Favorite Color

I have never been able
to answer confidently that red or yellow or any color as being the one that resonates as my favorite.

Up until this month
my favorite color
has honestly been:
All of the colors, bitches.
I want all of the mf colors.
Who needs to have a favorite.

Last month someone asked
what's your favorite color?
I replied red.
It's the color of love.
I had hoped that you would
observe the pattern that red
would begin to play in your life.
I know it was a fruitless act.

Now, patterns
I recognize.
My mind has been conditioned
to observe patterns that repeat.
They are all around us.
I like to think of them as the universe

I know we possess millions of data a second, minute, day.
and
it's easy to mistake randon sightings  of something more than a few times
As the universe's presence.
But I am happier with my faith.
It's just the way I live.

So,
after that conversation
I began to notice the color
of Emerald Green.
It's such a beautiful color.
The color of money.
The color of success.

December is a perfect time
to believe in Mathmatical Theories.
To recognize patterns as they appear
in your mundane life.

Each time I go looking for a connection
the universe whispers in a wisdom
that I trust.
You are finished.
You can move on knowing you tried
even though you lied.
I am not in  love with the person who sees romantice red.
I wanted to wish upon that star
But stars are to bright
they burn you up.

The Universe just showed you a more honest way.

A Rollercoaster in America

(A poem by Vesta Lynn Richardson, french traduction by The Rat)

L'infinie douleur incurable de la découverte d'un amour. La lumière aveuglante. 
Nous tous, vivants et enracinés dans un espace dédié, sommes à jamais séparés.
Toujours à part, toujours loin.
Jusqu'au moment flou du désir de connexion.
Se créant dans un environnement harmonieux, propice, quand les réactifs et leurs catalyseurs sont enfin réunis.

Nous sommes tels des molécules, de simples jonctions énergétiques, 
Nous sommes unis dans notre attraction,
Et par ces lois nous avons fusionnés.

C'est l'affirmation de l'amour qui créa la première étincelle.
Puis qui a engendré la réaction en chaîne, celle qui arracha la nuit.
Le jeu,  la forêt en flammes, la forêt qui brûle encore,
La forêt brûlera jusqu'à un jour nous ramener à la terre d'où nous sommes venus.

Fuck Those Elite MF

I am an exhibitionist.

Will says it's Bougie to be so crazy all the time.

I say I cannot help it. I just want to live the

Bourgeoisie lifestyle

Humble

God, if you are listening
I am still searching for something useful.
I have faith.
I am just struggling with my fear-based mentality.

I really hate that life continues to
slap me with the poor stick.
I am so over feeling poor.
There is only so much positivity one can muster when you are always living poor.

Poetry Arrived

This poem has been with me for the longest time. It reminds me of the first time I felt the words speak to me. My words will never compare but still I strive.

“Poetry” by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age … Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

Le Rat writes...

Elle écrivait des lignes en silence,
dessinant des lettres sur un cahier,
elle regardait le ciel parfois, parfois elle ne regardait rien.
Simplement elle écrivait car il le fallait.
Elle portait en son cœur l'amour, le désespoir et la haine.
Les sentiments que tout le monde porte.
Mais elle en faisait un vin au goût de l'espoir.

Elle n'aimait pas conclure dans le négatif
Elle avait le courage et la force.

Son nom ressemblait à celui d'une montagne à gravir.

Je ne l'ai jamais vu mais son écho calme mes nuits.

Death of Me

This is the last cigarette
I will hold in my hand, between my first two fingers.
Listen to the sound of the lighter. Click!
Light me up, baby. You know you want it.

I take the first long drag from the cigarette
and inhale the smoke into my lungs.
I slowly expel the poison.
I watch as the gray clouds of smoke float toward the atmosphere.

I feel my body begin to demonstrate the ritual effects
reacting to this cigarette just like the one before this and the one before that.
I love the sensation.
 I have to be brutally honest.
I will not give them up.
I want to shoot it through my veins. I want to smoke it through my hole.
I don't ever want to stop smoking this last cigarette.

The trouble with cigarettes, nothing lasts forever.
I don't want to predict how I will die.
I don't need to look into the crystal ball to see
the lines written on my face.
I am out of control.
Addicted to the little white lies.

I am a junkie. I want my cigarettes.
I am a whore, I will sale myself for one more.
Pack me a box of Camel lights.
I am going to smoke and feel.
Tomorrow, I will deal with the death of me.
*****************************************
(This isn't finished and I did not proofread.)
I just have to put it out there because I am struggling again.
I made it through another day without smoking.
I wrote this  piece of shit a few months ago.
I fell off the wagon so many times now.
I don't want to talk about my love/hate relationship with cigarettes.
Day five, just Do It!

