It's a damn good feeling
onion of my heart pealing
layers revealing
How strong can I be?
Just who am I
Who do I claim to be?
Tell the Sandman I slay
the monster
Took me 4 long years
a river of tears
a mile wide my fears
But holy to be true
I tell you
I did it
And it's a damn good feeling
A heart in her cage
beating strong
not for the thief looking for stealing
There was a time I believed the lies
the asking, asking why's
Sitting in a corner
a sad, little mourner
a wall flower that lost her shine
lost her love power
shoved it under the bed
hiding my sad, little head
Now just look
Walking the path without the crook
Hope keeps on whispering in my ear
I tried to shut it up
but it just kept up
Shutting up my own fear
And it's a damn good feeling
No more slicing
No more pealing
No more asking, asking why's
No more the girl
telling herself the senseless lies
That love is gone
I know that's wrong
I got all the love
any one person would
love to adore
for that
I have more
It's a damn good feeling
this process of healing
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Women Before Me
Hard lines
Soft vines
Rough hands
Soft touch
Lullaby goodnight
to that good morning
Fiery love
Loving hard
without warning
Unclipped words
Unsheathed swords
Holding babe tight
deep in shadowed midnight
Yelling at monsters during the day
Singing so sweet in the hush of night
Asking for nothing
On the path
feet stomping
Paving the way
for a girl born in May
Soft vines
Rough hands
Soft touch
Lullaby goodnight
to that good morning
Fiery love
Loving hard
without warning
Unclipped words
Unsheathed swords
Holding babe tight
deep in shadowed midnight
Yelling at monsters during the day
Singing so sweet in the hush of night
Asking for nothing
On the path
feet stomping
Paving the way
for a girl born in May
No You May Not
A polite tone
To my cutting stone
Answer's no
Now just go
Drive away fast
Just as fast as you can
Lil Mama's smiling
Hand on my steely gun
I heard you talk
I heard you stutter
Go on back to the gutter
Call with the threat
I all ready placed my bet
And honey
I've won
You sad, sorry
Son of a worthless gun
To my cutting stone
Answer's no
Now just go
Drive away fast
Just as fast as you can
Lil Mama's smiling
Hand on my steely gun
I heard you talk
I heard you stutter
Go on back to the gutter
Call with the threat
I all ready placed my bet
And honey
I've won
You sad, sorry
Son of a worthless gun
Friday, November 28, 2014
This is My Weekend
He didn't call
Didn't have the gall
Didn't come by
Not really sure if this
a final goodbye
But for now
this is what I have to say
if I were to have my say
Read the court papers
After all your capers
This is my weekend
No apologies
Please
My boy and I
A full weekend together
Son and mother
He and me
Waking up in Galilee
Our sweetest dream come true
It's true
We'll be running with King Kong
Running with the biggest dinosaur
So don't you dare knock on our door
This is my weekend
To spend
The most beautiful time
With this lovely boy of mine
Didn't have the gall
Didn't come by
Not really sure if this
a final goodbye
But for now
this is what I have to say
if I were to have my say
Read the court papers
After all your capers
This is my weekend
No apologies
Please
My boy and I
A full weekend together
Son and mother
He and me
Waking up in Galilee
Our sweetest dream come true
It's true
We'll be running with King Kong
Running with the biggest dinosaur
So don't you dare knock on our door
This is my weekend
To spend
The most beautiful time
With this lovely boy of mine
It'll Only Hurt a Minute.. if that
Her eyes sparked and fired. A boiling cauldron of emotion. She hissed at me but I knew it wasn't directed at me. I let her spew. Words coming out few. Little ears listening.
"He didn't pick him up. He didn't even call." Ah-ha. Now the crux of the problem came out into the light. She was worried, of course. How would this affect little Tot; a dad that doesn't want to be a dad. She wanted his phone number. I could see the fiery conversation she would have with him building in her head. I fairly agree with her. My mama. Oh boy. And then little Tot came totting up the steps into the kitchen as if he had just caught the monster. He was so happy and proud. He barreled towards me and wrapped his skinny arms around my legs and hugged me tight. He likes hearing about where I work and what I do, so I took a minute to explain "why mommy has to work." He smiled. Hugged me tighter.
Instead of talking to Mama directly, I talked to Tot. "Look! Tot knows who loves him. Who loves you, Tot?" Without even thinking for one second, he listed off his favorite people. Not one of them being his daddy. "Well. Mommy's glad to see you here. I missed you so much. You had a fun-filled day. Ain't nothing taking that away. Right, Tot?" He nodded vigorously. I could see Mama's eyes spinning in a new direction and she looked at me and smiled. She tried to get his phone number again. I completely ignored that. Unabashedly.
