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Friday, February 27, 2009

MARGINS

Stay inside the lines
Don't stray
Or be punished
Be ridiculed
Stay inside the box
Don't escape
Or be tortured
Be pushed
Stay within the norm
Don't flee
Or be chastised
Be labeled

Monday, February 23, 2009

MY FATHER

Dad, daddy, pops, PaPa... Whatever I call him, he's my father. There's no denying it either, not that I'd want to. Our heads came from the same mold except his dome is mostly barren where mine thrives with the locks of youth that I'm sure will fade with time. His eyes are hazel, flecks of green and blue with a yellow undertone. His French nose that runs in the family, that I lack. We have the same cheekbones and I'm sure, if I let myself go, I would inherit is mustache as well. It's hard not to notice he's my dad. He's a real mans man, whatever that means. He wears Levis and cowboys boots with plaid shirts. He works hard hours in a factory. He has a pick-up truck and lives out in the country. He wears trucker hats and aviator sunglasses. That's my dad. He's tough, proven by his missing middle finger on his right hand. He has always been a loving father in his own way. Making sure to hug and kiss us, tell us her loves us, tickle the back of our necks affectionately. He finds it hard to make conversation if not about work, bowling, sports, farming, or town and family news, he doesn't talk about his childhood at all. He never speaks of my grandfather whom I don't remember. He jokes about my grandma's alzheimer's even though you know it hurts. He's a conservative Catholic with two liberal daughters, one being a agnostic, which I think he doesn't even realize. He's frugal but always willing to help out financially when his girls are in need. My dad hasn't always been there for me emotionally. I still find it hard to talk to him about certain things and I never want to upset him in any way. I've hurt him before and I never want to do it again. I love my dad and I know he loves me but supporting me financially for all these years, for holding my hand a little longer after the Lord's prayer, for hugging me in public and telling me he loves me, for taking me bowling and giving me tips, for buying me my first basketball hoop when I was in fifth grade, for encouraging me to get an education, for calling when we haven't talked in a while, and when he still, today, tickles my neck affectionately.

MIGRAINE

Timpani
Above one eye
Vessels hurt
Throb
Dizzy
Dizzy
Dizzy
NO LIGHT
NO SOUND
Porcelain haven
Cold floor
Head hits the pillow
Fourteen hours later
It's just a memory

rocks
turtles
the river
swans
weeping willow
plastic pool
battle of hastings
puddle checkers
third birthday
not so spooky spiders
brookfield zoo
sleepovers
sickness
ghost stories
birds and the bees
bunk beds
sleeping with my parents
snick
biscuits and gravy
market day
salute your shorts
wiggle butt
grandma
minnie mouse inflatable boat
barbies
stickers on the wall
falling off of my bike
jack
bandit
mosquitoes
bonfires
innocence
innocence

LADY

Shrill
Nails on the chalkboard shrill
Knocking at the door
You open your jaws
And YIP YIP YIP
I love you
But SHUT UP

LIFE PATTERN

Cry
Cries
Everybody Cries
Lie
Lies
Everybody Lies
Die
Dies
Everbody Dies

He said
She said
We all said
Unless you said
That I said
Than they said
All I said
Was he said
What she said
But you said
She said
That he said
That I said
Okay...
I said it

Sunday, February 15, 2009

YOUTH

All I know is what's around me
Bared souls and beating hearts
Colors flying past in flashes
Death the color of the earth surrounds
Even the whisper of the trees
Fine and angelic like a harp
Going in and out of my memory
Hushing tones of the river
Itching of curiosity in my bones
Just because I know you've been here before
Knowing your feet have been right where mine are now
Long ago
My mind sees your face so vividly
Never have I seen you before
Oval stones tossed by tiny hands
Praying to sink to the bottoms quickly
Quiet songs of the grass
Run through my toes and up my body
Stopping to rest on a man
That, long ago, I knew
Under the weeping willows
Various beams of light warming my skin
Words are silenced
Xerox copies of my past
Yahweh speaking to my son
Zealous minds whirling past

Monday, February 9, 2009

AMEN

Let those without sin cast the first stone
Put your daggers down and leave me alone
Who are you to tell me
Who I can be?
Don't you dare try to mold my skin
I won't let the metamorphosis begin
I won't let you melt my brain
And let it rinse on down the drain
Because I'm eternally glad
To be labeled as raving mad