the real fairies. I thought I could see them in Willow’s backyard…we would sit on the porch eating blueberries and slices of pear and look out into the yard and we thought we could see some.
I will always believe in magic. When my ears ring, you all are reading my posts and I know it.
Writing poetry must be like going to the bottle
When I binge, I am gone for months
but I never drown anything.
“I asked him to marry me
then,
My heart broke.
Literally
I have to see a cardiologist on Thursday.”
TRUE
“I followed through with that prescription
I never do that.”
TRUE
“Your sweaters are in the back of my closet.”
DARE.
I am an anxiety freak
my heart is overripe
and my head is all flies buzzing
that’s what they mean
when they say “in a pickle”
I know these people who take vitamins
but still leave their bodies to faith in God.
I only write poems when my womb is bleeding,
so I am a woman with power, strength, and fear,
but I must convince myself I am mostly made of water,
and that water is alive
and that gravity is love.
my secrets unlock everything in you
Do you know?
I sit inside the ring of fire
with my headphones on
and try to feel silence somehow
but I know love
and everything washes me away sometimes
when I’m holding on
I can break all your fears for you
if the world can stop right now
I can be that wave
oh the things I could say to you
where do I go
when I am not here?
I never apologize for anything
anymore
the story is always here
and I come back
I made a promise of joy
and then I came home after many years
and you were in this house
and you were in this city
you were in this park
and the trees were saying “we were here”
and I was laughing for whatever that was
worth.
I have been considered to be the best Friend
of many of my Friends at various intervals in my Life.
I have not had very many Friends if they are counted
and compared in popularity’s contest with another,
but I could not ask for more Friends or better Friends
than ever I have known.
Let it be known, that You are my Muses.
Thereby, I have no Secrets. My Canvas is marked by your Colors,
and I am not made proud by them.
You are the Show.
I am fortunate enough to be graced with Your dancing into me as I merely walk with a wobble in my step, and that You should happen not to be afraid of a Collision,
I am most blessed.
Mute for the moment, without these Words to say I love You. I am silenced at your Will,
but still You command forth the Symphony.
we are not so much alike
maybe I am colorblind
and this is good
you might be a strong building
me, a river
I admire your courage to stand
but, I cannot stand still for long
we might fight.
You say I am too gullible
I come in with the tide
following no gods
I think you are beautiful.
George Bernard Shaw’s writing hut, dubbed “London” so his staff wouldn’t be lying when they said he had “gone to London.”
fuckyes! I love all these writing houses. I realized that the playhouse my dad built me as a kid is perfect for this…and yes that’s what it will be one day. I need it.
I can never forgive
you, not for
loving me
for stealing every book
one per year
I have seen them with you
not for tears
nor scars healed long ago
and never,
for the road alone
and the wind that blew me
scattering these poems
No, for you
a century to pass
without a kiss.
