For You with the Broken Heart

Arms outstretched

To quiet the howl

On breast wounded in like

Kissing away each other's tears.

#micropoetry

These Kids, Your kids, Our kids

These kids want to be grown up,

Do-it-yourself but don't realize how much they need you know-it-alls,

While really needing to be

Guided, nurtured and heard.

These kids will grow to be their best

With the right combination of “supportilizer” that

Each of us has patented our own brand of.

Your kids will fight, argue, swear they’re “done,” and have “done” their best,

Will become door slamming,

Lawyer worthy case pleaders

Who cry in your lap one minute

And swear they are grown-up enough to handle everything the next.

Your kids need to know you’re still there,

Through the mistakes,

The tears,

The successes,

The failures,

The dreaded questions

And answers they sometimes do not want to hear.

Our kids will forget we were once in their shoes,

Forget we have survived many bumps and scrapes they have yet to experience,

And forget we truly want what’s best for them.

In all of that,

Our kids will know,

That under our protective partnership of loving understanding,

And letting them make and learn from their mistakes kind of caring.

That we are united,

We have the best intentions and

We will do whatever it takes to

Push,

Pull,

Drag and

Guide them to the next level.

We are we.

We are united.

Because they are all

Our kids.

Sometimes it Hurts to Write...but it Hurts More Not To

Sometimes it hurts to write. 

Pain bleeds through each word.

Heart pounds at reflective memories.

But it hurts more to keep it inside.

The words ooze from my pores.

Fighting each other to be heard

In a world where you're told 

Your words 

Your experiences

Your memories

Don't count.

Words from my heart to your soul.

Words that unify.

Words that relate.

Words that define.

And refine.

And rebuild.

And recreate.

And resound with the masses

In spite of the fact

That we are not supposed to care

About those that

Are not our mirror image.

Those that Look different,

Love differently,

And live in different worlds.

These words have to make an appearance 

On the hearts and minds of

Any who spot them on a page.

Digest them into their soul

And breath.

Your words, our words, our world

We must share.

And care.

And love.

And be.

My words are ours to 

Feel and see.

And love

And live

And laugh.

They flow automatically 

Without my permission,

But fight to be freed from my own 

Self doubt.

So I let them be.

To flee

And love

And live in your heart too.

To let you know 

You are not alone

In your wildest dreams.

My words, 

my heart, 

my love

is there with you.

Will you share, too? 

What I Want, Have, Need

What I Want

A break

a vacation in tropical paradise

to be served a meal made with love

to be respected

a healthy, happy family

financial stability

to be anxiety free

to sleep well, every night

handheld sunsets on the beach

to not feel lonely

to feel loved

to be surrounded by smart, funny, loving people

people to honor the tiara I secretly wear

to be admired

to be recognized for all the hard work and sacrifices I’ve made

to feel like I can rest, finally

to feel like I made it

What I Have

anxiety

debt

loneliness

self-doubt

dinners alone

work to forget the life I’m not living

fledgeling dreams

a life only led in books

no bestie

the one little break I was looking forward to cancelled

nothing to look forward to

proof that dreams don’t come true

a heavy heart

a feeling of hopelessness

What I Need

someone’s time

attention

a break

inner peace

self love

companionship

to know everything is really going to be ok

a deep breath

to feel good about what I see when I look in the mirror

to actually look in a mirror

and know

it’s going to be ok

Instead

I read

I write

I cry

I loathe

I silently scream

I pretend

I exist

Summer Rain

Summer Rain in San Diego

Rain drops and flip flops

Humid breezes and thunder.

Power outages.

Sundresses and sandals

Warm air and clouds

Thunder and awe

Lightening and fear of fire

Warm breezes and falling palm leaves

Raindrops on beach umbrellas

Summer rain in San Diego

My Beach: A Story in Haiku

My Beach

Feeling the sun in the presence of The Son.

Can’t keep hidden, smiles

Inspired by thunderous waves,

Sun rays, sand and God.

Perfect summer day.

Alone with thoughts of gratitude.

Hypnotized by waves.

Magical motion, land’s end.

Life energy from sunshine.

At one with the sea.

Ingesting the sun,

Fresh air cleansing my soul,

with each deep inhale.

