Category: poetry

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A Dangerous Current

You are a dangerously tempting current 

Swimming with you pulls me too far out

Swimming against you is impossible 

And the moon will only light the way 

Until the clouds roll in

And they will roll in

I believed in you until I didn’t

Trust was unwavering until it wasn’t

You were a soft place to land

Until you turned to stone

Cracks in your pavement should have been a warning

There’s been trouble here before

But I had a steady place to plant my feet

And your eyes were kind

I remember when you asked me

Will you do whatever it takes

You asked me

My response was my punishment

I let go of the wind 

And held onto your coattails

You sang songs to lure me in

And then scolded me for singing along

You stand next to me now

There’s a lot behind your eyes

That I can’t see anymore

I hear words in a language I can’t speak

You’re at a distance I will never reach

I wouldn’t dare take the chance

You’re in a world that does not look safe to me

Dark shadows fly around you

And I pray they don’t get too close

But I fear they have already gotten what they came for

You were the sunshine

You were warm and all encompassing 

But you were broken in a way I couldn’t understand

Your bits and pieces too heavy for me to lift

Your cracks so big I fell in

Landed in the middle of the ocean

And when I finally got sight of the shore

The current kept pushing me back out

And back out

And back out

You knew I would tire out

You knew I wasn’t strong enough to keep going

So I let my flailing arms and legs rest

And I laid on my back

Felt the water tickle my ears and sides of my face 

As I rose and sank with the motion of the water

And just as I gave in

I was set free 

You say my poetry is too depressing

Here is a happy ending for you

I am more in love with myself than

I ever was with you

I met someone so trustworthy

So loyal

So uplifting

So passionate

She isn’t condescending

Or judgmental

She is a much better lover than you

And she will never abandon me for someone else

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New Eyes

It’s a new start

You’ve had them before

You’re okay at them

You can look with new eyes

Try them on

See how they fit

A little snug at first

But you will break them in

Things will look brighter

You will see more clearly

You will see details you never noticed

Colors you didn’t know where there

People you never saw before

Voices you never heard

Sounds, even the quiet ones,

Will be crisper, louder, less staticky

Maybe you might find you can breathe easier over time

Your lungs will expand more

Breathe in more on the inhales

Breathe out more on the exhales

It’s a new start 

But you have old friends with you

Faces you will recognize

There in the mirror, there’s one

Say hello again

Reintroduce yourself 

Be kind to her 

Make her feel welcome

Show her around

Give her comfortable clothes

Maker her a cup of tea

Talk to her, like old times

Like you did when it was just the two of you

Hold her hand 

Tell her she is beautiful 

Tell her she is not alone despite being left

Tell her everything around her is safe

When you build a wall

You build it brick by brick

It’s sturdy but it isn’t permanent 

You can take one brick away at a time

Leaving just a small square to look through

And through that square, everything will look closer

Even the far away things

Things like happiness

Things like strength

Things like the future

Things like forgiveness

Things like healing

Speak loud if she can’t hear you

Or softly if she cowers away

Look straight at her

Make eye contact

She can see you but she needs to be guided

These are new eyes

And she hasn’t been down this road for a while

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Fluid

I am moving through objects
Objects are moving through me
I am in constant motion
Always alive
Breathing
Beating
Blinking
Flowing
Arteries of expectation luring me
Passageways of chance and potential
Nothing is truly as it seams
Figures shifting
I am open
Like flood gates
The rush of possibility surging like
a river into the ocean
Something brought me here
To this intersection of past, present, future and wanting
But the reason hides like a coward under
disguises made of familiar faces
Beasts of burden
I flow through you like a stream of consciousness
There is no ending here
Only seamless continuity
And if I close my eyes
I can give in
Loosen my muscles
Limp limbs
And let myself be taken
Swept up in the flood
I am floating
I am fluid
I remind myself, I am included in this transient world
There is nothing to be afraid of here
These walls are transparent
I was not pushed here
I was not dragged by own misgivings
I remind myself
I am floating
I am fluid
This is my estuary

