Much More Beautiful

Wow.

Big Daddy was right. And SO quickly.

One thing that makes me really happy in life ( something I was reminded of today) is that I can say whatever the FUCK I want.

That’s right.

Right here? This is my place.

And I? I can say whatever I want.

That’s glorious! Big Daddy never asks me to censor myself. He is secure in who he is, naturally dominant. He knows that words are the VERY most important thing to me. And to restrict them would be death.

I would die inside.

And I want to shine.

I am much more beautiful when I shine.

End of a Day

“Mommy!”

He kept them up last night till I got home from overtime. It was like heaven.

“Mommy! Mommy! I got all smiley faces!!”

“Mommmmmeeee mommmeeeee potty!”

She with the blackish brown eyes ran at me and hugged my belly.

The LittleOne ran at me and hugged my legs. A blond and brown pony tail met my eyes as I looked down at my babies, my growing, loving babies that I created. I carried. I care for.

“Ok, back here to finish your stories.” My Love is beaming from the bed, knowing he did a nice, RIGHT thing, proud of himself for lasting ONE MORE DAY as a single dad while I work the 7 to 7 overtime. More money for our struggling family. The little pony tails bounce back to the bed. They climb up, but still face me, chattering like sparrows.

“Mommy, I have a splinter you need to get out.” She with the blackish brown eyes shows me her soft palm, with a tiny sliver of wood in it. My heart soars. I AM the one who deals with splinters. He can’t take it, but moms have to do the things that cause pain to create healing.

“Booboo! Booboo!” Not to be outdone, The LittleOne shows me a fresh shin bruise that I simply must kiss immediately.

Off to get the tweezers, my eyes fill a little. Yes, I’m tired (boy there should be a different word for HOW tired), so a little emotion is predictable.

But really, it was honest joy. Look at all my gifts…

I Found

I found

your drawing of

an ice cream cone and

knew to follow you down hill in

chuck taylors

There Should Be No Lines

Posture

You bent over,
welcomed a secret
from our daughter

in just the right way–
arched eyebrow
slopped neck
cocked ear

I’m blessed

a success
if only in this–
I gave her more dad
than I had.

He’s That Father

I love
How
You make due

Circling Birds

I’m really frightened of being alone. Especially at night. That’s when I wish I had that extra attention. And if it’s a man, looking to get off, that works. In fact, it’s a sure bet really. Isnt it? Not good for me. It’s good for me that it’s so much less. I don’t seem to have it in me anymore. That rush of knowing a new person, being pursued by a new person. I guess when you have a few bad outcomes under your belt, you aren’t as eager to go back. But then here I am. middle of the night lonely. And why does that type of lonely always settle in your pussy? If the pussy is happy, I’ll be happy.  My life is working really well with my love and Big Daddy. The medications are working. Some positive money stuff is approaching, hopefully. Sure, I’m smoking so much, its insane. And the eating. Dont forget the eating. The body aches, like a new injury every week. It’s so quiet. Sometimes the understanding is so close. Then, its gone again. (I’m scared I can’t write anymore because of my medication.) I told everyone is was a fluke. No one listened.  I am not a very good mom. I see a list a mile long of things I could be doing, giving them. I would rather die than have them think they aren’t worth every drop of my blood, every breath I take or word I write. They are everything. I hate being alone. Who needs these thoughts? Like, the sometimes man. Was that even real? Was that year of my life real? And Marian? Was she real? Is there a person out there with jewel eyes that really contains such a combination of whimsy and hard edge? I always make such bad fucking choices with abandonment, like being the risk taker is something enviable. I would give it immediately if it was worth getting. I wish I was 17 people and none of them did drugs to excess and ate to excess and hid from people and was lazy and cranky and short-tempered and slutty and glass wicked empty.  I wish I didn’t feel so fucking alone. I wish I didn’t question that a collection of molecules such as life even exists, I don’t want to care about which word is placed where and what should I wear and whats my next thing and whats my excuse and whats my rationalization and what more do I need, what reward do I demand, what price do I pay, what dowry do I come with? Can you see me wrestling with this part of myself? Or am I wrestling to beat the medication, my sickness, my demons so strong and engrained, God you could have at least made me beautiful since you made me so crazy, you could have at least made me successful in a career or a perfect mother or a social butterfly, but instead I’m just crazy. Its quiet. I have my fans, and my blankets and my babies sleeping tight in the other room. One has fine, blond hair and hazel eyes, the other, thick brown hair and brown eyes. There is milk for cereal and a bottle. My husband has more work lately, and he loves me. And I love him. I have Big Daddy. And I love him. I have my family, repaired friendships. Jesus Christ, where do I get off being such a sad sack? It’s this lingering, this nagging knowledge that what I have, others have more or better. It’s this feeling that I’m not where I belong. There is more I am supposed to be, or suppose to do. The wrong path, I don’t even recognize the planet I’m on. I’m an alien and I wandered into the wrong fucking place. But these are my babies, this is my life, stop this questioning for no reason. I can’t, what if there is something else I should be doing and I don’t do it and something terrible happens, I miss my boat, I die.

Forward, Back Too

Tears so heavy
Can barely see
To pack the bowl

Shouldn’t have to
Beg for you
Attention.
Should I?

So He Says VI

Garlic would come in a hurricane.

Black Trick

How can “everything”
Good disappear
All at once