Inside of me.

There's this feeling
stirring inside of me
it's made of things and thoughts and questions and fears and wonders

There's this feeling
sitting like a rock
inside of my insides
making me sort of sad
making me wonder why it's there

There's this feeling
reaching out
from inside of me
seemingly to everyone else
or someone else.
It feels like it's telling me that it has twins
out there
in other
people.

Funny how it feels like I'm the only one who has it
or feels it
or doesn't like it
or wants it gone
or wants to know that it's in someone else too.

There's this feeling
inside of me.

I'm Loving You.

I'm loving you.

While you're making breakfast

I'm loving you.

While you're teaching kids

I'm loving you.

While you're weeding the yard

I'm loving you.

While you're paying bills

I'm loving you.

While you're changing diapers

I'm loving you.

While you're having sex

I'm loving you.

While you're not remembering me

I'm loving you.

While you're working

I'm loving you.

While you're meeting new people

I'm loving you.

While you're living your life

I'm

loving

you.

Knowing. Waiting. Wanting. Learning.

I Know Better

Floundering.

Like a toddler thrashing about in ankle deep water.

Knowing that I am safe and that nothing bad has or will happen,

it is simply change --

change that has happened

changed the landscape

changed the faces

changed the day to day experiences

simply change

nothing more.

Yet, there is little comforting the dispassionate child within me.

She wails and flails and wants to move backward in time.

In fact

She

insists

upon it.

Like Veruca Salt, she stomps her feet and shakes her hair as if these things will influence the inevitable movement of life.

Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

Flail!

Shake!

A dance of unbridled crazy

manifest in movements that think they are much bigger than they are...

Parenting myself,

I stroke my hair

peppering my face with baby kisses

caressing my unwilling skin

giving promises of relief...

Peace will be here soon little lamb.

She renounces my attempts and strikes at me, refusing to believe these lies.

I hold her tightly,

loving her,

knowing that she will make it through this, and that....

I

know

better.

Breath

You take my breath away.

It's not the things that you say,

though they are interesting and often

make me laugh.

It's not the way you look,

though you are certainly handsome and

pleasing to the eye.

It's not the way you work,

though you are talented and

impress me with your skill.

You take my breath away.

It's the way that you are.

You are authentic and meet me in a place that

only you can find.

It's the way that you feel.

You are passionate and you invite me into a dance that

I cannot resist.

It's the way that you touch.

Your very essence comes through your fingers

and wordlessly shows me who

you are.

You

take

my

breath

away.

All of You

I'd love to talk to you right now.

Wondering what you're doing in your world

which never stops whirling and moving

and requires

all

of

you.

I'd love to hear your voice right now.

Knowing that today it's saying what it says

in the midst of loving and doing.

Meeting obligations and needs

of the things and people that demand

all

of

you.

I'd love to feel your touch right now.

Aware that at this moment your hands guide your children

and hold your love

and you reach and do and feed and caress them with

all

of

you.

I'd love to merge myself with you right now.

Longing to crawl inside your body and soul

that works so hard, loves so deeply, never stops doing what needs to be done...

and I watch you from inside my mind

from afar,

because I love

all

of

you.

Looks for You

Moving throughout my day...

my life... my world...

My soul looks for you.

Peering between people at work

...the books on my desk

...the cars on the road

Behind the trees and buildings that I pass each day...

My soul looks for you.

There is a commitment to my life and what I do.

And as my life moves along, there is a quiet awareness

Of you........ Your eyes...... Your voice..... Your energy...

that simply oozes into the cracks between the every day events of my passing experiences.

And as I do about the life that I have and that I love...

I cannot stop that,

regardless of what is going on...

My

soul

looks

for

you.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is a complicated day for me. About a week prior to it, I become aware of the marketing going on: the cards... the flowers... the gifts and acknowledgements. As I become older, I am able to be somewhat more conscious about what is going on inside of me. I can sense a subtle "fingers in the ears and singing lalalalalalalala" thing happening in me. I simply don't want to look at it, hear it, feel it. I sort of want to hide under my soft pillows and will Monday to get here.