Bird Sing Me a Song of Sorrow

I am walking on a quiet wooded road close to my apartment.
I am listening to Ryan Adams, "Touch Feel, Lose."
I am in the zone on the road, listening to the rhythm of the song.
Then it hits me.
I realize I like you.
I didn't know it until that moment.
I knew I had fun when we spent time together.
You took me to the special Portland places.
Filling my days wonder.
Standing on that back road to my home.
I could picture your face so completely
that it's
as if you were standing in front of me.
I could feel the door opening to a palpable existence.
I closed my eyes and willed this love to literally come to pass.
I walked home, to wait.

Jimmy Hoffa's Hill

It's cold in the garage
I light my cigarette.
The gray smoke billows
in ribbon tendrils around my head.
I turn my mind to poetry.
I force the anxiety to retreat.
I have to create.

I am procrastinating.
I have a writing assignment due.
So far, I have my books
spread out on the cold concrete floor.

My roommate's, children
Levi and Bella
are laying on one foot each.
Warming me as they contently sleep.

This moment is perfect.
The words will come naturally.
I can feel them bubbling up
from the wellspring.
I will not allow fear
or self-doubt to enter
the sacred space.
I believe in this moment.
I know the poems.
More importantly, I understand them.
I can string words together
and those strings carry gold.
I will get an A.
I laugh and take a drag.
I am ready to begin.
Tonight, I will write like I am in the zone.

Putting the worries of the day
on the back burner
to simmer
To wait.

I will pray.
I will meditate.
I will focus.
I don't want to force the words.

The writing has to feel pure.
If I force my thoughts
to hurry along
To come out
To play.
Then my paper will suffer.

I have learned the secrets
to creating
an insightful masterpiece.
I just have to trust my process.

To learn
to write
without the need
for approval.

This life of writing is an obsession.
I see the words in my mind.
I feel a words underlying meaning.
They come to me with purpose.
They show me a pattern.
They scream to be set free.
This is the gift from
my strange processing brain.
A relationship with poetry.

I live with sensory processing disorder.
It is not enjoyable
but who would I be without it.
I was the kid that was different.
I grew into an adult with strange quirks.
I learned to adapt
to the way I process information
and in return, I have writing.

I see the world through the eyes
of a seeker.
I search for inspiration
in each assignment, at work,
I search the ground for treasure.
I follow the voice of my true self
She tells me to be curious.
The wellspring with guide me
I  will create something
thoughtful and unique.

Just to get critiqued.
That happens when you are young.
You are filled with uncertainty.
Even as you trust in your talent
You remember getting knocked down.
Your spirit is not yet strong enough
to believe in the person you will become.

In this house
with the Jimmy Hoffa hill.
I am blessed.
I have time
to  finish this one assignment.
There are years of college in front of me.
Plenty of time thicken my skin
to the sting of literary rejection
It can be brutal.
It can spiral me out into the void.
Where there are no words for support.
I am familiar with this feeling, as well.
I will put myself back together.
The light of my soul shines
Even when I think my light is gone forever.
It is there guiding me.
Taking me by the hand.
Leading me home.

I think about my roommates
Pletch and Patrick
they will soon be home.
My family by choice
They inspire me to continue
By making art and
filling our home
with beauty.

The paper is finished.
I am happy with the results.
A writing assignment successfully finish.

I am still in the zone.
I will write for myself.
I will not give up.
The words are just waiting
to be written.

Little Wars

 Prior to my flight to meet death,
I was choking on my anger.
It did not come out of nowhere, our fight.
We had been circling each other like caged tigresses for weeks.

I chose that moment to let go of this little war.
I retreated to the safety of my den
to lick my wounds in solitude.

Life had changed, I just lost my Grandpa.
Our future break-up no longer mattered.
This grief would not be connected.
I was ready to be free of you.

FLF

Sometimes inspiration does not come from music or the written word.
It can come from a comment of a friend.
This friend who makes you snort with laughter.
This friend he is different.
He spans the time.
I wasn't expecting to ever find another friend like family.
But here you are.

You better not fuck me over because I have been there before.
I chose to believe this time we will always have each other's back.
I am loyal and I care.
You may have a heavy load but my shoulders can take the weight of air.
They can certainly take some of your despair.

Trying To Smile

I don't like this feeling.
I don't like feeling.
I don't like waiting.
I am so impatient.

I don't want you to know
That I think of you.

I don't want to know

that you already know I do.

I can hear your words whispered in my ear.
I can picture you, 

 working in the dust bowl days.

I picture the friends you have and the time invested.

I picture that heart of your's how it craves for more.
I don't want you to know that's . 

I want to feel the pulsing heartbeat 

Even when I am living the day trying not to think.

I will feel the crash the waves.

my mind recalls you and
my body has a physical reaction.
I tingle and blush.
 My body will even shudder.
I am frustrated by these feelings.

I don't like the loss of control.

I don't know if you have what it takes

 to give me what I want.

I am looking for someone special.

That could be you.

I am not going to even believe.

That I still need trust and intimacy.

I need you to feel like you have won a prize.

