The Eyes That Raised You.

I look into the eyes that raised me and I learn something new

Those familiar eyes are just as confused and gentle as me and you.

Those same eyes that seemed so mean-spirited when you were young

Are still developing after all these years, the growing isn’t done.

Those eyes still light up when they watch their favorite childhood show

Those eyes celebrated with you through every high and bared the brunt of every low

Those eyes aren’t the thick metal shield they sometimes pretend to be

Those eyes that raised you are just as human as you and me.

3:0

When I was 18 I called my best friend in tears

Halfway through a 12 pack of cheap gas station beer

I told her he left, told her he was gone,

Told her I couldn’t breathe, that my chest felt all wrong.

It took a long time, she gave me a warm shove

Taught me that level of pain only happens with your first love

Since then I’ve loved and I’ve lost but I’ve never hurt that bad again

In fact sometimes in love, I find myself playing pretend.

And it’s been 2 years since the last love took the centerpiece of my heart,

The one you need to stop the whole thing from falling apart

And I thought I was invincible, I thought I was strong,

But you left yesterday night too and now my chest feels all wrong.

The Way Men Love

This post is a sort of “response” to Ada Limón’s poem Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds. http://www.buenosairesreview.org/2015/02/ada-limon/ I thought the message of the poem was so beautifully worded and unique that I was really inspired to write something of my own.

Subtle reassurance through wide tired brown eyes,

A comfortable silence spent staring at morning skies.

Grocery store trips and doctor appointments filled with laughter,

Fairy Tales were onto something with “happily ever after.”

The sound of a deep gravelly goodnight and a soft cheerful good morning.

The kind of love that really shouldn’t come without a warning.

It’s good and it’s simple and it’s managed to stay sweet,

Name’s been on the tip of my tongue all week.

I know this ground isn’t solid and I should run for cover,

I know my idealisms cause my own heart to suffer.

But I’m addicted to your presence, I refuse to give you up,

I can’t help it,

I just love the way men love.

Thank You.

I get labeled the “bitter” girl a lot so I thought I would try saying thank you for a change.

Thank you.

Thank you for abruptly disappearing when I finally started to venture

Don’t worry, this time I promise I will spare you the lecture.

Thank you for not opening the message we both know you’ve seen,

Thank you for the unfathomable amount of uncertainty you’ve given me.

Thank you for reminding me it’s much safer staying alone.

Thank you for re-introducing me to a lethal rejection I’ve already known.

Thank you for not showing me the wedding band you took off in your car,

Because God forbid you hadn’t, things wouldn’t have gotten this far.

Finally, thank you for labeling me as the crazy one when my back is turned,

Maybe one day I can pay you back for all the valuable lessons I’ve learned.

Thank you.

And Then You Move On.

Pitch-black room, bare dirt stained wall,

Half-dead phone with no missed calls,

Tremendous pain, just a few bruises,

No clear-cut memories, did I choose this?

One gentle hug and one comforting whisper,

Dozens and dozens of bottles of liquor.

They’ve all moved on and you should too,

You’re just the millionth case, what did you expect them to do?

Feeling like an imposter drowned in familiar faces,

With every accidental brush, your heart beat races.

He’s moved on and you really should too,

He gave an apology, what more can he do?

A year goes by, it’s gotten better with time,

Or maybe it hasn’t but you’ve perfected the lie,

Vodka induced sleep and recreational pain,

Your go-to recipe for trying to stay sane.

The brutal reality is after it’s done,

After the excruciating pain at your expense is called fun,

After the version of yourself you’ve known for life is all gone,

You just get up the next morning and then you move on.

Prompt: Write About A Thing You Need

Someone told me to write a poem about the thing I need

And all I know are the things I want, things that stem from greed.

Years of a numb kind of drunk

No awareness of a spirit already sunk

Lungs filled with smoke

An empty laugh at a warm joke

The only indulgence I missed

The only discernable mistake

The first name on a long, long list

Was letting you go, allowing it to break.

Confinement

Fifteen reminds me of her long black hair and the splash of freckles on her skin

She’d tie her flannel shirt around her waist before we climbed the chain-link fence

I didn’t know it then, I was too petrified to indulge in a forbidden sin

It was mesmerizing, I stayed on her hook happy to live in suspense.

She had a wild heart, she had a vile mouth and I strangely lived in envy

I was playing a role she was living my truth, I didn’t know what I was feeling.

She tells stories like me but she stretches them out until the fiction becomes almost deadly

It was an unfiltered admiration, a mindless infatuation and then one day it all hit a ceiling.

I liked the parts of her that were wild and free but always kept a little sweetness

There was a wicked side but I turned a blind eye, eager to keep her on a throne in my mind

She’s gone now and I’m grateful for that but I still savor the bits and the pieces,

Because of her I’m forever freed, there’s no version of me living confined.

Baby Blue

Baby blue tastes like American Spirits and cheap liquor too,

Looking at him I know there’s nothing more I can do.

His jokes are growing stale, his laugh is the quietest in the room

Looking at him I know he’s accepted his own doom.

Baby blue is one more drink, one more mistake from fading away,

And I can’t watch him spiral anymore so he tells me that I can’t stay.

I kiss him on the cheek on his stained leather seats

Choosing to walk alone, willing to bear the Summer heat.

Baby blue has the prettiest eyes even when he’s yelling at me with anger.

I know his longest love will be his lifelong infatuation with danger,

but Baby blue thinks I’m the villain, so he’ll hate me until I’m a stranger.

Reality

When I was a little girl if I had a bad day,

I would simply close my eyes & make it all go away.

I’ve always had this special talent of disappearing into my head

Shifting reality to fit into the story I created instead.

When I opened my eyes again everything was brand new,

I wasn’t really me and you weren’t really you.

With the snap of my fingers I was an actress in a role,

I never used it to be cruel, I just used it when life was dull.

Even as an adult I make up these universes in my head

To escape the monotony, the reoccurring dread.

Every once in awhile I have this sobering, sudden fear

That I’ve slipped far into the role, that reality’s become unclear.

New York City

I have a love for New York City,

The streets are too crowded, my pictures never turned out pretty.

With every one moving so fast day to day,

No one cares what you do. No one cares what you say.

I have a love for New York City

And a troubling romance for the vodka I carried with me.

I woke up at midnight and I walked there all alone.

I always hated it there but I couldn’t go home.

With a stomach full of liquor and 50 dollars in my pocket,

I stared at a Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Mirror wondering if I’d lost it.

I have a love for New York City.

A love I visit when I’m lost, not a love I carry with me.