If we were having coffee… (Everyday Inspiration, Day 11)

If we were having coffee, you might notice
that I am distant. I feel lost.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you
that I took a step towards ruining a friendship.

If we were having coffee, you’d see
that I really do want him to stick around.

If we were having coffee, I might tell you
how confused I sometimes feel.

If we were having coffee, I’d wonder
what you would say about my life.

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Let Social Media Inspire You (Everyday Inspiration, Day 7)

*Note: The main part of this task was to get inspired by a tweet, but an alternate route was to get inspired from a quote from Goodreads, so I chose that path.

“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.”
Elbert Hubbard

By this definition, I have about 2 and a half friends. This is totally cool with me though because I like it better that way, being close to only a few people, but being extremely close to them. So here’s how 2 and a half breaks down: H is about three quarters of a friend, my sister-in-law JT is about three quarters of a friend, and R accounts for one whole friend.

The reason H counts for only three quarters is because he doesn’t know everything yet and honestly I’m not sure if he’ll stick around once he knows the darker parts of my soul, but I hope he stays. JT is only at three quarters because she knows almost everything, but her love is conditional to a degree. R knows basically everything (except a few details of the past 2+ years that I haven’t found a way to tell him about) and his love is truly unconditional. I don’t think I really want more friends than these. I know JT and R would both be there for me in a heart beat if I asked for their help. I love H and JT in the way I love my siblings (well most of my siblings, except MK, but that’s a whole different story).

But R, of course, is in a different category because well for starters he was/is my first love, it meant enough that I married him, and to top it off he’s the father of my children, so even though we are now divorced (or maybe we’re not, I never got any final papers) I still count him as my closest friend. We disagreed about preschool in my parents’ driveway yesterday and during every moment of it I felt love for him, even when I was jumping up and down in frustration and he laughed a little, even when he questioned whether or not he himself had turned out okay and I wanted to yell at him not out of spite or anger but out of frustration that he does not see what an amazing man he has become.

One-Word Inspiration: Secret (Everyday Inspiration, Day 3)

so many secrets
i haven’t yet shared
but i’m in no rush
i feel like
we have a lifetime

and knowing
doesn’t mean you know me
i am more
than my secrets
and you are too

you’ve given me
a few to keep
and i cherish that,
not the secrets themselves
but the trust in sharing

i’ll reveal my secrets
to you in time,
but like i said,
i believe we have
all the time we want

I write because… (Everyday Inspiration, Day 1)

“I don’t know how I could exist if I did not write,” quoting myself here. And I wrote those words to H and later to AM, but this is about me, not them. I write because I like to talk but there aren’t enough people to talk to in person in my life. I write because I have a million things that I want to say to R, but I can’t text him in the middle of the night. I write because my imagination is over-active. I write because it’s natural. Will Stafford was once asked in an interview when he became a writer, he answered that the question should really be when did everyone else stop being writers? There is truth in that. Children are master story tellers and as soon as they learn to make marks on paper, they start to put those stories down on paper. The same is true regarding art, but I digress, this is about writing, but isn’t writing art? I don’t think that I write my poems, my heart writes them, but am I not my heart? I used to say that R was my heart, maybe he is. Does that mean I am R? Maybe soul mates are really pieces that fit together to form a larger soul. Stick to the topic at hand, B. I write because… I write because I exist. Wow, that was deep, yet really simple. I write because I exist. I write because I love, because I dance, because I cry, because I read, because I hike up to abandoned houses with guys I secretly wish I could have sex with, except it’s not so much a secret anymore and it’s only one guy, not guys plural. I write because I see beauty but don’t feel confident with a paint brush. I write because God gave me the words to do so. I write because I am a poem written by God. I write because R loved me with all of his heart for a time and because R still loves me with a little sliver of that same heart, the heart that used to be named after me. I write because people read. I write because I laugh. I write because I like to dress up. I write because I go to school. I write because I want to be a teacher. I write because I want to be like Jesus. I write because I am a mom. I write because words consume me. I write because I am afraid of fire. I write because I want to tell the truth. I write because I can’t tell the truth. I write to see my soul in print. I write I write I write. And I said before that I had never read any of Sylvia Plath’s words, well now I have, she wrote too.

“I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still”
— Sylvia Plath

Image

thru my lense: Solitude

IMG_20160716_111037

hilltop house and H,
it was only lonely
from a distance

up there i was anything
but alone
i was Miss California

and H, the judge and jury
i won,
but world peace wasn’t found

and the wind was wing-man
and i beautiful
and H innocent

even when i took my clothes off
in a lower level room
where someone else left theirs

lines from our lives were told
and still i covered certain lines
then we ran from the police

but maybe that last line
was only in my head.
what would have happened?

with many more minutes
with H’s hilltop house
with wind’s billowing breath

and life isn’t
always always about alliteration
(yes, i meant to type it twice)

 

*Note: I totally failed as far as the photography aspect of this, but the day was absolutely amazing and I wanted to write about it. I took this picture right after I got off the bus today; I told myself I would take a better one on the hike up, I forgot; I told myself I would take a better one at the top, I forgot; I told myself I would take a better one on the hike down, I forgot. I was too busy enjoying an amazing day with an amazing person to focus on taking an amazing photograph. But H did take a couple up top, so we do have photographic evidence of the day. It happened.

the forest and everything in between

in 16 years we’ll take the trip
the lower 48, maybe lower Canada,
and upper Mexico
me, you, and Indie
a little Gypsy wagon hitched up behind

you’ll be in your late 30s
me, early 40s
each have a birthday on the road,
but still plenty young for adventure
show me Portland, i’ll show you everything

*In response to Journey.