I don't want to pry complements out of you

like you are a oyster.

I know there is a black pearl inside. 

Still....

I let you in and maybe I should not have.

I don't want to complicate things.

That feeling of passion will fade.

With stream of consciousness I look at the desire and the practical. 

In the end, I decide to let it go.

 I am not someone who will always be around.

I told you that I didn't like the feeling.

I cannot stand to share my personal struggle with individuals. 

I do it to feel the connection. 

Damn, the consequence. 

You gave what you could and it's over for good. 

I feel better having left you in the past.

Where you belong, a fragment of a memory.

Just once in awhile you will shine.

Then, I remember the desire.

This time I will not let you in. 

I am tired of trying to smile. 

Red-light Artist

A rhyming poem about heartache

This was written in 2001
I had the words in my mind and I had to write them down on paper.




A rhyming poem about heartache.

I don't want it to come down to
I'm breaking up with you.
That might possibly be.
So I will quit before you fire me.
Never again, will I hold on
to something that's gone on to long.

Wanderlust

When I listen to music it gives me the confidence to carry on.
We cannot change how other people see us. We don't even have to try.
 Some people drink water and others drink whiskey. I prefer Diet Coke. It's all relative.
You do not belong to anyone and no one belongs to you.
If you are someone who has heard "Some people just don't understand you."
Well, welcome to my world.
"Come into my parlor," said the spider to the fly.
I am the fly and go up the winding stare.
I am coming down those stairs.
I am not going to apologize this time.
I don't give a damn if you don't want me.
You cannot hurt this woman.
That is what I am.
I am a woman.
I am not a child.

I gaze so long into the great aching sun.
I just wanted to belong.
I want to be at peace with the ambition that's connected to me like a thread.
In my memory before the rejection.
My mind tells me no, but I want more.
I will leave these people behind.
I will grieve for those who deserve my love.
I will bust out of this town.
No more judgement from those terrible voices.
I am not frightened.
There is peace in the harbor.

Love in Birmingham

We were standing in the milk isle.
I do not remember what you said.
I just remember how it felt.
I was blushing. I could feel my body become demure.
Is it in the mind or is my body just having a very female reaction to another person?
I don't know.
I just know, when I am with him.
I am a real woman. Not one of those other women who are not real. Those women don't exist.


No one can make me laugh like you.
You jokes are my favorite.
When I look up to your face.
I see those soulful eyes looking into mine.
Love is moments that are not even intended.

Sometimes, the rush of electricity shoots through my body.
I feel the desire beginning to rise.
It's when you say, you want to touch me.
I cannot believe that someone like you
I just cannot.
Then I feel so happy. There is something in the way, you love me.
After all of this time, you still surprise me.

Walking By My House

1

He never walks by my house, not anymore.

 Now, he drives.

 He tries not to go down the street and rarely he does.

 This one night, he drove by to many times to count. It was a hot summer night.

 I was in my bedroom alone listening to music and sitting on the floor dreaming out the window. There wasn't even a breeze on this quiet night.

 The music fit the moment perfectly, "Why are you driving by my house?"

You have been here, before. 

We were just to young for desire. 

He just drove and you sang.

We spoke this way, frequently

music said the words between us.

We are people who can see the world 

in the bright lights of the car lights

 coming fast in the night.

2

You think everything is about you.
 You think I am so caught up in my own life,
that I think you guys would be happy.
 You don't know a damn thing about me.
 You don't even give me the courtesy to turn down the music, when I hop in the car.
 How could we have ever lived together?
 What did I see in you?

  I still don't understand.
 You are spiteful 

flawed and imperfect but you deny 

that you are anything less then the 

better between us.

As if this were a competition.

I don't understand how your mind works.
You stare every minute of the day.

Waiting to pounce.

The high from the fight

Turns you on.

So bright

This proves you right.

 You pretend that it's all in my head.
You couldn't handle it even if you tried,

 my head.
I am at peace with my imperfections.

I got my backbone at the family store.

I cannot stand that you think that I am the pretender.
I know who I am, do you?
Can you even look in the mirror
Honestly, what do you see?

It's not an interest growing with me.

Beautiful Struggle

The beautiful struggle keeps you guessing.
What will happen next.
I have known grief.
It is not your grief.
We cannot compare.
You will never be able to say your grief is harder than mine.
I would never say that your's is not as important.
We just go on about our lives, like this doesn't matter.

We have struggles.
We try to always see the beauty in the struggle.
You cannot keep quiet.
We all want you to hear.
Your life is no worse than mine.

Do you understand that?
Life is perception.
When will you understand?
Today, Yesterday, Tomorrow.
We are all connected.
History repeats itself.
After the storm, we will know.

