Fifty year drought

babydoll

I had a baby.

Her name didn’t/doesn’t matter.

She lay in her stroller with her arms outstretched.

I smiled down at her, cooing gentle words of love.

I swaddled her a bit tighter against the chill.

As each car passed on the nearly vacant street,

I’d sing a little louder so they’d know I was a mom.

It’s all I ever wanted to be.

INTERLUDE

The MMR wasn’t created when I was born.

When my brother came along and got his,

nobody thought to inoculate me.

At twelve years old, my throat and neck hurt so badly.

My mom gave me a dill pickle (LOVE THEM) but I couldn’t swallow.

Diagnosis: The mumps.

Aged and married: Clomid, Pergonal, temperatures, acne, painful periods,

nothing. nothing. nothing.

Failed adoption. Ectopic miscarriage, failed adoption

GUARDIANSHIP x two!

Rejected for violence. Rejected for drugs.

nothing. nothing. nothing.

PART TWO

ultrasound

You can’t possibly know how many times I’ve been gracious,

how many times I’ve oohed and aah-ed over black gray blobs

What it’s like to see beautiful mothers holding their beautiful babies

while my arms hold back my sadness, my longing, my relief.

I’m not resentful that they have my dreams wrapped in their love.

I’m not angry that their wishes came true. I’m not even upset.

PART THREE

birth-control-1

Am I less than a woman for not showing proof of fertility?

Am I less than a woman for my body’s refusal to carry life?

I feel betrayed each time blood flows from my barren womb.

All of the pain, emotions, heating pads, and carb stuffing…for what?

Another reminder that I’m not like the others. Another storm trooper miss.

 

 

I miss you, my muse

alone

There is a place where we can’t meet

Where your face remains unknown

It is a place where silence stands

It is the time when I’m alone

Muses holding my creative reprimands

It is there where I turn from cheek to cheek

Longing for the words you speak

But in this place, organically grown,

Is a haven for me to be completely alone

It is a place that refuses other’s hands

It holds me warmly to meet its demands

It is there, where my rivers peak

Giving me the words I must speak

 

I can’t deny, I can’t erase

The billowing spirit

from your face

Emanating fiercely

From your own within

Reaching through

my waters

forbidden

 

 

Love Lives

The place that is welcoming

is the home where love lives

Not only where love is,

but where it is cherished

nurtured, adored, revered,

but most of all,

given fertile soil to blossom

overly abundant blooms everywhere.

I don’t want to love you

valentine-wallpaper
I don’t want to love you
at least not the “you” they think you are.
I want to dive into your darkness
swim through your tears, fears, rejections.
My compulsion is to wrap you tightly
within my light until you come up
gasping for air in the dew drop morning
I don’t want to love you
the way you’ve been told to be.
I want to chew through the anger
shredding the sinew and skin from bony lies.
My desire is to offer you haven
where you can release everything wrong
with them seeing you unconvinced
I don’t want to love you
through someone else’s eyes
I want to experience your breath
when you allow yourself personal authority
with words of expressive power
I don’t want to love you, but I do.

Flowing Life

river

We are the water of the river flowing

our drifting paths are going

to a place we are not knowing

but we struggle to stay the same.

Your spirit releases, trickles and flows

Pushing you farther than you think you can go

Creating depths deeper than you know

We are all uniquely one in the same.

Your passion is best when emotions are flowing

Your traveling feet must keep on going

To gain and learn a gracious knowing

Let’s join in unity to be less of the same

Be At Peace

 

lighthouse

Be at peace, my brothers and sisters,

shine your beacon where you roam

Know your power, my bloodkin,

Let love call you home.

Be at peace, my beloved friends,

Bring our spirits passions kept

Be at peace my loved ones

Be at peace with your deepest depths.