Salt scented sea mist

Quiets that voice in my mind.

A taste of heaven.

Tamarack State Beach - Carlsbad, CA

Being Forty-Four

One kid drinks daily coffee

And the other is growing a “goatee.”

What in God’s name does that say about me?

Am I old enough to be the mom of these two,

Passing wisdom and sometimes judgement

Just to name a few?

Both looking down at me, now I’m the small one.

Am I ready to have such an amazing daughter

And and almost grown up son?

Forty-four isn’t that old,

It’s double digits,

It’s eleven.

Still playing,

Knowingly paying for shenanigans

And other transgressions.

But sorry, Go back

No way. Not me.

Never do I want to return to, say, 23.

Back then I had my way all planned out

Didn’t know much of what life was really about.

Didn’t know I’d make it through

Grief,

Anxiety,

Depression,

And pain.

Through moves,  

Being broke,

That feeling of being stuck out in the rain.

But, Im still here at forty-four.

Brighter, better than before.

With age comes crown-wearing wisdom

And a regal beauty no one can ignore.

Or at forty four, we’ll quickly tell you

To get the hell out the door.

So coffee and goatee,

My babies you will always be.

Be proud you have a momma

That knows she’s enough.

And to her, there’s more than what you see.

Being forty-four is alright with me.

The Readenest Child You Ever Did See…”

"The Readenest Child You Ever Did See…”

“The readnesest child you ever did see,”

Just the opposite of the she that was me.

“Silent reading time,” Mrs. Butler would say,

The favorite part of many of my fellow third-graders’ day.

But not mine.

For me, reading meant racing the others to see

Who would be,

The Pages Read (red) champion, never me.

A slow reader I was, kind of killed the reading buzz

Because

I thought I was inferior

Because my reading log numbers weren’t superior.

Little did I know,

It was interest, not skill

That delayed my completion

of getting that log to fill.

Not my lack of speed,

That kept me from wanting to read.

Though books were a plenty,

None starred little brown girls

With ebony, kinky curls,

barrettes and bows,

and a fear of ashy elbows.

No heroines for me

To see me on the page,

So my natural response

Was to stay off the reading stage.

Until,

Until many years later with professors

and friends

and roommates

and sorors

awakened my being to all the

Little Ruby Bridges,

The Maya Angelou’s.

Langston’s telling verses made Harlem come alive and

Zora Neal Hurston made my eyes want to watch God.

While Baldwin gave me something to go tell on the mountain,

Ntozake Shange told me the rainbow was enough so considering anything else would not do.

“The readenest child you ever did see,”

Became the readenest, writingest, teachingest truly grown woman, you ever did see.

‘Cause finally, I could see me.

*Inspired by Lou Heck’s Demonstration, Mining of Nuggets. This quote was captured and posted by another student, made ready for the taking!

If you really knew me…

If you really knew me, you’d know I live with my soul on my sleeve, for better or for worse, for richer which I’ve never been, or poorer, and until death does my spirit part.

If you really knew me, you’d know I have a pair of flip-flops for every occasion sharing coveted closet space with 6 inch platforms and knee high boots, all equally a part of who I am.

If you really knew me, you’d know black people do not only swim, but love the beach, hike like Robinson Crusoe, come in all colors, dialects and get sunburned.

If you really knew me, you’d know I live to get lost in a book, write like my life depends upon me moving my fingers along a keyboard or gently gripping a smooth ballpoint gel pen or watching heroines look good while healing the world on the small or mighty screen.

If you only knew me, you’d know I love to have my nails done as much as I love hiking through a dust ridden trail that approximates a desolate paradise.

If you only knew me, you’d know I’m still rebelling from the overarching childhood restrictions governing an already perfectionistic and overly conservative only child.

If you only knew me, you’d know I miss my daddy and close my eyes to hear his voice, feel his presence, and go the way he would tell me to.

If you only knew me, you’d know I regret being so cautious, safe and planned and wish I had not embraced the belief that hard work pays off and celebrated the moment because it would never return.

If you only knew me, you’d know I am afraid of being alone, being rejected, wallowing in stress and depression in spite of the smile that plasters my face like a mask alluding to inner strength and confidence.  