When Tot was downstairs, I sat with her. Now we could talk. I let her rant and say the same thing she has been saying from the very start of this from 4 years ago. The "Doesn't he see what he's doing?" - to the "He should be ashamed of himself. How can he even call himself a dad?" I let her say that and more. For God's sake, we all need to vent. So she vented. And then the blessed phone number perseveration. Instead of talking like the Irish girl I am, I did something completely different. I stared at her; stared until she stared back at me. I held that stare. I saw her look down like she was going to cry. I felt her emotions. I heard her mental chatter. All of it centered around how Tot would react to *this* situation. Would he be okay, or would this mean the beginning of his eternal ruin? I understand exactly where she's coming from. How many times have I sat and cried with God about this very thing? Too many times to count to be quite honest. I held up my hand and simply said, "It's only going to hurt a minute, if that. Tot sees and will continue to see who loves him. I'm not going to let you waste a minute of your breath telling dear daddy your thoughts of him. He won't listen and he doesn't care. Our focus is Tot. I put this in God's Hands and this is the answer. I trust it." Basically saying, don't you dare mess this up!
That's the truth of it, friends. It's only gonna hurt a minute.. if that. Look at Tot and I. I work as a contract therapist -- something I never foresaw for myself 4 years ago (and I'm loving it!) Tot. Oh Tot. He's growing leaps and bounds and I'm sure in 2 years he will be taller than me. He knows about God. He watches old movies. He sings his little heart out and plays his guitar and acts out every scene in uncanny perfection to the movie King Kong. I don't let my emotions get in the way of his love for his dad. He loves his dad. But I also know the boy who looks at me and suddenly says out of the blue "I don't want to see daddy anymore. He's sick." I don't disagree with him but I don't elaborate on that thought, either. My job is to protect him and listen to him when he's confused. When I don't have an answer, I don't cover it up with pretty talk that only serves to confuse him more. It is what it is. I simply say, "Mommy loves you. Mamaw loves you. Your uncles love you. And you know your daycare friends love you. No matter what happens, we'll be okay." He accepts that. He knows I don't have all the answers. Keeping the line of communication open is so important to me. I don't want him to internalize any of this. Thank God he doesn't. He's extremely vocal about all of this. So yes. He's going to be okay. More than okay. That boy is gonna shine, if I have anything to do with it. So maybe, just maybe.. it won't hurt as much. That's my prayer. That it'll only hurt a minute.. if that. The fact that Tot has a dad that simply doesn't care about being a dad hopefully won't play the most major role in my son's internal thoughts. I can only pray.
"He didn't pick him up. He didn't even call." Ah-ha. Now the crux of the problem came out into the light. She was worried, of course. How would this affect little Tot; a dad that doesn't want to be a dad. She wanted his phone number. I could see the fiery conversation she would have with him building in her head. I fairly agree with her. My mama. Oh boy. And then little Tot came totting up the steps into the kitchen as if he had just caught the monster. He was so happy and proud. He barreled towards me and wrapped his skinny arms around my legs and hugged me tight. He likes hearing about where I work and what I do, so I took a minute to explain "why mommy has to work." He smiled. Hugged me tighter.
Instead of talking to Mama directly, I talked to Tot. "Look! Tot knows who loves him. Who loves you, Tot?" Without even thinking for one second, he listed off his favorite people. Not one of them being his daddy. "Well. Mommy's glad to see you here. I missed you so much. You had a fun-filled day. Ain't nothing taking that away. Right, Tot?" He nodded vigorously. I could see Mama's eyes spinning in a new direction and she looked at me and smiled. She tried to get his phone number again. I completely ignored that. Unabashedly.
When Tot was downstairs, I sat with her. Now we could talk. I let her rant and say the same thing she has been saying from the very start of this from 4 years ago. The "Doesn't he see what he's doing?" - to the "He should be ashamed of himself. How can he even call himself a dad?" I let her say that and more. For God's sake, we all need to vent. So she vented. And then the blessed phone number perseveration. Instead of talking like the Irish girl I am, I did something completely different. I stared at her; stared until she stared back at me. I held that stare. I saw her look down like she was going to cry. I felt her emotions. I heard her mental chatter. All of it centered around how Tot would react to *this* situation. Would he be okay, or would this mean the beginning of his eternal ruin? I understand exactly where she's coming from. How many times have I sat and cried with God about this very thing? Too many times to count to be quite honest. I held up my hand and simply said, "It's only going to hurt a minute, if that. Tot sees and will continue to see who loves him. I'm not going to let you waste a minute of your breath telling dear daddy your thoughts of him. He won't listen and he doesn't care. Our focus is Tot. I put this in God's Hands and this is the answer. I trust it." Basically saying, don't you dare mess this up!
