard

Pitching to my son, suggestions and encouragements.

The days of “Good Morning” texts, that

Honestly I have grown to miss.

Though I had stopped hoping, it truly meant the most,

The first time you said you loved me, late day, standing by my stove.

Driving to see my favorite band, you made a detour,

Going past my childhood home, so much joy I could have cried.

Later,  as we stood there at the show,

Your arm protective around my waist.

The time I saw your sketch book open,

My own face, surrounded with roses, looking back at me.

A sad memory, but it changed things,

The first time I saw you cry.

When you took me to meet your mother, actually

Taking the time to calm me by saying which outfit looked the best.

The day I came home to a new garden fence,

No more days of deer eating my tomatoes.

Remember the wooden rocking bench?

Sheepishly telling me it broke under the weight of you and a tipsy friend.

The day you took four silly selfies,

And sent each duck-lipped face to me.

Dancing in my kitchen, a first for me,

My steps awkward and clumsy but you still swayed.

The second drive home from your brother’s house,

Both yelling, angry, but you refused to give up on us.

Watching you walk, black flowing robes,

As your mom and I cheered for our favorite new grad.

Your surprise birthday party,

That moment when you realized everyone was there.

When my son was honored, his school ceremony,

You stood by the stage and photographed.

The other night, just weeks ago, as you said

You loved me, inside a kiss, our bodies entwined.

I fall in love with you - my hero, my rock, my handsome man,

More and more each every day.

(note - this was inspired by my fantastic man, and pulled into existence by my current professor for an assignment)

Dated

November 2003

None of my underpants fit.
30 pairs, I counted, each spilling my growing flesh over their edges.
I call my mother, crying, from my bathroom floor.
It is happening, it is real.
I am not prepared for this, let alone what else will be coming.


May 2004

My body knows what it wants but not how to do it.
It is no longer mine to control, this excess belongs to you.
My mother rubs a tennis ball against the lowest part of my back, futile attempts against pain.
Exhausted, I nap between speaking sentences, between words.
The doctor is not prepared when I wake up and say you have to come out now.


March 2010

We have moved so many times since your arrival.
But this is the first move that is only ours, another first for us to share.
Showing up on her doorstep, my mother cooks you dinner while I sit numb.
I am walking us away from so much, from all I thought I knew.
It would have been smarter to prepare, I have nothing but what fit in our backpacks.


January 2011

Walking home together from the park, you're laughing up the rocky path to our door.
Foreign, I see the stack of papers on the doorstep before you reach them.
Again, I call my mother, and sob quietly while you play in your room.
She comes over to sit with me while my father takes you to go play, unaware.
Inevitable but his accusations tear at me. He had the papers prepared on our anniversary. 










(note - this was inspired by my amazing mother and my journey into motherhood and unpartnered motherhood, and pulled into existence by my current professor for an assignment)