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)

Words fail.

There are no words between us. 

There is a space, quiet, thick. 

But the words can't fill it.

My world

Sometimes late at night I wonder

If I will ever be good enough for you

Sometimes I wonder it during the day

As I pace our living room floor 

I wish I could promise to keep you safe forever

But that is a promise I can only promise to break

Life is meant to be lived full with heartache and heartbreak

And even as I hold you close I know there are small wounds and scars 

That my love can only soothe so much

But I hold tight to the hope and the longing

Hold tight, and hope somehow you will see

That as long as there is breath in my lungs

You'll always mean more to me than all the world.

Lionheart, again.

Lionheart, what you do to me. 

My fears dissolve. 

My dreams expand.

Your presence is a calming sense the likes of which I did not know I needed.

Lionheart, you feed parts of me which did not understand their hunger. 

My constant hum quiets.

My restless demons slumber when you look at me.

You inspire me in every breath, indulge my soul with your unwavering faith of my potentials. 

Lionheart, keep me and allow me to do the same for you.

Contradictions

Lion heart, you cause contradictions.
I'm perplexed by your looks, excited by your gaze.
Your fingertips on my skin soothe me but leave me burning to feel more.
I could watch you for hours, silent observer to your careful movements,
but the moment you move towards me, into my space,
I want nothing more than to wrap my limbs around you, give myself to you by pulling you closer,
our skin to skin not being enough.

You make me want to paint murals with my words,
sing songs that have yet to be put to note.
You give me a look and I want to whimper, want to claw at your skin.
Sometimes you pull back, pull way, sharp and sudden like a paper cut,
and you confuse me! The calm and primal burn turn to frustration, almost a shade of anger.
It makes me want to take you apart, figure out what makes you tick,
what makes you tock,
which springs and coils cause you to halt, maddeningly,
at the moment I want more and to give you more.

Lion heart,
I want to know you, but you scare me.
You amaze me, fascinate me, come from a different world,
find me on our common ground.
Take these contradictions as my offerings of myself to you.

fish.

My legs stood firm, stable to the earth.
Then you came, smoothly, gliding in, swirling around me,
Your fluid actions unexpected, unlike the moves of the men who walk on the lands I have conquered 

The waves you create are flustering me, eroding the ground beneath my toes.

You've sent me into a sea, without even asking if I have gills.
You have me swimming, gasping for air in an element I never knew I could survive in, 

The moon is controlling the tides, and
I am a little fish, 

In your offerings of kelp beds that threaten to tangle me and drown me in the darkest depths,

You are the one placing moss around me, 

Building an environment new to us both. 

two.

You are visual,
you create vast empires out of inks and crushed sands and flattened trees.
You are physical,
creating lands as a god creates new life, no ecosystem can deny the skillful allure of your fingertips.
You are vocal,
your growls and harmonies are lush tones that wrap around me, songs to seduce and soothe.




Words are my lifeblood,
each sound and inflection a heartbeat,
the way I create new life, new lands.

I want to pull my words from the air,
give them form and texture,
weave them together into a mural,
to explain with colors and shapes.

I want you to see my words with a clarity,
want you to see their landscapes, their lushness,
I want my empires to demand your attention,