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The Trouble with my Hair

 My hair, it is the vein of my existence. For my entire life I have received comments on my hair. Most of them compliments, some of them backhanded, and some it is hard to tell. It has been both flattering and embarrassing. I have been interrupted during dates and flagged down in departments stores. I have been told it is a blessing and a curse leaving me to ponder, a curse for me or for you? I have had strangers ask if they can touch it, and I’ve had strangers not ask and touch it anyway. Women have glared at me in restrooms while others gush about how they envy it. I’ve been asked if it is hard work which I coyly respond, “No, it’s actually pretty low maintenance.” People want to know which products I use and how much, how often I shampoo and condition. I have written step by step instructions for waitresses while I am out to breakfast. They want to know how I brush it (I don’t own a brush), if I blow dry it (I don’t own one of those either), and how much I hated it when I was little (not at all).

Many are shocked to hear that I grew up liking my hair. Actually, until I hit middle school I never paid much attention to it. My mother combed it out for me when I got out of the shower, and I wore it in a braid most of the time. Occasionally it would be worn half up/half down for the school play or picture day. My mother never put products in it, and she would brush it out so it looked like a frizzy, puffy, triangle behind my head. In spite of that, I never hated it, but should I have? Was I supposed to hate my curly hair? And what does it say about me that I didn’t? Was I conceited or full of myself? Did it seem as though I was bragging? Should I lie and go along with it saying, “Of course I hated it!”

Kids sitting behind me in class would stick pencils in it to see if I could feel it and how long they could get them to stay in before slipping out. One woman asked if I ever considered relaxing it, just a little of course, to give it more length. Once, I was told it made me look hard, angry, unapproachable, and intimidating. My hair can do all that?! The rare moments I would straighten it out were always interesting. The reactions were off the charts. I was almost unrecognizable with straight hair. People couldn’t believe how straight it was, how long it was, even how the color changed. They would ask, why would you ever want to get rid of those beautiful curls? Some thought it was permanent, getting judgmental and saying in a snarky tone, I can’t believe you would do that. Then there were the other comments, the ones that stung a little- that looks great, you should wear it like that more often, don’t ever wash it, I like it better this way, you look younger, you look prettier etc. These comments left me perplexed. This wasn’t how I looked naturally. It was like someone saying that I looked better with makeup on. Like, what did you think of me before? Straightening my hair gave me complicated feelings. In a way I felt more confident, partly because I got less attention and didn’t have the looming insecurity of my big curly hair. I looked more normal, like most other girls. I blended in.

Once, on a date someone told me “I love your hair, I think it’s your best feature”. At first I took it like any compliment, I blushed and said thank you with a smile. But, then it sunk in. If my hair is my best feature, what does that say about the rest of me? An old friend of mine told me that her boyfriend said I grabbed the attention of all his friends because of my hair, it made me look exotic, and without it I would be just like any girl- regular, average, nothing special. The first thing I should have done was get rid of the friend (who tells someone that unless they are trying to hurt their feelings). Instead, I chuckled, and silently my insecurity grew. Is that true? Is my hair the best thing about me? Is it all that matters? What if I lost my curl? What would I be then? Bland? Boring? Useless? Unattractive? Just plain Ugly? What if I got cancer and all my hair fell out and grew back in straight? What would I do? Would I ever be found intriguing to anyone ever again if I didn’t have this hair? Would no one ever compliment my smile or my eyes? Does that even matter? Because it doesn’t appear they are noticed now anyway. What about, gasp, my personality?! Am I not funny enough, do I have no sense of humor? Am I not interesting enough? No wit? Nothing? Am I nothing without my hair?

My hair and I went through many phases together. There was the phase of being too insecure about it’s bigness to wear it down. I felt like there was too much of it, drawing too much attention and not in a good way. Like I was walking around with a giant clown wig on, its course wiry curls getting in the faces of people walking by. There was the phase of always wearing it down because I felt like I had to. Like people expected it. Like it was a shame not to. I felt like without it framing my face I was not much to look at. There was too much face for my comfort level. It brought unwanted attention to my nose which was slightly off centered from a break when I was little and my tiny brown eyes. I never felt I was pretty enough. I couldn’t put my best face forward, my hair was the best thing I had. Nobody will ever compliment me if they don’t see my hair, I will be exactly what people have said, boring and unnoticeable.

