A Hope That Lives in A Blade Of Grass

There is a deer

eating the green that sprouts inconsistently

in the wood behind my home.

From my window,

I watch as its half starved body

attempts to recover from winter,

stepping slowly here and there.

Hardly lifting its head

from the task.

Not greedy, just in need.

Nature’s garden giving hope

for this creature to live,

living just an act of endurance;

enduring the consequence that is life.

I sit here at my window

finding myself comparing

its feeding frenzy

to how I feel when I touch

your skin.

How your kiss pulls my breath

and yet gives my soul life in great gasps.

I know my longing

to be a hard winter

though I endure instead of moving on

to a climate more forgiving.

Letting your short attention span

which finds me once a week if I’m lucky

(but oh, how I love the days that you give me),

or the breakfast you once made me

be a gift that keeps giving

like the hope that lives,

for the deer,

in a blade of grass.

The Bird’s Song

I reminded myself that I am lovely

As the bird’s song danced through my windowsill

My eyes barely holding open

Against the warm sunlight that bathed my skin

I woke up ready to fight for me

Then I laid awake, in blissful peace

Listening to the bird’s song

Which pleases me

And in the pulls of my smile, 

I reminded myself of my beauty

Finding it first in the bird’s purity

And then within myself

Where the song lives, chirp chirp chirping.

Autism Awareness Month Blog

After his hair cut, his tears forgotten

Being that it’s autism awareness month, I thought I’d share one small thing that sets Zane apart from his peers:

Zane is terrified of haircuts. When he was a toddler, during haircuts he would scream such a scream, you would think he was getting abused. Now that he is older, he mostly just simpers and shakes. His whole body trembling as I take the razor to his hair. With each stroke, I have to remind him to sit still, because no matter how he tries, his body immediately tenses up in fear. His quick jerks and the constant trembling, makes it extremely hard for me to maintain my patience. Not only does it make a haircut last an hour when it really should only take 10 minutes, but I’m fearful of accidentally cutting him.

I say f#%! a lot while I’m cutting his hair, mostly because I’m frustrated that my poor child has to endure this fear over and over again throughout his life. Does your child have anything that makes their whole body tremble, so thoroughly afflicted with anxiety? Now imagine having to subject your child to this, because the hair clippers are in my hand. I’m the one who holds the fearful experience. Telling him that it’s for his own good does nothing to calm him.

I tell him to be brave. I remind him to take deep breaths. I promise that I will not hurt him, over and over again as I attempt to get each strand of hair.

The most heartbreaking part of the whole experience:

While I’m hating myself, my son is constantly giving me compliments in the midst of his anxiety. So proud of me for having not hurt him, after each pause,

“Wow mommy thank you, you didn’t hurt me!”
“You are the most beautiful mommy that I love!”
“You’re a great hair cutter!”

And then right back to shaking as I go for the next row of hair.

When the hair cut is finally over, his shaking reaches a peak and he finally allows himself to cry. Grabbing me in a desperate hug as he exhales all his fears.

My son is courageous.

[You didn’t ask, but] I take my coffee black.

Hand softly enclosed around mine

Bed sheets hardly covering my glowing white flesh

Flat on my back

Mouth closed, eyes wide

finding every light shadowed across the room

Moonlight nearly denied by old drapery

I breathe in and out through my nose

quietly finding myself in the space next to you

Your snores oddly comforting, filling the quiet that lurks

in the space between each breath.

Confused in random sleeping intervals,

falling asleep to the security

of your fingertips on my flesh,

at least half a smirk played across my lips

at the intimacy of falling asleep holding hands.

Abruptly waking to either you or I adjusting positions

finding that the only position

is to sleep belly down

head rested opposite a vision of you

arm sprawled across my upright ear.

I finally awake to you scrolling absent mindlessly on your phone

ready for my departure, though seemingly patient.

I don’t trust you though your skin pulls my eyes

my lips finding you gentle

a reminder that I came here for you

finding one more moment of longing

expressed in short gasps

before I’m exhausted of your space

and feel a sudden need to flee your bed

The sun finding the first gaps in the cloudy horizon

air crisp, cold deep breaths

freedom filling my lungs as I start my vehicle’s engine

recognizing the energy I’ve expended

on being happy and complacent for your benefit

No longer un-impressed with the weight of your baggage.

I’m inclined to remember each moment with an empty smile and happy hellos when you text.

Your interest hardly a prize in short sentences and long journeys

in which my status as a queen must go unquestioned but always tested

and your pursuit a requirement

Hardly dwelling on the moments

when your laughter filled my eyes

and comfort was your dark skin

warm in the night folds which loved me for moments

as I found myself dreaming of you,

eyes wide open

fingers lightly tracing my desires into your bare skin.

