Fragments of things I'm writing now.
I approach this love
with my fists up.
"Here I am," I shout
I am this way, and you can love me
or you can leave me.
And you love me.
I pretend it makes no difference.
Here I am pushing you away.
Here I am with no makeup-
How do you like that?
Here I am screaming my nightmares.
Here I am fainting on your bathroom floor.
Here I am lying with IV needles in my arms.
I'm exhausted and sleeping
The drugged sleep of morphine,
Looking worse than I ever have
In my life.
Pale skin, sunken eyes,
Circled in bruise-brown.
And you love me.
{Needs work, highly personal, yada yada}
Oops, will have to post the next one later, running out of time.
Kym
Sometimes, I am humbled to think that I know some of the most brilliant minds out there. *Nods to Katye, Tim and Sarah*
However, tonight I'm talking about the fabulous, talented, sharp, poetic geniuses at WRITER'S BLOCK POETRY.
The grand slam was this evening. I was moved, I laughed, I cried at the same poem that always makes me cry...sigh...
Poetry and performance are alive. I wish you could all go with me.
In the meantime, check out
This is a poem by a friend, J. Bowes.
Picture perfect
If life was picture perfect life would be ….well …perfect
Think back the pictures will take you there
From the beautiful simplistic subtle shades of gray
Through the transformation of color as the pages and memories go by
In our mind we can see beyond the physical borders of photos and for a moment live within
We would all be on the porch of that special place
Sometime between the way it used to be and perfection
Go ahead ………wave at old man Johnson standing there under the old oak tree
You know he remembers you last time he saw you …………you were knee high to a cricket
You chew on a bit of fresh cut straw or sip on a tall glass of ice tea sweetened by nostalgia
While rocking in the old chair over the wooden floor now rutted from the miles of memories
The gray shades of a youthful parent playing in the yard by the picnic table with the gin gum tablecloth and a fresh pitcher of grandma’s lemonade
that even in this black and white state you can taste the cool mind quenching memories
See the one room school house with a pot belly stove where grandpa graduated from a class of 12 that somehow was placed atop a geographical oddity ……………….with no down hill slope
You can almost here the engine running when you see the pic of grandpa driving his model t down the dusty lane wearing his Sunday best
Or smell grandmas’ kitchen when you see her dawning her apron holding the wooden spoon you gave her
Even bad pictures are good memories the one of a goofy face or bad hair after being caught in the rain looking back ………….now brings a smile
Are seeing and visualizing these memories and images what make us say things were easy back then
Or is it how we want the future to look back at us as they flip through the countless pages of our Kodak moments
Every photo album is somewhere you want to visit or something you want to do
Birthday parties smiles hugs weddings graduations these are the farcical images of reality
There are no pictures of the opposites of these death frowns fights divorce and this is the day I dropped out of high school or this picture is my parole officer
You take a picture of a new baby but you don’t take one of grandpa Fighting cancer or Grandma in her casket
Take hundreds of pictures of the beautiful wedding saving the flowers and framing the marriage certificate
But there are no pictures of the divorce and impending custody battle
you don’t keep copies of the police reports to frame or the bouquet of hospital bracelets that he festooned upon you
Take a picture of a new puppy with big floppy ears and feet that came from a dog ten times his size but not after it wondered to close to the yellow line and became just another spot on the road
Pictures of the new house surrounded by a pristine white picket fence
but none
after the only thing to remember inside of the fence
are charred and blackened memories from the flames of forgetfulness
The bad memories fade generation after generation as do the images of the past and the stories and images never die they get better and better until they are legend
Pictures are how we can remember our lives and to show how simple life was when now becomes back then until WE become legend in the time it takes for the shutter to make us immortal
Wouldn’t life be perfect if you could live in a photo album
I am ready to move in
Save a page for me
and please
Somebody take my picture
I am here to talk to my friend.
I am feeling humble, because
I have been a terrible friend to her.
I have berated her to others.
I have called her stupid,
Insane, ugly and lazy.
She is none of these things.
I have lied about her.
I have lost opportunities on
Her behalf.
I have ruined relationships
For her.
I have treated her worse
Than I'd treat my own enemies.
Yet here she is,
Ready to trust me again.
I apologize.
I admit all the unconscionable things
I've done.
The tears come,
And I wipe them away.
She believes that I want to do better.
And that is the
Miracle I need.
I am here with my friend,
Alone.
I'll take care of you, Kym,
I swear it this time.
I rise, and walk alone
But not lonely
Into the sun-kissed morning.
Sometimes, things of your own choosing can be hard. This is not to say that I am not glad that I chose them. I am starting to believe that hard times DO build your character. I'm feeling very proud of myself.
People are very fickle and can turn on you. I don't really want those people in my life, anyway. WHat these fakesters have done is show me the true meaning of loyalty and real friendship, so I should thank them. But I won't, because I am a mean, bitter, grudge holding asshole. I won't thank people who trash me behind my back. Fuck you, bitches.
I want to do this right and on my own, and so far, I am! I am winning the game.
My kids just astound me with their intelligence, sweetness, and compassion for others. I just want to help keep those attributes alive. Anyone who truly knows my kids know that they are good inside.