Just Writing From Within

I know you I swear I’ve seen you before you’re the girl with the crooked smile that flutters through the room where is it now? You’re the one who can’t hold back her laughter, but no one complains but I can’t hear it now Yes, the one who bounces from place to place, filling everyone with delight why are you sitting? I couldn’t recognize you not by your clouded eyes that are holding back so much pain not by your crumpled face, void of all feeling no, not by your drained figure that is dragging, lifeless  what happened to you? what happened to that girl? did someone take the light from your eyes? or did you finally give up?

We went back in time today Well, not literally  Marty McFly didn’t just show up or anything,  But we still went back Yet I feel like everything is moving forward  Everything is coming and going so quickly that  I just want to hit pause I want life to go on hold until I’m ready to pick it back up Until I’m ready for the next stage Until I’m ready to move on Because I’m not I like where I am I like who I’m with And despite the hurt I’m happy So, life Please take 7-10 business days, and then you’re welcome to start again.

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was a big holiday in my family. Everyone–and I mean everyone– was there. Over 100 of us all piled into my great grandfather’s garage. Three huge turkeys from dad, Auntie Jane, and Auntie Karen; hundreds of cookies from Mary and me; and endless tickles from Uncle Jimmy.  I love holidays. With a big family like mine, they are the one time we all get together. And boy do we make a big deal of them.  I loved holidays. With a once big family like mine, they were the one time we all got together. And boy did we make a big deal of them. Now we don’t talk about them. Don’t talk about the empty seats that will never be filled. Don’t talk about the abundance of leftovers because we refuse to accept the dwindling number of those in attendance. Don’t talk about the silence that was once filled with laughter.  We just let them come, going through the motions of when and where, who and what.  And we’re happy. And we’re blessed. An...

I wouldn’t call myself a writer I don’t know everything there is to know I can’t always see beneath the surface and I often make mistakes Sure, I have a couple of things published and I have enough half-filled notebooks  scattered around my room to sink a small ship but I am not a writer. I have words circling around my head, and if I’m lucky, I can piece them together and put them down on paper but I am not a writer. I have segments of phrases written on napkins,  and psych notebooks, and unfinished notes in my phone– whatever I can reach when I can’t sleep at 3am  but I am not a writer. Segments that could probably turn into  polished work if I ever bothered to sit down and  revisit whatever was tugging at my heart in that moment but I am not a writer. Yet, despite all the reasons I say I’m not,  I continue to pick up my pen  and let the ink glide across the page,  knowing that nine out of...

If one day I lose my memory, I would like you to remind me of… melting ice cream cones whipping around the lake, holding on for dear life the books I read dancing in the rain  the pictures that filled my room singing at the top of our lungs on long car rides the colors of the sunset how leaves fall in autumn  children playing, laughing at what they don’t know is yet to come the pages scribbled on, underlined , crossed out ,  the burning of hot cocoa cascading down my throat the peace of doing everything, while doing nothing at all how the rain falls: unashamed, unapologetic the love – all of it Please, remind me of sleepless nights of invention, heartache, creativity  endless piles of books sand molding into my toes the joy of leaving it all on stage lemonade: its tarty sweetness horses running freely the smells of sugar, butter, flour, dancing through the kitchen the faith that kept me groun...

I rarely wish away what I’ve gone through rarely say “it would be easier if it never happened” rarely focus on the bad instead of the good but  sometimes I wish wish I didn’t see the world  through cracked lenses wish I wouldn’t see your tears and know exactly the pain you are feeling because Me Too wish I could go to sleep without you preying on my dreams  I won’t admit this I won’t tell anyone except his paper that sometimes I don’t want to be the resilient girl  the girl who smiles when her world is crashing around her slowly burning  but  I am the phoenix  I rise  I stand  and I move forward but  sometimes I wish and sometimes I dream – awake –  away from you 

she lost the light in her eyes the day he lost the breath in  his lungs the day that everything changed that is was no longer him and her against the world but rather a big world closing in on her just her alone  she sat waiting for him to come back waiting for the knock on the door and the big bear hug that would follow waiting for what she knew would  never come he was gone  she saw the casket go down the people slowly leave the cars pulling away but she couldn’t accept it she wanted him back wanted to feel his arms around her wanted to tell him she loved him one more time she wanted the light back but instead she was met with darkness