The Head and the Heart - Lost in My Mind

My friend said, " I was lost in my mind."
I say, "My friend, don't you worry. Don't you worry about me."
I am fine.
I am building the bridge and will make it back.
I can start, moving forward every day.
We can archive each conversation, until it all makes sense.
Every last shred of it.
I was lost in my mind.
I explored the hard work with my hands.
Can you see the stars, up above?
Can you start moving forward toward a new love.
I know you can.
You are the one who loves. You have to love, freely.
The beautiful struggle cannot go on without the love.
So, get lost in your mind.
Say goodbye to the past.
The present is taking you where you need to go.
Believe in this moment.
Just believe.

Peter Gabriel Come Talk to Me

We talked today. I could not wait any longer.

 He was receptive for a short time.

I asked the questions that had been prying on my mind.



Honestly, he is focused on his relationship with his wife. As he should be.

I know he wants to keep his family.

In my mind, he is working on it every day.

Living those Fatherly moments and sharing love with the mother of his children.

That is how life should be.



We want to live permanently inside the bubble of love , family continues the marriage.

I see outside looking in, I see the dedication to the relationship.

You make it the focal part of your mind.

Dedicated to this family.

You are honorable and prioritize your important people.

You truly love.

You love, my friend.



There. that is the end.

I will not let you go,

but I will not hold onto you.



You are able to speak the deep thoughts

that speak to me. It's so rare.

It's okay now that I know.

I know that you love someone, who deserves to be loved.

I want you to love her fiercely.


Your life can be filled with adventures

Where the stress of life does not get in the way

of family.



You understand my every word.

You know that this is meant for you.

So Go Now, Sir. Go and love as completely as you can.


Even if it will never be me. I have my own life to live.

Don't feel sad, it's only life after all.

Dreaming In the Focus

Can't I quit you?
I don't want to think about you.
I don't want to think about it.
I don't want to long
for your touch, like Lucinda Williams.
I don't want this at all.

I just lost the thread.
 I had it and I was slowly reading the words like a stockbroker looking at the small paper coming out of a dictograph machine. 

That's right!

I don't want to quit you.
I must.
So, I stuff my ears with headphones

And the music moves in me like a snake.

Sliding up and down my spine in

figure eight ringlets.
 The energy it takes to block 

thoughts of you.

 It's getting easier.

Where my Anger Lives

Disappointment and Fear
are fueling this passionate rant.

I feel vulnerable.
These pathetic exaggerated fears
run crazy circles around my brain.
I will allow myself
to wallow in anger.
It shall be brief.
I will not fall completely apart.

I hate that you started this.
I hate that you emailed me.
I hate that I replied.
I hate that briefly the world shined.

I hate to feel used.
I hate to feel uncertain.
I see you on facebook
and I have to unplug.
I cannot look at your face.
Yet, I find myself going there.
To look.
Just to break my heart.

I don't want to live with the knowlege
this relationship changed me.
You opened something inside
and I am afraid
it will close
without you.
I hate that I miss you.
I hate that I still
wonder what you are doing.
I won't harbor resentment forever
This moment though, I hate you.

The Basketball Man

You've got your fucking little mind trip
to make yourself feel more superior.
I know all about you.
I've seen it many times before,
You have to prove you are a man.

But you don't really understand that there is more to a woman than meets the eye.
To bad you cannot see through my eyes.
You make me sick.
You're always thinking with your dick.
How could a woman be attracted to you.

You use your power and sexual strength to intimidate.
When a woman says, "No." I wonder what you hear.
Do you say, "She really wants it."
Then you feel the crushing blow to your chest.

The hero walks into the bathroom.
She helped ease the tension
She felt something happened

 in
that closet.
Were the floodlights shining in the faces of the people, directly in question?

I saw him a few times after the rape.
It was hell every time.
The last time was the worst.
When MaryAnn and I were on the North Side of Amarillo.
We were buying ingredients.
My wedding was fast approaching.

I just wanted to spend a little
quality time with MaryAnn.
We were releasing the tension.
We were standing in the spice isle.
I turned my head to the right and Rod stood at the opposite end of the isle.
He looked exactly the same.

I ran, mindlessly down another isle looking for the exist.
I was a rat in a maze.
He was blocking my escape.

Mary Ann found me, first.
Her voice, so soothing.
I was at my most vulnerable.
She helped me out of that store.
I have never seen him again.
In my mind, once in awhile the clear image of his face will appear.

I really hope Rod,
gets what's coming to him.
I was 19 years old.
I didn't know anything.
I was ...

VR 1999

Viper

This did not come out of nowhere, our fight.
The timing could not have been more perfect.
You were laying in wait until I was weakened
by my Grandfather's death.
Your kindness caught me off guard and I believed
your held out the hand of sympathy.
Only you striked the tender inside of my wrist
to watch me bleed,
and on my vaunderable emotions you feed.


I am not the victim in this fight.
You will not strike me when I am down.
I get back up and you hit the ground.
To not test a woman who just lost her Grandfather.
I will snap off your fangs with my bare hands.