There were times when the compliments were too much and I wanted to hide my hair and then there were moments when I felt incredibly dependent on those compliments. Without them my self esteem plummeted. I was starting to develop a bit of a complex- a love/hate relationship with my hair. The hair that, for the most part, I always loved. And, not because other people loved it, but because I genuinely loved it. It was a part of me, like a limb. My hair fit me, it fit my personality. I wanted to love my hair but I didn’t want to depend on it to feel better about myself.

The older I get, the less entangled I get with my hair. It has taken on a more fitting, proper role. It is just my hair. I wear it up in a big puff ball on top of my head, tendrils falling down on my forehead like bangs. I play around with it more, brushing out the curls in a deliberate frizzy mane. I manipulate the curls into more of a wave for a nice change. I part it down the middle flattening out the top and drawing more attention to my prominent nose for a different silhouette. I let it get really big, the bigger the better, without worrying It will get in someone’s way or block their view at the movie theatre. I coil it up into a tight bun, I braid it. I cover it up entirely with a scarf. I do whatever I am in the mood to do on that particular day and I let it have no lengthy effect on me. It makes me no prettier and no uglier. It makes me no more confident or insecure. It makes me no less approachable or intimidating. I am not funnier with it or more serious. It does not make me sexy or plain. It makes me no more or less worthy of your attention. It makes me no more of myself or less of myself.


Once in a while

Every once in a while
I get the urge to be ugly
To shave my head
They say it’s my face
My hair makes it look angry
Every once in a while
I get the urge to be ugly
To be hard, to be edgy
I want scars on this skin
I want ink on my body
Someone said it was my best feature
Someone said I should smooth it out
Be careful what you ask for, it is longer than yours
Is it too big for you
Is it too frizzy for you
Does it scare you
That I am not like you
Is it too chaotic around my small, almond eyes
They see you
You see me coming from a mile away

Every once in a while
I get the urge to be ugly
To stop trying to be pretty
I am too clean
To small
I need meat on these bones
This body is getting smaller
Edges where curves should be
Am I waisting away
I have to let out my desires
Set them free from these cages
Set them free
I have this urge to be ugly
Because that’s what I am
When I am not trying to be beautiful
What is beauty anyway
This hair is my perfect
This hair is my flaw
This hair is my child
I am tending to it all the time

I am not my hair
I am the knot at the nape of my neck
Do I have a face
Is there someone awake inside me
Every once in awhile
I have the urge to be ugly
To check the “other” box
I am female
I am sexy
I am beautiful
I am hard
I am too thin
I am too independent
I am too inward
I am not poetic enough
I need more
Education
I need more
Words
I need more
Tools
I need more
Metaphors
I need more

I am my hair
I am wild
I am messy
I am going In different directions
I am loud like the volume
As singular as the tightly wound curl
I am stretching
When you pull me
I bounce back
Cut me
I will grow
Wash me
I am clean
Try to tame me
I will fight it

I am not commanding your attention
I am demanding, look away
I am not my hair
Picture me
Bald
Every once in a while

 

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The girl who….

In my last post I mentioned how I had shed some skin while I was traveling, A.K.A. my past. Now I want to shed some light on what I meant. Living in the same place your whole life, while having many advantages, has many disadvantages. Friends I had growing up LOVED the idea of staying put. They wanted to be “townies” like their parents were. To be honest the thought made me throw up in my mouth a little. That was the last thing I wanted. Also the last thing I wanted- to be labeled. I felt like I was walking around with a bunch of labels stuck all over me. Everyone knew too much about me. Everything from my past felt so present.  No matter what changes I made, I was always going to be the girl who…

I was the girl from Chelsea. The girl who lost her belief in God or any higher being for that matter when she lost her grandmother. I was the girl who failed gym because she was too shy to run.