If you only knew me, you’d know the phone call, message, hug and encouraging words are what allow me to take the next breath to continue in service.

If you only knew.

The Kind Of “Love” I Wish for You

Real Love is Mary J’s someone to set your heart free.

A partner in crime, not Bonnie and Clyde, but through good and bad. Triumph and death bond you closer. No room for just physically taking up space or playing a part or co-existing.

Someone who will talk to you, listen to you, question and challenge you and make you a better person.

Someone who wants to show you off and be proud that you are theirs.

Someone who is always asking themselves, what can I do to make my love smile today? To make my shared soul feel valued?

Someone who desires you. Like their hands are in pain if not on your body. Someone to look into your eyes like they give strength derived from no other source.

Someone who wants you like they must have you as nourishment to keep living.

Someone who sees your strength, but knows even strong people need encouragement and a system of scaffolding to keep you up when the elements are almost too harsh to bare.

A playmate to run into the ocean with your fingers intertwined, roll down a grassy hill, scream like kindergarten girls at a scary movie.

Someone whose smoldering gaze can make you lick your  lips in anticipation of a sweet kiss to come from across the room.

For this is love. This is living. This is what it should be.

Is it too much to ask?

Is it too much to ask...

That I catch a break or even a breath?

That my winning number is drawn and I get the concert tickets or have my photo taken on the red carpet?

That I get the invite to meet the girls for dinner at that new, posh spot where half the fun is spying who wore what, said what and did what?

Or the call to see the movie everyone is anticipating and discuss it over wine and an outdoor fire pit later?

Maybe even to share a hotel room in paradise and have the vacation I never got to when I was supposed to be young and carefree?

That I am on someone’s “A” list and not the afterthought and, “Oh, I should have invited you,” list?

That I be the love interest, center of attention, Tiara-Wearing Goddess, even if only for one night instead of just inside my own consciousness?

That I be the one who’s treasured, envied, emblazoned upon the hearts and minds of others enough to be actively remembered?

That I be happy with the freckles, grays and extra pounds stress and life’s lovely way of choosing some of us more heartily for challenges have inflicted upon me?

Is it too much to ask of you, the universe, and of every cell in my body?

Am I asking too much?

It’s Time - A Celebration of all My Wonder Women

Wonderful Wonder Women who work with what’s left of their souls to ensure others are well.

Wondrous Women roaring against social pressures while mothering the planet with wisdom, words of kindness and praise.

Wounded Women who've been beaten by standards of beauty so unattainable that only computer generated good enough is “good enough.”

Warrior Women who've faced the blazing eyes of poverty, cancer, violence and won.

Women, you survive in-spite of, to spite and with inspiration.

To the Queens, Goddesses, Mothers, Lovers - I salute my Wonder Women. It’s time to honor you when no one else seems to notice. I do. A regal bow and gift of continued enchanted energy is my homage to all you do.

The Voice of Depression

It’s is killing me…

Literally.

Heart aching, wondering what I did that

I can’t 

Have the view of paradise,

The feeling of bills paid

With money left to enjoy

And breathe

And feel that all the hard work and sacrifice were worth it.

Abundant invitations, phone ringing, email full.

A plethora of friends helping through the far and few between rough patches

I thought there was enough good and happy

To go around.

Where’s mine?

What did I do wrong?

Will my children be cursed as well?

Why did I bring more into this world of hardship and hell.

Rule following gone wrong, again.

Why do I give until I bleed?

It’s like a drug giving an endorphin rush

A temporary high to replace the void

and hurt

and shame

and worry about what I’ve done to deserve to

struggle

wait

wonder if I can have a little of what

it seems like everyone has, but me.

What did I do wrong?

Where did I go wrong?

When is it going to end?

Because change is not

Making it’s face apparent.

If I could quit, I would.

Have faith, why?

That’s what got me here.

So give until I bleed, fine.

Maybe I’ll bleed out sooner and finally be done

Waiting for my turn,

Hoping things will change

Putting my best foot forward

Hanging on until tomorrow

Or even just until the next moment.

So back into the black hole

of emotional torture.

No one understands

No one can help

No one cares where it counts.

The mask goes back on.