the stone was no barrier
her soul couldn’t break
the tangled yearning of her heart burst free
and swooped from the windows lip
to caress the clouds in the ever width of blue
and twine about the thatch’s peak
a faux yellow to her gold
and she smiled at the ones who claimed
she had never tasted freedom before
(a witch in her own right)
i find her tender / lipstick smudged / making the illison of a soft smile / on her face / and she asks / looking out at the sea of faces / so familiar that it hurts / “will this all matter tomorrow?” / will the pounds she lost to date him / will the friends she shed / the clothes she wore / matter at all / and i lie / because i have been wondering the same thing / “yes, of course……it has to.”
on January nights i feel as if / i am suffocating / through 3 am nightmares / turn down the heat / turn down the heat / it’s too hot in this empty room / draw back the covers / draw back the covers / and then everything is fire / everyone is burning / he reaches / his touch scalding my skin / i scream / he always hurt / his love always hurt / and now i’m burned from it.
you used to tell me stories / when i was crying / you’d tell me how the moon lost it’s color / and how the stars fell in grief / and when i grew older / we would sit on the sofa / as you curled my hair / talking softly about bigger things / because i was a bigger / and i liked listening to you / i always had / so maybe that is why / it took me years to notice / how your hair had lost it’s own color / and this time / i was the one who fell in grief / calling out stories / to an empty room / saying “come back ” / “i wasn’t ready for us to be a story yet.” / i wasn’t ready for you to go
she left a note / on the terracotta tile / of my front step / and she has said / that she is no poet / but i find myself marveling at the way / she can make goodbye / sound like my fault
Perfectly Imperfect Me 