VR 2002

Exquisite Corpse

Meet me on the other side where as a rose I will wake




Meet me on the other side where as a rose I will wake
turn my face toward the sun and drink in the floral scent of dawn.

Sanity

I felt the cord break today.

I feel free.

I am not responsible for what happens next.

You are fine. You will be fine. 

You don't need my help.

Desmond Cannot Sleep

He sneaks into the living room to get some water.
He shares that he cannot sleep.
I take him in my arms and play with his hair
soon his breathing slows
he falls into what all boys should dream
the slumber from love.
I feel this boy's love all around me
as I commit this moment to memory.

Be Brave

Poetry has been in my soul since childhood.
It is in my blood.
 I feel this impulse to write.
I feel this need to share the pictures that are in the forest.
I have never been one to take the easy road.
I had to learn my lessons from hard knocks.
Still, I see the silver lining.

I see what poets see, the clouds and daffodils.
I feel the weight of air.
I know that I have to share.
These emotions from my wellspring.
It's an obsession of the youngest nature.

I go there in my mind.
I picture an event, a time
and I must most certainly rhyme
like the strokes of a typewriter.
The sound of the keys clacking out thoughts.

I strike them and write as furiously as I can, spelling all of the words correctly.
I have a talent and I have to own it.
There is more to me then unrequited life.
There are people who love me unconditionally.

They help me be brave.
They share my story.
They taught me to be me.

Now, I am not lost in the sadness, like Anne Sexton.

She is my ghost.
She takes me back to the night we met.
When the night was so bright.
Your eyes upon mine.
When before we met.
How did I lose you?
Why did I show my spots and found out you were stripes.

Everything is up for interpretation.
I cannot be blamed for the decisions you make in your life.
I will not change the names just to keep you safe.
This happened, you fell in love. They fell in love.
We ended it.

It does not matter the circumstance.
I am no longer ashamed of my secrets.
I will shout out the most beautiful poetry
You will know that I am alive.
I am important.
You loved me.

You fell so hard.
The self-confidence was intoxicating.
You knew the moment you met.
Then you lived your life together.
The gravity of your desire
rooting you to the ground.
You created life and live your creative life, to the fullest.
You are brave.


I  just gazed on a hummingbird.
I saved that picture of your hand
with a hummingbird.
It is only because, I don't want to forget you.
I want to still go to my dream and live.

Where the poetry speaks to me.
My own world where we are shirt lifters and we unite.
Never knowing when lightning strikes, but knowing with you everywhere
life happened.
You were such a shining light and I the moth.
It happened and I am so grateful.
You speak the words that my heart needed to hear.
We can just say, "Eek." as we look at the billboard for, "Bermashave."

There are so many ghosts that want to pay a visit.
My head is full of the memories.
I may die.
So, again, I have to write it down.
Like I am looking at the colored glass
sitting outside waiting for the LSD to pass.


I can see the picture of the light from my room.
Where who knows what is happening in the Monroe house.
I learned to let go in this home.
I learned to be free.
I learned me.
It was what it was and it was a gift.

We were opposites of a coin.
So much alike yet you were a thief.
You liked to take from me. I know I took from you.
We are opposites and I am fine.
You have been out of my life a very long time.


I cannot share with you some of the stories.
It's to painful and I don't want to go there.
Back from over the edge.
There are things that happened in my life that will never be shared.

I was the villian in some stories. I am sorry for that.
I tried to listen to my moral compass,
 but sometimes,
I turn East.
My desire turns so hazy and I am swept up by the typing.
I know that it is a dream, but it fills me with an honest emotion.


I am brave and I can handle everyone looking at me.
You just have to see her
to feel the light.
The light that is a mystery.
Something different for you.

Noah was in Eugene with Vertigo

When you are gone
I paint the darkness with pictures of you in my mind.

At Your return
like the sun
you burn away the canvas
and are reborn in my eyes.

 I will travel the landscape of your inner being
like a tourist I want to know.

My Review of "There, There" by Radiohead.

There, There

By Radiohead. I think that they are one of the best bands in the world. They are certainly one of my favorites. Tom York is a poet and his lyrics touch me in a deep emotional way. He described something that I have tried to explain since I first feel in love. I have been in love with love for as long as I can remember. My favorite love is unrequited. I really become fantastical about love. I believed for so so long that if I liked someone they liked me in return. I honestly thought that when they were alone and in their heart of hearts they thought fantasized about me also, then I heard this song. I grew up in a matter of three minutes. '

I go walking in your landscape. (Fantasy)

Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there. (Boom! Blow my mind!)

Siren singing you to shipwreck (classic unrequited love)

We'd be a walking disaster (You have to tell yourself that because they do not like you in return, You cannot obsess)

Why so green and lonely

so lonely, lonely.   (I mean unrequited loving is lonely business)

Let's end this unrequited love affair with something to hope for if it isn't unrequited.

