Standing

I’ll stand with you.  Like evergreen trees in the white snow caps as arctic wind hits them, shredding off the needles, revealing patches of weakness. The way skyscrapers stand together with every sunrise and sunset, through repair and wear and tear, even the fall together and crumble to dust. The way legs  stand to support a chair, throughout pressure of things too heavy, to be kicked around, slammed by toes, and dragged across the floor.

I’ll stand in cahoots, like salt will for pepper, and the right glove will for the left, even if it’s left hiding at the bottom of the laundry. The way mothers will for newborn children who are too fragile to act on their own.

I’ll stand in closeness, like  water clings to a tea bag , the way city lights that grasp the shadows and sand stays with the shore through each ripple as it floods in and drains out in an endless cycle.

Mostly, I’ll stand in love. Not the way that trees or buildings are, or food  items or dirt do. I’ll stand the way we do. To hold hands on the good days and the bad, to share the laughs about our fumbles and our triumphs. I’ll  stand to support your decisions, to brighten your mood, and to trust things work out for the best. I’ll stand in hope that happiness continues, the future is bright, and for proof that this is the best way to be standing.

Grandma’s Advice

Pride goes before disaster,

don’t be alarmed at joy.

Give compliments, for someone’s

perspective in your situatuin can’t

be erased, once spoken.

Can goodness come out of evil?

Go out and find him, hang on tight.

No problem is too big when you learn

to smile. Welcome warmly to those

who travel from afar. Point out the

good in others, if you don’t,

you could sleep through life

The Ad

The white house put out an ad today,

with celebrities and political figures.

PSA! PSA ! they claim, don’t touch the women,

be a man and stand up for what is right .

The white house put out an ad today,

trying to send these bad men away.

These men I don’t think they’ll find.

 

Men who lurk on park benches

desiring the six year old child who

plays in the sandbox, men who roam t

he alleys on weekend nights looking

for the girl who’s a bit too tipsy in that shimmering ,

tight red dress. She’s asking for it right?

A PSA won’t reach the drunken college students

who can comprehend the most complicated of statistics and

not understand that shes saying no to your anatomy exam.

Men who are your uncle who want extra time

to graze your hair and touch your thighs.

Men who don’t believe in respect for women don’t believe in a PSA.

 

 

So tell the masses America, men are attacking

our sisters, our wives, and our daughters.

Tell us how awful it is to have a man

violate every physical and emotional part of your being.

Preach to our unfaithful choir of a country.

I hope your male political figures make a difference.

Mystery Meat Monster

Created several weeks ago, lurking in the

corner of a lonely tupper-ware, the mystery

meat monster grew. Its bones made of chicken,

its coat covered in green, it begins the takeover of

everything it can reach. It climbs out of the leak in the

plastic, and onto the shelf. It attacks the fruits, the

vegetables need help.  The mystery meat monster

came to my surprise, when I reached for spinach and couldn’t

believe my eyes. He had taken over the shelf and the wall,

nibbling on everything in sight. I held my breath, tried not  to

shriek, kept composure I fought him with soap, hot water,

and rags. He tried to stick around, creeping in crevasses, so

I was left with no choice. I bleached the mystery meat monster,

full force. I destroyed his green and white fuzz as it crawled along ,

I threw away the tupper-ware, rinsed those rags down the drain.

I hope it’s the last time I meet the mystery meat monster, he’ll live

with my food no more.

One Bottle

A bottle of wine will leave her oozing

at the creature next to her, who wears

glasses without lenses and flat brims

of teams that he knows nothing about.

It’ll leave her curled up in the closet with

the lights out, calling her friends, saying

how much fun she’s having. It’ll result in

countless trips to the sink so the water can

make it better, and laying spread eagle on the

floor to rest her eyes.

They Don’t Care

He said they wouldn’t care if he was happy,

or if his dreams came true,

they wouldn’t want a son unless he could do,

the work they ask and

attend the church they please,

even though he feels as if his religion is a disease.

 

The plans he makes he doesn’t want to embark,

but they don’t care about his heart.

And they don’t care until he makes the money that can pay the bills ,

so everything can be settled and still.

They don’t care, they’ll be senseless and harsh,

blinded by ignorance, stubborn from the start.

Although there are all things we wish could change,

some things, like parents, stay the same.

Fuzzy Slippers

When the clouds come over the sky,

and the rain lays in sheets across the city,

I curl up in a red blanket, with warm tea,

crappy romance movies with plots that

will never happen to any person with a sense of reason,

and my fuzzy slippers. Although the weather

may be a bother, inconsiderate to those who travel,

play outdoors, or distract others who choose to have

productive days, I am content.

A movie marathon and fuzzy flippers is all I need.

Shimmers

The cold tube slides around my waist,

fingers numb, breath apparent. my legs

feel the tap of something moving in

the water. My boots plunge into the mud,

teeth chatter. My helmet bumps the wall,

I press through narrow rock and crawl

through tiny holes. But when I look up, I am

hushed by the stars. Despite my chattering

teeth and scratched wet suit, I see something

I could never have imagined. I rest in my tube and

gaze at their reflection on the water. After the

awe sinks in, I remember these are not stars.

These tiny, bright glow in the dark shimmers,

with their threads hanging down around me are worms.

And I am in a cave. These beautiful, breathtaking stars

are not stars of the sky, but stars of the ground.

B.I.T.C.H.

Being, – The very essence of who I am . My flaws, quirks and imperfections. My talents, skills, and personality. My past, my memories, my present, and future opportunities. My appearance on my good days and bad days. My emotions, morals, and values.  Everything I try to hide and everything I cannot hide.

In.- To be surrounded and completely enclosed, without an exit

Total.- Fully and unconditionally involved. An absolute amount of involvement. To become completely and utterly dedicated, without hesitation.

Control-An authoritative confidence that out-weighs flaws. A power over events or reactions to a circumstance. The ability to maintain dignity and composure in the most difficult moments.

of

Herself. – One who can lead to greatness and failure. One who can smile and cry, laugh and fight, help or hurt. One who is imperfectly perfect. One who will keep going for this person, when there is no one else.