Because my mom died just 13 days after my 10th birthday, I have never had the opportunity to celebrate Mother's Day as an adult. I have never been able to write my thoughts in a card that I bought, or create a bouquet of yellow roses and babies' breath for her, knowing those are her favorite flowers. I have never been able to invite her out to lunch and spoil her with tapas and sangria while we laugh about what a brat I was when I was a kid. I have never been able to actively and consciously celebrate my mom along with all of my human peers that still have their mothers here on earth.

Layer all of that with the fact that I, myself, don't have human children of my own, and my husband's mom passed when he was 21, the day feels like one of those greyed out boxes on an airline availability calendar.

All that being said, as I was thinking about Mother's Day this morning, I was overcome with the feeling that, aside from the common understanding of "mother", one can mother, and be mothered, regardless of one's reproductive, adoptive, or parentless state. There have been several women who have mothered me. My Aunt Kae, who is my mom's sister, has sent me a steady stream of love for as long as I can remember. My Dad Rusk's ex, Linda, remains steadfast in my mind as a mothering presence after my mom died, and Maxine... my step-mother, who, despite my angry, adolescent attempts at alienating her, has been a steady in my life.

Finally, I know that I am not alone in my melancholy on this day. One friend lost her mom just a four years ago. Another's mother is alive, but is lost to her for other reasons. And many, many other people I know are missing their moms today. So, for all of those who share this complicated day with me..... I send to you all that a mother is: love, dedicated adoration, healing, and the smell of homemade cookies as well as a knowing that no matter what, we are loved by those who gave us life, gave us home, and who gave us a kiss when we skinned our knees - wherever they are.

Won't Listen

Goodbye hurts for me.

Clearly, the anticipation of goodbye

hurts for me.

My mind is aware that everything always works out just fine,

but there is a more powerful part of me that simply out and out refuses to

buy it.

My mind can look back at all the years I've traveled

and know

that goodbye doesn't truly hurt; for there have been many, many goodbyes on those roads.

Nothing bad happens.

Life moves on, and lots and lots of beauty happens.

Laughs, Joys, New People, New Places, New Thoughts that bring it all into crystal clear focus.

But that other part of me

wants life to stop

moving

stand still

cease its forward motion

and just

let me stay

motionless

in the picture that my heart thinks it might just want to stay in

forever.

But the picture never stays... does it.

It is an ever shifting

moving

changing

leaving

going

coming

swirling

mass of colors and people and places and events and experiences and and and and...

And my mind knows that it is good that life forever unfolds

that way.

But there is a place in my heart

that

just

won't

listen.

Just Fine.

My heart hurts.

I am on the precipice of a big change. Change of place. Change of people. Change of Circumstance.

It feels so permanent, so .... different. As if the sweet, soft cotton that surrounds my heart will be ripped away to expose raw, unprotected flesh.

My heart, the one that is a young and impressionable girl...

the one that weeps, feeling alone...

the one that desperately tries to cling to people and places in certainty that if she holds tight enough

they will never, ever leave..

She is hurting.

She doesn't want to lose what she has.

She feels that she will most certainly be hurdled into a dark abyss

alone.

I know, in my mind, that none of this is true.

None of this is true.

None of this is true.

None of this is true.

It has never been true before, and I have felt this very way

many times.

Times when I have been left by someone I love. Times when the rug was pulled out from under my unsuspecting feet. Times when the page was turned without my consent. Times when a player in the script of my life was eliminated from the play in a breath of smoke--

and like a child who did a belly flop into still, glassy water -- the breath in my being

sucked out. Fast.

There have been times when I have felt that I was

Left sitting in the tire tracks of someone that I thought was the key to my very existence.

Holding my bloodied, wounded heart in my own hands

Completely unaware how to put it back together.

Darkness covering the sun, who's warmth I was denied, for what felt like

Forever.

Yet, in every case,

the sun came out again.

Yellow. Warm. Life-giving. All-encompassing. Joy singing.

Sun.

Silly girl...

The sun was never hidden for even one moment but for your own hands before your eyes.

Silly girl...

The love you have felt can never leave you, but for your own insistence of separation.

Silly girl...

The life you were promised always sits just before you, a road to the next beautiful, amazing thing just a footstep away from where you are.

Silly girl...

You are never, ever alone, not even for an instant.

And everything

everything

everything

everything

everything

Is going to be...

Just.