Heaven sent you to me.

We are accidents waiting to happen.

I mean talk about some amazing lyrics and the music. I have died and gone to heaven myself. This song gets me every time.

In pitch dark
I go walking in your landscape
Broken branches
Trip me as I speak

Just 'cause you feel it
Doesn't mean it's there
Just 'cause you feel it
Doesn't mean it's there

There's always a siren
Singing you to shipwreck
(Don't reach out, don't reach out
Don't reach out, don't reach out)
Steer away from these rocks
We'd be a walking disaster
(Don't reach out, don't reach out
Don't reach out, don't reach out)

Just 'cause you feel it
Doesn't mean it's there
(Someone on your shoulder
Someone on your shoulder)
Just 'cause you feel it
Doesn't mean it's there
(Someone on your shoulder
Someone on your shoulder)
There there

Why so green and lonely?
And lonely, and lonely?

Heaven sent you to me
To me, to me?

We are accidents waiting
Waiting to happen

We are accidents waiting
Waiting to happen

Songwriters: Colin Charles Greenwood / Edward John O'brien / Jonathan Richard Guy Greenwood / Philip James Selway / Thomas Edward Yorke

There there. lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

PS: I cannot figure out how to add music to my blog yet. If you have any ideas, please share in the comments. 

Not Goodbye Just Until

You are a liar. 
You are the worst kind of liar. 
You are the kind of liar who said 

everything I wanted to hear.   

I tell myself these things to make

 this rejection feel better. 

I tell myself that you will never think of me.

I won't even have a place in your memory.   

You tell me not to cry, not cry for the loss of you.
But the tears come in random parts of my day.
I feel the wretchedness of what life

will be like without you there.

Yet when we were together 

we were breaking up.
It was like a tiny spark

 that burst into fireworks raining down.
That kind of fleeting love lasts

 such a short time.

I can still picture your face, 

your warm cocoa eyes
and that same sweet smile in every picture.
I ache with the massive sadness

 knowing it really was goodbye.

Just until are the kind words of a lying man.
A man who swept me up in the fantasy.
I am forever a changed woman.

Fireflies in the twilight

This new love came upon me like a lightning flash.
Suddenly, I could smell the freshness of the rainfall and the campfire in the air.
I could feel the warmth of his gaze upon my face, the flush from the blush.
Each time I think of his touch something vibrated inside of me.

A small door was opened.
I thought that my muse had left me forever.
I thought I would never put pen to paper again.
Meeting him made me suddenly brave and comfortable in my own skin.


He felt like home and I could venture and roam, knowing he would always be there.
He would pull me back from the fire. With him, I am safe.
In the soft glow of the light, his arms around me, his arms,
his arms keep me strong. I keep moving forward knowing he is there.
This is marriage.

You were with me, you are with me. You have not gone.
With him the blue skies have returned.
I never believed they would come again.
I thought I had used up all of my tokens.
On the wish.

I look up into the cloudy blue,
knowing that I can see the forest through the trees
and feel that special kind of breeze
that only few know.

With him I am brave but without him I am brave also.
I can stand on my own two feet.
I take care of myself.
I write.

Thank you for that...

Running on the Backroads.

I want to run.
I want to run as far and for as long as I can.
 Listening to music as it sets the rhythm to my heart.
 My feet pound the blacktop to the bridge in the Texas heat.
I could feel my lungs expanding from this breath of fresh air.
I cannot stop.
I don't want to stop.
The cotton clouds lazy in the sleepy pale-blue sky keep me company.

Helpless

Cruelty, self-esteem, not my therapist.

In the back ground, Crosby Stills Nash and Young singing-Hopelessly Wondering.
The rain taps on the window outside my burgundy and gold bedroom.

I am quiet and alone, but I can hear them talking in the other room.

Trying to solve the problem but finding no solution.

We are helplessly hoping as the song begins to play again.
Each with there own vision of the truth. These men who are attempting salvation.
They make it their business. It's not enough to be where you are. It's not enough to make a difference. No one makes a difference. We are one alone. We are two together. We are for each other. Closing our eyes alone but longing to be included. 

Shall We Dance

We meet in the dim light of bars.

This is where we perform the affair.

Acting unaware.

The crowd begin to dance to the tune of our making.

The tune of our harmonious unspoken words.

As the crowd swirls to a frenzy from the electricity we generate; 

I can feel the tingling euphoria in every subtle touch purposefully placed.
 My mind spins from the momentum created by your stare.

This is a fantasy that we both created.

In the golden light of the setting sun, I know the time will come to return. 

In the bar, I catch your eye across the room.
From that one look it is as if I become the sun.
The warmth feels so real.

 I am acting my part and in this love I chose to believe. 

Ex-boyfriend

Our eyes met today.
I quickly looked away.
I didn't want you to see inside of me.
It still hurts
forever,
maybe.