I was the girl who got shoved in the locker room in seventh grade by a beastly eighth grader. She had heard I called her a bitch (I hadn’t). For one, I was the new girl in school and didn’t really know who she was and second, I was the new girl in school and wouldn’t call anyone of that size anything for fear of exactly what was happening. I was saved by an equally massive eighth grader just in the nick of time who I believe was friendly with my sister.

I was the girl they called anorexic.

I was the girl who got shunned and bullied in eigth grade by a group of kids. Led by two girls I once was friends with, I was tormented through the halls, called vicious names and was afraid to leave my classrooms. All because I was liked by a boy. I cried every day until I refused to go to school and my parents had to talk to the principle.

I was the girl they thought was a snob.

I was the girl who finally got taken in by a new group of friends in highschool only to end up losing them after highschool. What made this loss so devastating was that after my terrible experience in middle school I lost a lot of confidence and self esteem. This group of friends gave a lot of that back to me, I felt accepted, liked and important. They gave me a sense of worth that I was lacking. It appeared as though the friendships I built with these three girls would last our whole lives. When I started losing those relationships I realized they weren’t  just taking their friendship away, they took all I got from it with them. I lost friends physically but mentally I lost much more. They signified so much to me and that loss was so traumatic that till this day I struggle with it at times.

I was the girl who cut herself.

I was the girl who went crazy my senior year over a breakup. I flipped out at parties, screamed and cried. I called my ex’s new girlfriend and begged her to leave him unless she truly loved him which I knew she couldn’t possibly. I left all our prom pictures in his mailbox, I sat around the corner from his house crying hysterically in my car. I threw out everything and anything that had to do with him. I sent him the poems I wrote about him. I wrote him letters. Years later I still wrote him letters. Years later I still could not move on. I went to therapy specifically to help me get over it.

These trajedies and losses were hanging over me like a storm cloud, they followed me everywhere. When I wasn’t thinking about them I was dreaming about them. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of them between houses I drove passed and people I bumped into. While in reality those people probably weren’t thinking about it ever, I felt every time they saw me, they were remembering-that’s the sad girl, the depressed girl, the crazy girl. Deep down I knew it was my own perception of myself that had to change. Nevertheless, I couldn’t escape it here. This was where it all happened. This was where those memories lived. Now, I should say that it isn’t as if all these years later I am still walking around with anger built up inside me. I am not holding grudges against an ex from when I was 17 or mean girls in middle school or old friends in highschool. I am not thinking about this daily, weekly or even monthly. I worked hard to be a successful adult who isn’t seeking revenge on a 12 year old brat. But in the rare moments when I am reminded of them there are still small pangs of hurt.  I surprise myself sometimes with the feelings that bubble up after over a decade has passed but then I remind myself I suffered through these events and their aftermaths for well over that.

As a 32 year old I feel a little embarrassed to admit that these things that happened to me so long ago still effect me. I should be able to let them go, they should be old news- silly, insignificant, typical school drama.  Like, grow up already! But it took me years to be able to talk about these events without crying not to mention a ton of therapy. They will always be old scars however shrinking and faded.

Living back here I am reunited with the person who endured those hardships. When I was on the road I felt weightless without the heaviness of those labels. I felt like I finally had a chance to be myself, the me I was without all the clutter of being something I didn’t want to be. I wasn’t the pathetic girl who lost all her friends. Twice. I wasn’t the girl who couldn’t get over her heartbreak for years. I wasn’t someone ‘s old best friend, or an easy target. I wasn’t the underdog or athletically challenged. I wasn’t tragically damaged. I wasn’t the hairdresser or the wanna be writer. On the road I wasn’t depressed, I was happy. I wasn’t crazy, I was calm, I wasn’t timid, I was bold. On the road I could be known for being fearless, adventurous, and brave. I was a mountain biker, a camper, and a hiker. I was a minimalist and free spirited. I was optimistic and funny. I was undaunted, uninhibited, and liberated. That’s who I was. It is who I am.