The Air is Frigid

I’m trapped inside white walls

Where pictures could hang

Of smiling faces and school pictures

Of my growing son

Though I’ve never taken the hammer

And nail to the drywall of my apartment

So my walls lay bare

And I’m stuck inside staring 

At the emptiness of my life

Wondering if I ever made the conscious 

Choice to isolate myself

Or if I’ve always been a loner by right

No phone calls, unless you count my sister

And my mother

One calls because she loves me and

The latter because she misses my son’s laughter

I’m without a friend

If you don’t count my cousins

In times of disaster

When the family comes together

To support me when I find myself off balance 

And I truly wish I lived closer to 

My sister and her soon to be husband

Because their home is filled with laughter

I would be a bandit master

Coming over just to steal a piece of peace

Cuddling with their dogs 

And smoking their pot when it is offered

Instead I’m shuttered in

My home without an animal

And I don’t smoke…so good times

Aren’t rolled into the perfect size

Inhaled through the heart and exhaled with a smile

Blinds drawn because the sunlight 

Lies and beckons you outside 

When the air is frigid

And this is the kind of shit

That makes me ache for the day

I move out of Michigan

But for now, I’m stuck in this position,

This disposition

I’m laying here on my couch

Wishing for a reason to write

So I write about how it’s cold outside

And my walls are frigid.

Monday Morning Text Girl

I miss you

So much so that I didn’t

Answer your good morning text

The predictability of your message

Actually inspired a flare of resentment in me

I thought to myself,

As I laid awake in my bed 

In the middle of last night,

Quite unable to sleep

Consumed by this feeling of rejection

That has come from loving a man like you

And sharing my body when I knew better than to,

Causing me to wake abruptly in distress

Heart beating fast 

I thought…I know him,

He will text me today,

After having ignored my existence all weekend

Not pausing for my attention

For even one second on Saturday or Sunday

Busy no doubt with his friends

And possibly already with another woman

Compounded by the fact that he 

Hasn’t made time for me, 

not once in over a week,

But he will text me in the morning Monday,

No later than 10

To ask how I am feeling

As if he really gives two shits about my feelings

And I will be expected to reply, politely

Not at all allowed to answer truthfully

Keeping quiet the pain that I most definitely feel

When I think of the predictability

And the games played by a man 

Who I wish loved me

So today, I missed you

Even more so than I did on Saturday and Sunday

But I also miss being treated as I deserve

Today I cried and raged because I know my worth

Which stands to be more 

Than just your Monday Morning Text Girl.

My Love For You Killed in Your Temper

When your temper left you

In long sentences and dark tones

Aimed at me like a shotgun 

Of forgotten kisses and sleepless nights

As we loved one another 

In sharp intakes and happy smiles

I wonder if it is fair that I loved you

Until you showed your hate?

I said to you that this moment

Was likely to reshape my opinion of you 

Which formed in the quiet moments you had once

Smiled at me with a soft gaze

Had you asked me just the day before 

Or even an hour before,

I would have said yes, I love you 

In a quiet way

The way I love you is tender and loyal

Open to your humanness and imperfections

Not looking for you to inspire great moments

Just true embraces and small acts of kindness

In the moment that I disappointed you

Flames on a match 

Thrown on a pile of wood you had already stacked

High and sprinkled with gasoline

For just the right moment to tell me 

What you really think

I felt it unfair to not prepare me with a 

Small glass of water 

Or a chance to speak in between your sentences

Because isn’t that what real conversation is?

A back and forth 

Where two souls share thoughts and opinions

Each equally allowed moments

To digress

On opinions shared? 

Yet you spoke to me as if 

I was just meant to listen while you beat your chest

And told me everything I’ve already known

As if I am a child and you are a man

Whilst I wonder if being a man is a great feet

If earning it doesn’t mean 

Learning how to be slow and kind

In the face of challenge which comes from

Bedding a woman who learned to love you in your indifference

Consequence a word placed in each pause

As I finally thought to share with you

My affection,

Answered not in your kind nature

Which I once considered
Gentle as the constance of the sea

Beating across the soft sands of the coast

Begging me to flee to its depths

And instead in the moment 

When my peace mattered more than yours

I found you empty of empathy

And not at all sympathetic to my love

Which made the apology you texted me

Before you fell asleep 

Feel like a shovel full of dirt

Burying a coffin which inside laid 

A withering flower 

Buried before its very death

As it happened to realize 

The sun it thought to be shining on it 

Was actually just a lamp bored in rejection

And longing 

A light bulb with a timestamp

Though the flower, my heart,

Never stopped being kind in the dark