Tuesday, January 21, 2025

teenage mother

I was born to the tired arms of teenage mother 

her red hair a shelter over amniotic-soaked curls

we two met in dream- years long before my conception

I a wish a want a dream a hope


mama, seventeen, tired, met me with joy-tinged regret

a vessel of sorrow she had ever been and was yet still 

this not to change in birth, in life, not even in her death

twenty-two years later with mind awry and heart adrift


mama and I, loved and abandoned by cruel hands of man

selfish to want us, to have us! somehow refusing to keep us


long have I been a daydream, a wish, to those around me

full of potential and hope for their futures, their pride, their wants

when ever have I only been me


me! with my towering anger, lording over the gardens of my sorrows

me! me! with conflict!

me! with curiosity!

long have I only and ever been me in my wealth of humanity!


imperfect child, always, from moment of conception 

born not to be perfect but to be loved

born not to be revered but to live!


father, I did not know in my nights of grief and sorrow 

now dreams of my becoming

becoming beautiful! becoming accomplished! becoming a vision to behold!

dreams of my becoming a daughter he may herald with pride 

all this! having met me a few times a year!


my daughter, he calls me in affection, princessa

yet would I know him, a stranger, in a dark room? 


become for him! mold into that strange dream he holds you in!

then might you know him, as he knows you!


as I continue in the way I have only ever been, human girl of grief and wrath

the man I grew beside to call dad, who held my hair in illness and hand in my youth

tells his sons he does not care about me


born to teenage mother, scarred and torn apart by hands of man, 

I have only ever been a girl of sorrow and joy

they dream of my becoming 

loving what they want me to be

rather ever than who I am 


they will assure me, always assure me, dad does not mean it

and father loves you still

have I ever spoken a word as they do? men, in all their selfish glory

their hearts will not turn to you, their eyes will not bend to yours


a dad and a father both, whom I belong to neither


my teenage mother long gone, a woman abandoned in the grave 

her gleaming golden-red hair dry upon the white casket pillows

her cold metal tomb encased in layers of concrete


dad says he does not care about me

father says the distance is my own making 


where then, does daughter go? 


when home is now a graveyard

where her mother's heart rots in the cold


Monday, August 28, 2023

don't save anything for after a waist measurement

Every boy I've ever daydreamed about

was a "twenty pounds later" maybe

she was so damn cute at 16

she being me

I wish she had said something 

and made me

one broken heart richer

Thursday, August 24, 2023

Judas

 I have committed no crime to compare

yet still

my heart cries out to him


survive!

do not deny him once again!

live still, and 

speak his name with tenderness


christ forgave the hands and spear which pierced his side

how much more would he forgive thee!


I wish, in moments of clarity,

pleading with Judas to yet live, 

I could hear the same words

echoed back at me


Live! And yet utter his name with tenderness!

As the Lord does utter yours in heaven!

Monday, March 27, 2023

laundry

a feeling, fleeting in thought
fled from my still-beating chest 
carrying with it
wings spread wide in lofty sky, 
a momentous journey 
upon which I idly wonder 
as the ever-breathing script of life, 
follows me, step by step, 
all the while, I fold the laundry 

Monday, December 19, 2022

the secret? I hate marigolds

 A garden is a product of time

To that I say

Worms are History

And I've been split in half


As a child I was Marigolds

I am Marigolds still

Born of the seeds left behind

Year by Year a new generation


the same weeds

different weeds

the same sun

different days


Wondering

If I will ever stop needing water

What business does a Marigold have

Wondering

If it will ever become a Rose

Sunday, December 18, 2022

Space Junk

maybe I'm space junk

sad pictures of worthless objects

orbiting in a galaxy of stars

today my anger is a plastic water bottle

victim to science

and the endless vacuum of space

I didn't go to work today

because my science forgot to make the motivation chemical

there is electricity in my brain

I have neurons and I don't know what that means

my depression 

is a water bottle in space

what a journey it is

to be human

Saturday, December 17, 2022

were that I could bottle the lamplight of my childhood

 2 a.m. 

always buzzes and burns
I wish it was Christmas
I wish I was small
I wish my problems were bead collections
reading books by lamplight
I wish my mama peeked in my room periodically still
I wish I was scared of the toilet

instead 


I am 23
everything is scarier at 23
the dark never gets brighter because you get older
bandaids don't appear when you need them
adults talk to me now
like I don't need protecting 
I would have fought for that at 15

at 13 

I had grown up too fast
trauma opening doors to maturity
at 23 I'm stuck at age 12
reliving the worst days of my life every fall
and my mama
no longer peeks her head through my door