 

Leaving the hurt behind

Grey skies turned blue
Small skies turned big
Dark skies turned starry
Straight roads began to curve
Highways gained elevation
I got further and further away from you
Mean words taunting
Calling me out
Calling me names
A child in a mean girls world
You didn’t follow me there
Green turned brown
Brown turned red
Sun got stronger
Nights grew quieter
The air was cleaner
You didn’t follow me there
Best friends turned enemies
You made me feel accepted
Then you left me out
I left you back there along with my lack of worth
States grew fewer but larger
Rivers and lakes were clearer
Mountains were taller
I achieved new heights
You didn’t follow me there
First love
Worst love
Heartbreak is too tender a word
Heartbreak does not last eight years
That’s depletion
I didn’t need therapy, I needed saving
Too stubborn to leave me
I left you

You didn’t follow me out there
You wouldn’t have lasted a minute
In the bare bones of solitude and minimalism
You require too much
I was reborn
I left you where you were conceived
And you didn’t know any routes out
You couldn’t read the maps
You needed protection
There wasn’t any of that out there
The wide open scared you
Mountains made you feel small
Uninterrupted skies made you feel insignificant
Made you feel less than
The journey made you feel weak
The journey made me strong
I traveled further and further away from you
I climbed higher and higher away from you
I drove faster and faster away from you
I set my eyes on a new horizon
I found peace away from you
I grew taller and taller away from you
I stood on solid ground away from you
I was fearless away from you
I found myself more and more away from you
I was myself
Away from you

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New poem-New life in my old home state.

I am still sifting through this new life in my old home state. I miss being on the road so much. I miss everything about it. I miss living in the small quarters of my motorhome. I miss opening the door and overlooking the La Sal Mountains in Moab, Flathead Lake in Montana or the waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon.  I miss the simplicity of it all. I felt I had shed all that made me who I was and suddenly I was nothing more than  girl in a motorhome. I could have been anyone, from anywhere. Finally, I was not the life I had lived. I was just me.

Living back here I am reminded of the many struggles I have faced and how far I have come. I am constantly reminded with flashbacks of my childhood and of the depression I endured as a teenager that lingered into adulthood. I find I am still battling these monsters as a grown woman even though I have done everything in my power not to be a victim of my circumstances. I expected to write everyday on the road but I was surprised to find it difficult. I was not inspired to write, I was inspired to do.  Now that I am back from my travels I am overflowing with words. I think sometimes being in something can be blinding and it isn’t until you are out of it that you can truly see. I can see now and I am writing it all down.

Here Is one of my latest poems. Hope you like it!

 

Rabbit hole

I had to come back to feel it
Had to retrace my steps
Close my eyes
Arms reaching out in front
Hands spread
Fingers feeling
For something I recognized
Would it be everything
Or nothing
Time away can change a person
Sending her into a galaxy of unknown stars
Circling in beautiful confusion
Swirling around in the brightest darkness
A miraculous discovery
New vision
Is this a new me
Has my heart grown bigger
Or are the beats just getting stronger
The pounding making my chest feel smaller
My whole body in a subtle tremor
I am light as a feather
I am blowing around amongst the telephone wires
My face damp with the mist of cumulus clouds
An overcast of reflection
Old meets new
How do you do      It
You are too big for these shoes
Bulbous knuckles turning white with grip
You cannot hold on to these pieces of you
They are cracking, slowly chipping away
You will fall with them
Keep falling
Rabbit holes
Infinite space
Infinite release
Keep falling
Screaming
No one will hear you
Voice swallowed by depth
Let it out and it is gone
No echo
Keep falling
Where are you going
Will you ever get to the you you are running to
Is she down there
Arms reaching out in front
Hands spread
Fingers feeling
I know this person
I know this smell
It fills me with remembrance
She is a child
She is pretending in a world of ambivalence
She is growing up
She is getting angry
She is looking for words angrier then angry
She cannot find them down the rabbit hole
She is a teenager
She is easing her pain with sharp objects
She is losing her belief in a greater being
She is growing up
She is getting angry
She is looking for words angrier then angry
She cannot find them down the rabbit hole
She is a woman
She is running away from the life that was created
She wants to know who is responsible for this
She wants to know how to fix it
She is growing up
She is showing her age
She is looking for words angrier than angry
She cannot find them down the rabbit hole