Fine.

I Wouldn't.

Sometimes feelings are so big.

Making us think that there is nothing else

and nowhere

and no one.....

else.

Just the one thing

from where the feeling comes.

So big that it fills out all of my edges

and nooks and crannies.

It's warmth oozing in every space...

that for now...

it's all I see.

All I want to see.

Feelings, tempting me to keep my eyes

focused only on

it.

Such a delicious

languid

yummy

thing.

Knowing that feelings and moments and certain kinds of joys

are not forever

but are just for special

secret

magical

moments

Brings me joy.

and

Brings me sorrow

all at the same time.

If you knew that your yummy, delicious, precious, languid, amazing moment

were just for a little while,

and that losing it would bring pain

would you forgo the joy it brings?

I wouldn't.

Under Your Hands

Under your hands

My mind frozen in helpless pause,

my body turned to golden clay

under your knowing touch.

Under your hands

My soul breaks opens to a million glittering sparkles

as I anticipate the magic

that might tread upon my skin.

Under your hands

My breath awaits your consult

and holds

and releases

according to the dance that you choreograph.

Out of nowhere. And everywhere.

Under your hands

Time simply

stands

still

and I feel nothing

but

bliss.

My Love.

There you are

again.

I love you like a leaf greets the morning's dew

with joy,

expectation, and

gratitude.

With breathtaking relief after the dryness of a day's sun and the darkness of night, you come with the breaking of the yellow sun.

Our love.

I could not have written it

or found it

or sought it

on my own.

Perhaps it comes from a far away, forever sort of place.

People look at it through opened windows,

and smile, thinking,

They have a good thing. Seems nice. Seems real.

Honestly, they have no idea, do they......

Our love does not include some of the same tethers

or requirements, shoulds or possessiveness that our world has written as rules .

We trust one another to be exactly who we need to be.

I watch you dive into your world from the sidelines, knowing you are loving what I cannot love. You let me run and laugh and be, knowing I am loving what you cannot love.

And at night, after our days

of often independent lives,

We lie together

and

love.

I am ever

so

grateful

for

you

.

Glitter

There's something about you.

You're a l i v e

Even though I can see so clearly that sometimes you yearn to feel that way yourself.

about yourself.

I see

What you project to the world...

Your accomplishments

Your bravado

Your talent

Your articulate expression

Your brilliance

And yet

You cannot hide

A yearning for unfathomable love

Pain of loss and disappointment

Wanting

love

Your unquenchable desire to be

c o m p l e t e l y

immersed

in

alive

.

in

love

.

And so, you live

Alive.

So beautifully.

You give and give and give and give and give

determined that others

will feel the love you know is possible.

exactly what you yearn

for

deep

within the most

secret place

in

you.

Where there are no

muscles

tattoos

performances

adoring fans

reaching hands

requests for your talents

parties

music

to

drown

out

the

awareness

that no matter how hard you try to get away from it

No one can really get in.

And yet,

within the angst and hurt and wanting

I wonder if you know just how amazingly beautiful you are.

Right there with

the

yearning

is the most spectacular

radiant

amazing

glittering

beauty.

And you know all that love that you want

so

badly?

It

lives

right

there

in

you.

Ache

How may ways do you hide the ache that you feel?

Could I even count the ways that I hide mine?

Could I describe the shame that I feel, despite knowing that you feel it to.

Sometimes.

The human condition.

The lies we create

The stories we write about what is.

Why do we do it when we know it is not true?

Is it part of this crazy game? Do we sign up for it so we can get beyond it?

So

unbelievably

exhausting.

Sometimes I am so thankful for the tools I have been given.

My smile.

My intellect.

The way I can make people feel safe and warm.

My articulate communication.

Ahh, thank God they can't see beyond it.

Unless they get really, really close.

They think I've got my shit together.

She's so thoughtful...

spiritual....

together....

insightful....

talented....

gifted...

friendly....

grounded....

centered.....

I wear this colorful dress, flash my smile, say something meaningful

and they can't see that I'm also

Frightened....

lonely....

questioning...

hurting...

hungry....

anxious...

ashamed...

embarrassed...

confused...

The human condition.

We all struggle with these feelings and

yet we are sure we're the only one.

Somehow we're different and not as good.