That's the truth of it, friends. It's only gonna hurt a minute.. if that. Look at Tot and I. I work as a contract therapist -- something I never foresaw for myself 4 years ago (and I'm loving it!) Tot. Oh Tot. He's growing leaps and bounds and I'm sure in 2 years he will be taller than me. He knows about God. He watches old movies. He sings his little heart out and plays his guitar and acts out every scene in uncanny perfection to the movie King Kong. I don't let my emotions get in the way of his love for his dad. He loves his dad. But I also know the boy who looks at me and suddenly says out of the blue "I don't want to see daddy anymore. He's sick." I don't disagree with him but I don't elaborate on that thought, either. My job is to protect him and listen to him when he's confused. When I don't have an answer, I don't cover it up with pretty talk that only serves to confuse him more. It is what it is. I simply say, "Mommy loves you. Mamaw loves you. Your uncles love you. And you know your daycare friends love you. No matter what happens, we'll be okay." He accepts that. He knows I don't have all the answers. Keeping the line of communication open is so important to me. I don't want him to internalize any of this. Thank God he doesn't. He's extremely vocal about all of this. So yes. He's going to be okay. More than okay. That boy is gonna shine, if I have anything to do with it. So maybe, just maybe.. it won't hurt as much. That's my prayer. That it'll only hurt a minute.. if that. The fact that Tot has a dad that simply doesn't care about being a dad hopefully won't play the most major role in my son's internal thoughts. I can only pray.
Night Train
Screaming night wails
Singing Nightingales
A thousand steps to a
journey started
Know not
only the broken hearted
Taking the long night train
into the day
Laying a weary head
in the lap of a few friends
along the way
Letting all the troubles down
River of tears shines
It does not drown
The lovely strangers we meet
Smiling souls
with a lovely greet
An unknown town up ahead
We'll make it there together
A new path to tread
Singing Nightingales
A thousand steps to a
journey started
Know not
only the broken hearted
Taking the long night train
into the day
Laying a weary head
in the lap of a few friends
along the way
Letting all the troubles down
River of tears shines
It does not drown
The lovely strangers we meet
Smiling souls
with a lovely greet
An unknown town up ahead
We'll make it there together
A new path to tread
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Where it all Comes From
I did acid at a Dead Head concert. Spent the whole night wigging out. I mean wigging out! Never did it again. Although, there are bits and pieces of that night and that concert that come to me in spurts. I danced. I laughed. I cried. I was a pathetic mess. It was a blessed test. "Fire on the Mountain". It resonates in my soul. Now hearing that song, I remember sitting in the back seat on our way home from that fated night. A line of ambulances driving to the concert camp site. For those that don't remember, a group of people were having a hippy, fun time dancing. The deck fell and the rest was history. That was also the Dead's last concert in grand ole St. Louis. Anywho. 19. Thought, "Eh. Why not." So not. I didn't like feeling out of control as the acid worked its way through my body. I remember every blasted tremor. Horrible!
So I write about it sometimes. Because that's how easy it is to taste poison. So sickeningly easy. I was extremely lucky. It never took hold. Thank God. I will tell you this. My heart goes out to the afflicted addicted. We hear it all the time. It just takes one time. One time for the poison to take hold and the tomb door closes. A death sentence waiting to happen. My one time taught me a valuable lesson. It also taught me to be a little more forgiving of drug addicts. Being in the medical field, I see no easy solution. 30 days in rehab. 90 days in rehab. Is that enough? Folks. I treated a 70 year old man addicted to crack. It was a sad, sad day. Words cannot deftly say how sad I felt. My heart sank. Again. There's no easy solution. Number one, the addicted must want help. If they don't want help, there's nothing anyone can do or say. Number two, prison is not a valid rehab program. It's a tax payer's nightmare; paying for some lost souls to sit in prison on drug charges - only to be released and start the process all over again. In reality, the prisoners find drugs easier in prison than on the streets, but that's another tangent I won't even touch on. Point being, let's definitely write our prosy, rosy poetry but not forget our own life experience. Maybe. Maybe just maybe. Our own experience will help someone in an inadvertent way.
So I write about it sometimes. Because that's how easy it is to taste poison. So sickeningly easy. I was extremely lucky. It never took hold. Thank God. I will tell you this. My heart goes out to the afflicted addicted. We hear it all the time. It just takes one time. One time for the poison to take hold and the tomb door closes. A death sentence waiting to happen. My one time taught me a valuable lesson. It also taught me to be a little more forgiving of drug addicts. Being in the medical field, I see no easy solution. 30 days in rehab. 90 days in rehab. Is that enough? Folks. I treated a 70 year old man addicted to crack. It was a sad, sad day. Words cannot deftly say how sad I felt. My heart sank. Again. There's no easy solution. Number one, the addicted must want help. If they don't want help, there's nothing anyone can do or say. Number two, prison is not a valid rehab program. It's a tax payer's nightmare; paying for some lost souls to sit in prison on drug charges - only to be released and start the process all over again. In reality, the prisoners find drugs easier in prison than on the streets, but that's another tangent I won't even touch on. Point being, let's definitely write our prosy, rosy poetry but not forget our own life experience. Maybe. Maybe just maybe. Our own experience will help someone in an inadvertent way.
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