i forgive you…

i forgive you for being angry at her
i forgive you for gossiping about her
i forgive you for assuming things about her
i know you forget that you don’t really know her

i forgive you for not always loving R
i forgive you for sometimes hating R
i forgive you for not trying harder
i forgive you for giving up on me
i forgive you for not always loving me

i forgive you for not being a good mom
i forgive you for resenting your children
i forgive you for wishing you weren’t a mom
i forgive you for hitting J
i forgive you for neglecting T

i forgive you for blaming R
i forgive you for thinking it was his fault
i forgive you for being angry at him
i forgive you for struggling to forgive him

i forgive you for hating your hometown
i forgive you for talking badly about your father
i forgive you for not feeling attached to him
i forgive you for thinking badly about your mother

i forgive you for your suicidal thoughts
i forgive you for your dreams of running away
i forgive you for your need for attention
i forgive you for your flirting
i forgive you for your asocial behavior

i forgive you

i could go on all night
forgiving you
could spend the rest of my life
forgiving you

forgiving myself


sometimes i look at them
and i think they are
little versions of us
T looks more like me
and J like you
but for the eyes and lips
T has full lips like you
J’s thin like mine
the eyes don’t make sense though
they’re brown, as are yours
but yours have no green
the way our boys’ do
and a funny thing about eyes:
i read (or maybe heard) once
that they are already full sized
the day a person is born
so maybe they look like
a miniature me and a miniature you
but there is nothing
miniature about their
ever-changing yet never-changing
green-browns that pierce my heart

In response to Miniature.

five years from now…/080816 (Everyday Inspiration, Day 20)

What will I be doing five years from now? As far as writing goes, I know I will still be writing because I’ve always written, but I don’t know if I’ll be writing as much or as often as I do now or if I will still be posting on my blog. I hope I do continue on with my blog, but I’ve abandoned blogs in the past and I’m not sure if I’ll continue my pattern. As far as life in general, I will be 31 going on 32 in five years, which is the age of one of my brothers currently. He and I are five years and one week apart. I often wonder if it was weird for him that seven days after his fifth birthday his mom went to the hospital and came home a few days later with a baby sister. I am sitting at the kitchen table of my oldest sister, I hope I will spend many more moments at this table during the next five years. I hope I will spend many hours during the next five years with my nephew who isn’t born yet, five years from now he will be 4 years old anticipating his fifth birthday, the same as my oldest son presently. Five years from now J will be nine years old and T will be seven years old. Five years from now I don’t even know where I might be living, whether I will still be single, if I’ll be teaching, if I’ll have a college degree, or if I’ll still be taking classes. But tonight, I’m not gonna worry about it. Let tomorrow worry about its own self.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. -Matthew 6:34 NKJV

Wor(l)d Traveler (Everyday Inspiration, Day 16)


A mother’s soul is complex and beautiful. A mother’s mind is scattered and loving. I want my children to know they were loved and cherished. To have the memory of a mother’s voice sung and words read and rhymed. I hope they will feel it was soup for the soul. This mother’s heart aches when she has a traveler’s soul and the love for a land she’s never been. But she wouldn’t dare leave while these children need her the same way they need water and food. She will stay for them because they’ve got memories like elephants and she wouldn’t want any bit of them to be sour. The youngest, his name has four letters; the oldest, his has five. When she speaks of them, she speaks of love.

a few words about fathers

I have a father. As messed up as this will probably read, he’s just my father. I don’t feel much fondness towards the man. He’s a decent human being sometimes. He has mostly provided for his family. But I don’t feel close to him. I used to be “Daddy’s Little Girl”, but then I learned a lot of things about him when I was a teenager, things that I do not like. He’s been a better father than some men I’m sure. He did/does the best he personally can.

My children have a father, R. He is an amazing father. Some people think he’s irresponsible and makes bad choices, but I have never seen anyone love his children more than R loves J and T. J was born 2 or 3 weeks before Father’s day. R has a tattoo on his left arm that he got before I even got pregnant with J, that’s a promise that he will always be the best father he can be. It is Winnie the Pooh and friends in like a cuff around his forearm. When I talk about R people look at me funny because I speak off him with affection and gratitude. We are not your typical exes who hate each other and we most definitely do not use the kids as pawns or weapons. When R drop the boys off at my house, I meet him in the driveway, I unbuckle T and he unbuckles J, he walks us up to my mom’s garden, that’s where the kids wave bye to him as he drives away. When R picks the boys up from my house, he walks toward the house to meet us, often J wants to show him something, R lingers for a few minutes to look at the mud in the pool or a new plastic shovel or whatever imaginary food J had been cooking that day, I buckle J in and R buckles T, I say “drive safe”, he says “see you on Tuesday”, I say “text me when you get home if you remember”. Sometimes he remembers, sometimes he doesn’t.

One of my brothers is expecting his first child later this year, a son. He is not with the mother still though. He is one of those people who doubts his ability to be a responsible parent, this makes me sad. He has a huge capacity to love and that is the first step towards being a great parent, you just have to remember to always act out of love for your child. My sister-in-law (my other brother’s wife) and I are throwing a viking themed “daddy-to-be” baby shower. The child has an unfortunate name, but who am I to talk?

C’s dad has a job that takes him away from home during the Christmas season. Because of this C hasn’t spent his own birthday with his dad since he was preschool aged, C’s birthday is at the tail end of November.

I think C longs to be a father, or at least a step-father. He is attracted to older women, especially ones that already have kids. I think this has something to do with the fact that he lost his mom when he was a kid.

i’m sorry, William

eighteen thousand seconds from now
the sun tea will be ready
eighteen years from now
j and t will be twenty two and twenty, respectively

eighteen days from now
something will happen i’m sure
eighteen lifetimes from now
will anyone remember us?

tomorrow will not care
what today promised
and yesterday doesn’t know anything

i’ll be ninety six some day
and i’ll look around
“it was a good life”

growing and stoping and going

this one ive used often
in poems letters journals
but today i dont know how

j gave you a snap pea
you ate half offered half to t
he didnt want it

you said no thank you
when he handed it back
said youd eaten enough vegetables today

i sort of laughed
t gave me the pea
i almost ate it

but then i wondered
if that would be weird
for you at least

because your mouth touches hers
and other things
not just mine any more

this isnt about a brick at all
but still distance
maybe we can close the gap with gardens

*In response to Brick.

Hypoallergenic Poetry

I understand now
why we take photos
or write a memory down.
It’s because of fear;
fear that no moment
will ever be as beautiful
as this one.

But it’s a lie.
Every moment is beautiful,
each could be better
than the one before it.
If we look for it,
we’ll see it’s there.

It’s in the gluten-free chalk dust
that J says is “powerful.”
It’s in the way R stretched
on Tuesday when he was comfortable enough.
It’s in T’s favorite sentence,
“Here you go.”
It’s in this purple maxi dress
that I wore to bring a baby home.

It’s in my pen as I write
and later in my keyboard.


It’s 4 a.m. (Really it was 3:30 p.m.)
But don’t throw me the life buoy,
I’m not drowning yet.
This is perfectly safe,
I’ve done it a thousand times.
The mark will be small,
and don’t worry, I won’t go too deep.
Almost two years in recovery,
and I still think about it.
Still write about it.
Always recovering,
never recovered.
I’ll carry the scars and the thoughts,
my entire life.
Don’t be scared though,
I won’t leave you.
The reason you are here:
same reason I stayed.