We believe the irrational story that there is something

inexorably wrong with who we are.

and

every

one

else

has

something

that

I

don't

have.

So, I know that this is bullshit.

And sometimes

the grey

seems

so

f'ing

real.

Might that I see with clarity that it is only a veil

that I have

more than enough

power

to

make

disappear.

Might I have the courage to know that you do too.

Breathe.

Try

What do you become attached to?

What do you experience and need to have, again and again and again?

And then

When it is

gone,

You feel that ache.

The one that starts in your insides

deep

inside

and spreads outward, covering and entering every part of you..

It feels like everything that has ever brought you joy

has left you...

you are alone...

and you are not the you that you used to know, and love

anymore.

Even though it's a complete and utter lie.

Your everything tells you it's true.

It's difficult to not believe.

It's

important

to

try.

Reminder to a Friend

Nothing
Can ever have
more
strength than
you
have.

Nothing can change
the beautiful essence
that makes
you,
you.

If the darkness falls
and threatens you...
lies to you...
entices you to
believe
that you are less
that the
bright
luminous
clear
amazing
truth

that you are....

remind yourself that
those are the voices
of
deceit

and that their whispers
are simply
a distortion
a misundertanding
a lack of vision.

Do not listen.

You are joy.
Your essence is well.

Nothing
can
ever
change
that.

School Daze

Inside

where

the air is musty

and

grey

Concrete walls shelter

me from

whatever lies

underneath

the

forever

sky.

For too long.

I am a robot.

Feeling like a follower

listening

writing

doing.

When all I want to do is

to be

free

Where walls cannot

imprison

me.

The sound of the end of the day

rings like a siren in my

ears

calling me to

my

day's true

desire.

My feet take flight

and I soar into

the

yellow

brightness

of the

afternoon

sun.

Freedom

at

last

.

Show Me

(My cousin, Juan Carlos asked me to write something to inspire him to put his sculpture portfolio on line.)

Show me
you.

Show me how the passion in your soul
your core
your self
dances with bronze and concrete and form and shape

Show me how your
very own
unique
brand of
brilliance

has created power and thought and joy and angst and wonder

through the mediums
given forth by the earth.

Show me the song that is sung
only by you;
music that runs from your soul through your mind through your hands

into form.

Show me
you.

Boxes.

I haven't written in awhile.

I'm not really sure why.

Probably the same reason why I haven't painted, haven't written letters by hand, haven't made sure I work out, and the reason my socks go missing after I know I put them both in the wash. Ok, maybe not that reason.

I miss writing.

Sometimes I put pressure on myself to write in the same form that I tend to. You know, that sort of poetry, sort of not, lists of words, artistic use of punctuation way.

And, If I don't, I won't publish it.

I don't want to dissapoint anyone.

I don't want to dissapoint myself.

Why should I feel this kind of pressure?

It makes me think about the boxes that we put ourselves in...

boxes that we put others in.

Boxes we put ourselves in because we think others want us in them.

I like to think that I don't do that. Put people in boxes.

Yet, I know I do.

Look, I'm putting myself in one. This box about writing, and knowing that people might read it, and thinking, "What if they don't like it or What if they wish it was like the others, or..."

I know that I do that with other areas of my life too.

Sometimes I have feelings or desires or philosophies that I don't make known.

Don't speak aloud.

Don't show.

Because I have projected onto those I care about a box I believe I am supposed to live in.

I am supposed to look "normal".

I am supposed to fit well into mainstream society but have just enough gumption to challenge people while not making them uncomfortable.

I am supposed to be pretty, but just overweight enough to make me accessible and easily understood by the average joe.

I am supposed to be talented, but not do so much with it that I come across as arrogant.

I am supposed to make it clear that I don't hold the right wing position on things, but I am to keep my real, passionate thoughts to myself so I don't hurt the tender sensitivities of people I care about.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

No one ever told me that I was supposed to be these things. Why is it that I think that others feel this way?

Maybe they do. Maybe they don't.

Does it matter?

Is this affliction with worrying about whether people will continue to hold me in high esteem,

continue to love me, continue to respect me....

Just mine?

What am I sacrificing by editing the expression of myself?

What do I lose

When

I

consent

to

live

in

a

box

?