There is more to the poem, but I cannot remember it.
Bryan (Starter Husband) took the poem and made it into a song.
I loved him for that.
I wrote these lines in 92 after my second boyfriend and I broke-up for good.

As, I was driving away from the Monroe house after midnight
The moon was full and I was driving the pinto.
I felt something that I will never be able to describe. I have tried so many times.

I thought of my own lines of poetry as I drove away that night.
My heart was lifted.
I felt free.
I held onto that relationship way to long.
I understand why I did it.
Dat and I had a very special love.
He helped me to become a better person.
I don't regret any of our relationship.
I am stronger.

The Lines

I will travel where the world begins.
Have we all not lived through the eyes of the inventor?
Are we not all inventors?
Investors
Creators
Killers
We are what we are.
I can hear them talking of the present.
Yet, I am still stuck in the past.
Drifting on that plane of consciousness between the whisper of the line that meets the two.

The Weight of Air

I don't have any energy. It is hard to find the energy for anything really. I hate who I've become. I feel like half a woman. I wonder if they will ever find a cure or the cause of fibromyalgia. I also have osteoarthritis and disc degenerative disease. I am in chronic pain every single second of every single day. I used to be so active. I worked, had friends that I would  socialize with face-to-face.  I attended events in public. Now, I work and that takes so much of my energy. What little energy I have left I give to my boys. I try to do things with them to give them the good fuzzy feeling memories. I am fearful it's not enough. Letting my children down is my biggest fear and the thing that makes me the most angry as I suffer with Fibromyalgia.

Fibromyalgia is a divisive condition. Those who do not suffer from chronic pain do not understand what it is like. An individual with Fibromyalgia can hear from any number of people, that it is not a real illness. I am here to say, that it is very real. The pain that I am in is very real. I honestly do not understand how people can think that a person would make up having pain every single minute of every single day. It is debilitating and we are not trying to garner attention from the illness. If you asked anyone who suffers from Fibromyalgia they would wish it away. It takes over our lives and we mourn for the people we were. That person is gone forever. There is no cure for fibromyalgia and I will have it the rest of my life.

 I believe that Fibromyalgia is a brain disorder which effects the central nervous system. The chronic pain is related to neuroplasticity due to a maladaptive reorganization of the nervous system.  I have no scientific evidence to back this up, but it makes sense to me. Honestly, every day I try to figure out how it happened and how I can find relief.

As I said before, I feel pain constantly. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 2009. Henry was 4 and Desmond was 25 months. They needed their Mommy and I was struggling just to make it though the day.  I felt so scared, helpless and guilty.
 The pain felt like a burning coal had been shoved into my lower back. The coal was sitting on my sciatic nerve causing the nerve to radiate down my legs and through my feet. On top of this pain my pressure points began to ache regularly. I developed skin sensitivity and had a hard time handling physical touch. The pain was exhausting and I would end up in bed for days. At times, I could hardly walk. It hurt so intensely that even the air around me felt heavy.
I would have these periods were I could not think coherently and I  struggled with my vocabulary. No matter what I do, I just could not find the my words. This symptom scared me the most.  I define myself by my communication skills. I am a verbal processor and I could no longer articulate my thoughts. It was frightening.

I had a traumatic injury to my neck when I rolled my moldy brown Pontiac three times. I was 18. Amy was 17 and Skylar was 4. We were so lucky.
I fractured my tailbone at Church camp when I was a Freshman in High School. I was 23 when an individual with polymyalgia rheumatica.  It's also called: stiff person syndrome. I was helping him into the van. He lost his footing and fell backwards onto me. I slamed my lower back on the concrete and he fell on top of me. It felt like a dinning room table had fallen on me. I herniated my L5-S1.
Many years later, I am paying the price.
I hate when I feel sorry for myself like I am now.  I just cannot help wondering why me? I don't think I deserve to live with chronic pain.
I don't think I can take this struggle. I had a hard enough time finding strength inside myself before I became ill. Will my quality of life ever improve?

Bracelet for Henry

This Writer Needs Pencils

I wish I had a pencil for my hair. My hair is a tangled dry mess. I keep my hair this length because I like braiding it. I don't do it very often. I usually twist it up into a bun. I want to pay more attention to my beauty regime, but I don't. I honestly think this is a problem. If you want to be noticed, you should always look your best. How am I ever going to be taken seriously, if I cannot be bothered to present myself as a well groomed individual. In today's social climate image is everything.  