 

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A poem: the struggle of being someone new when everyone and everything else has remained the same

Being back in Massachusetts is more of an adjustment than I was expecting. I am not sure what I thought it would be like but I feel as though I am merging different versions of myself. One, who I was before I left. Two, who I became while I was away and lastly, who I am now. The last version is still in formation. Coming back to the place I grew up as a changed person creates so many mixed emotions. Everything has remained the same, but I am different. Figuring out how to work these different aspects of myself into the life I once knew well and the people who are part of it is more complex than I was prepared for. Trying to explain what that feels like has been very difficult for me. Recently my best friend hosted a girls get together, it had been a year and a half since I had seen our friends. On the drive home I found myself reflecting, reminiscing and a little out of sorts. Finally this poem came to me and as I wrote the last line I felt exhilarated, relieved, weightless and liberated.

 

 

Things are not right here
I am broken into different pieces of myself
Blown apart
Each piece landing out of reach of the other

I am a sister, I am a daughter
I am an island

I am a friend, I am a wife
I am a mountain

I am spread thin like ice melting on a pond in spring
I am as tight as the corkscrews of my hair
I am confined by these walls
Not able to break free from the tracks I am setting
I want to go back
I want to be out there with no assumptions
No ties
I want to be out there
I want to go back

Back but not backwards

Who am I here
I am too many different pieces

I am an enemy, I am a confidante
I am floating in space

I am sinking in the ocean
I am a wave

These words do not reflect me
These thoughts are not my own
I have no say, I am mute
I do not relate to this world
This world of need and want
I cannot shake my head in agreement
But I do
I laugh and contribute
Adding to nothing
I am too much when I am here
And not enough of anything

I am depressed and troubled
I am a storm

I am strong and independent
I am a mudslide

I close my eyes and I am floating
Out into the open air
The clouds carry me
I am floating
Out from these power lines of restraint
These chains of ordinary

I am not this confusion

Blurred barrier of skin

It is too thin for this
How many people can I be
I am unrelenting rain
Filling up with unfortunate circumstance
I am a body of impersonation

How can I be so unsure
Surrounded by what is most familiar to me
It is too close
Too close to the origin of what tragedies made me
The aftermath still echoing in the air
Bouncing off the buildings and billboards
Flying like a ping pong ball
Threatening to strike if I stand up too tall
I should duck
Out of the way like a little girl crouching from her father
I should run
Faster than the fear of a belt to my fragile legs
I should scream
Louder then the sound of heartbreak at 17
I should dig
Deeper than the scar of a razor to a wrist
I should hit
Harder than the ground of burying depression
I should stand
Taller than the height of expectation
I should fight
More forcefully than the hands of violation
I should hold on
Tighter than the embrace of scared siblings
I should resist
Like the urge to disappear in the face of torment
I should worry
But worry is what got me here
I should be so worthy
To remember and not relive
But all too often they feel like the very same thing

 

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Journey

Who are you

Are you lost

Were you left up there in the mountains somewhere 

Or did you fade away in a river drowning with the current

Did the forest close in on you, giants surrounding you until you were hidden

A leaf amongst a sea of green. A blanket

Is it keeping you warm

 

The earth, is it protecting you

Is it showing you things, things that you have been looking for

Or do you find yourself searching in a moonless night

 

Are you turning soft like moss

Or hard like stone

And is it cold up there balancing on those peaks

 

Have you made peace with what you could no longer withstand

Does the battle fade with the distance

 

The longer you are away, the further you get

The steeper the grade, the slower the gain

 

And every time you ask yourself, am I there yet

You will know less and less about where you are headed