Saturdays are Good for Somethings

I’m in love with C. That sucks. I don’t know if he’s ever gonna come around again, but if he does I’ve worked it out in my head how to stay just friends. If he never comes around, I’ll be okay, I’ll miss him, but I’ll be okay. I’ve learned how to let go and recover, I might cry a little, I’ll write poems about him, maybe I’ll always love him with a little piece of my heart, but I’ll always love him, I know this. I hope he’s doing okay. I deleted him from my phone because I didn’t want to risk saying stupid things to him. He needs time to heal and maybe he doesn’t know how to be friends with a girl he’s into, and maybe he’s into me too, maybe. I don’t know if I’m right, but I think C picks a certain kind of girl, and he thought I was that sort of girl, but I am not. This thought brought forth a line:

Maybe damsels in distress who can’t won’t save themselves shouldn’t be rescued at all.

I had a great day today. I hung out with H. Coffee, bookstore, sushi and saki. It was really great. H is weird, excuse me, creative. We were going to get Pink Ladies at Starbucks, they were all out, H was devastated. We got white mochas instead, his hot mine iced. He’s reading Almost Home by Jessica Blank, I’m reading Me Before You. I gave H Blue Like Jazz. H bought 5 books, I bought 3. H claims he’s not very bookish, yet he ended up with like 10 books in the backseat of his car. I got Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote (who apparently also wrote a book called In Cold Blood, which the bookstore lady described as a rather graphic crime story), Animal Farm by George Orwell, and The Taming of the Shrew (the No Fear Shakespeare edition). I don’t remember all of the books H got, but it seemed like a pretty good selection. I almost walked out with Message in a Bottle (Nicholas Sparks), but put it down in favor of picking something with more depth and street cred, hence my three final choices. H went pee in the bookstore, in the restroom of course. He texted me from in there – “It’s good to use the restroom here”. Apparently the bookstore has an amazing facility – the walls are wallpapered with book pages, it is beautiful. H treated me to sushi. I actually managed to kind of sort of use chopsticks okay. And I tried saki for the first time, not a fan.

After, I took the bus to my brother’s house and hung out with my family. That was really great too. I love my family. They are so weird, I mean, creative. I laughed so hard. I spent some time looking after my three little nieces, they are all so precious. Everyone said they were glad I came. My family hasn’t always liked me, they used to think I was stuck-up. I don’t think they think that anymore. We talked about taking over this town as a family. We’d have a coffee/burger joint, a bed and breakfast, a tow service, and I think an auto restoration service was thrown in there too.

And I decided I’m going to splurge on bookshelves for myself next month. Sometimes I refuse to spend money on myself, but this time I logicked this out and it makes sense to buy the bookshelves. I have tons of books, I have no intention of getting rid of any books (except occasionally giving one away to a friend, and then I’ll probably buy myself another copy of the book), I buy new books often (this week I got 10 total, I think, and I should be getting one more in the mail on Monday), books enrich my life, books widen my vocabulary, books help me process difficult parts of life, books are important to me beyond description. So my books should have a lovely place to call home.

Liberal Use of Links and a Poem

So my “break” only lasted 3 days. I’ve never been very good at taking breaks from things like this. I’ve got too many things in my head that I wanna share. Like the events of the awesome day that today was. A non-chronologically ordered summary of my day:

I wrote two poems today, one short and one long-ish (typical anony style), but I can’t share the long one because I let someone in and for safety sake I want to keep a wall up, even if it’s only paper thin. I had an amazing afternoon talking to an amazing person, H, who I mentioned a week or so ago. We sociologied (yes, no, not a word, I know, but I’m entitled to creative liberty sometimes) M and M while waiting for the buses to return. It had some intense moments, but overall it was pretty chill. We made a game out of tossing rocks at the second M’s empty suitcase. Oh and I bumped into C at the grocery store this AM and told him about my car and he offered to help me paint it, so that’s kind of cool. Went book shopping with my mamma: Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, The Shack by William P. Young, I Can Read with My Eyes Shut! by Dr. Seuss, ‘What time is it, Mother Bear?’ by Gina Bencraft, and a Tonka board book about numbers and vehicles. Started reading Blue Like Jazz, I’m loving it. When I got home from school, I found that UPS had left me my next book review book. Gonna try H’s sticky note approach while reading it. And in between C and the bookstore, I bumped into a childhood friend, J, at the gas station. He is a story all his own that would take a lot of keystrokes to tell, maybe someday I’ll type it. In between the bookstore and the afternoon with H, there was class, which was pretty good, lots of lively discussion, and no one died, which is always a plus in Sociology class. Capped off the day with a trip to the local bar and grill with my mamma for some late night nachos. Other things happened, I’m sure, but those are the highlights. So many parts of my universe collided today, I had to remember to keep my spacesuit on. And now for my short poem:

Title: “Jaded”

I used to ask a lot of questions.
I ask a lot less now.
It’s because the less I know,
the less there is to like.