Original Thoughts

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
William Shakespeare

  Mr.. Homer was a passionate teacher who made us feel as if you were valued and could accomplish anything if you set your mind to it.  We learned more then I would have cared to learn about World History and Economics. He really made learning interesting. I was a sentimental child. I struggled with controlling my emotions. I didn't relate well to other children. Learning was difficult for me. Mr. Homer taught me that I was more then my disabilities. He encouraged me to make a difference in my community.  His belief in my abilities gave me confidence.  I am a better person for being a student of Mr. Homer. 
 One day we were sitting in Mr. Homer's Texas History class. He was discussing the social dynamics between the government and the native American's. I could not understand how our government used militias  to forcibly remove these people  Mr. Homer asked me to read a section of the historical event. As I began to read, I started to cry.  I could visualize their struggle. In my mind's eye I could see those women and children struggling through the winter without food.  I was a very dramatic child. I didn’t want to be. I was naturally shy and I would try to disappear in background. I felt awkward. I hated drawing attention to myself and yet I did all of the time. My emotions would run away from me and I would become visible due to the emotions.

So, one day I am day dreaming in Mr. Homer's class. I think of the concept of being watched and I felt like I was acting on stage. I remember thinking this is deep. I really have written something special. Then Mr. Homer tells me that Shakespeare had written lines about this same concept. I read his words.

I mean talk about saying it better then a junior in high school. I could never close to this lyrical greatness. When I read my thoughts out loud.  Mr. Homer shared that you may have the same idea as another writer but you have your own perspective. Everyone is unique. 

Childish Background Music

I cannot remember the exact moment that music floated into my life, which seems strange to me. Since music has so infused with my life that I cannot think of a memory without conjuring a song with the memory. I remember receiving my first portable radio and I would take that thing everywhere. It was my prized possession. My Step-Dad, Denny, gave it to me. It was his and he didn't use it anymore. (From now on, I will just refer to Denny as my Dad. I am sure at some point I will discuss my abandonment issues and my realization that what I wished for was right in front of my face the whole time. Just know that Denny is the perfect representation of what a Father should be and we will leave it at that.)

Anyway, can you see a young child walking around the backyard of her home singing Foreigner's "Cold As Ice."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjwV5w0IrcA

I had two 8-track tapes, Foreigner and Barbara Mandrell, I listened, sang along and pretended that I was the artist. This is one of my first musical memories. I love that portable 8-track play. 

Henry's Laughing (Love Letter to Henry)

Henry seems to make sure that you cannot concentrate watching Star Trek when he is in the room. He is watching "Bat Dad" on the  phone. Every thee seconds he laughs and looks in my direction.Not an adorable laugh but an ear splitting banshee type cackle. I know his laugh is coming but I jump every time.  Then he looks over to me and I have to pretend to laugh too.  Bad Dad has taught my son to talk in an ear splitting deep riotous voice.   Thanks for that Bat Dad.
 There are so many times that Henry ignores us. I want him to know that I care what he thinks and I want to share his interests. It could be worse. He could like Walker Texas Ranger or wrestling.
 Henry was tested when he was three by a Early Intervention by the Autism Specialist. She observed Henry for a few hours while he was in his preschool class at The Family Development Center. She told me that Henry was not autistic because he was socially inclined. I said, "Yes, but he has
 self-soothing quircks similar to children with autism. I feel like he may have a duel diagnosis. I would bet my shoes on it.

He has a lazy eye which means Henry's eye sight is different from other people. I wish that he would not hold the IPAD screen so close to his face. I wonder what he sees?  I often wish we could trade places with Henry, so we could have complete understanding.  It would absorb  every thought that he had so I would be able to hold conversations with him.
The first time Henry reveled that he could take care of himself, I thought I would cry.

Money, Money, Money...

I feel the pull of the tides, the rush of poetry's song
something new, something irresistible 
like a musical rapture.
I drink it down like wine.
 It's just a little fantasy I have learned to pretend is not there.




Work and Family and Fantasy

 Henry dances his way outside and,
 Desmond takes the remote with little dinosaur hands.
 We are watching Gumball again. Henry recites the whole thing.
My parenting skills are shot since the new job, consumes.
Is it too much to ask, I just want to be a philanthropist.
Spreading the word to the masses,  breaking away from the time clock.
Yes, I would like to show my boys that we can live in a world, that is cruelty free. Free of labels and preconceptions, just free.
All, I need is some dough, but I am stuck working for to little pay and not enough support. Don't tell me that you will fire me if I do not drastically improve. Threats do not work on me, I think of them as a dare. I'm very competitive, I have to reign it in sometimes.  You don't want me for an enemy. I can fight back. I will change the world with one thought, on this couch in the dark and writing these word. The whole world is going to listen to me. There are special people in this world and I am the champion.
That is the crux of the matter. It's not an easy thing to get out of the trap. God, I worry about that struggling until the very end. Never going farther then this job.



Our car was repossessed yesterday. 

Endometriosis

 Oh, this misery of a Mother.

This woman of the sun who quietly shrivels in on herself to feel the suffering of her people.

The sun is a red bloom aflame, preparing the body for forced fatigue.

Daughters of She suffer the isolation of what pain can bring. 

She stands in a glory of green palm fronds delicately twisting under the weight of air.

Still she rises like a woman in flight.

Feeling the warmth of wind and attenuating through shear will of freedom.