Wednesday, May 20, 2015


when our conversation turns from nonsense to complaining, i rant.
my sister complains of how she knows what her life should be, so why shouldn't she make it happen?
and i tell her to get over it. to get over herself. because life is not always as we think it should be.
life is not in our control.
i would love to have a full bank account and a plane ticket to Paris,
but do i? no.
i would love to have a boyfriend that called me up every day to say i love you
but do i? no. 
i would love to have a farm with a cute little house filled with kids and love and barn animals dancing all around,
but do i? NO. 
i would love to have absolutely no worries, to have friends that understood the deepest darkest recesses of my mind and feelings, to have LIVED, to know what i'm supposed to do and be and create,
but DO I? NO.
sometimes you just have to GET OVER YOURSELF and just LEAVE LIFE BE. it's not perfect. it never will be, so just -
she tells me.
close thine mouth. do not deem yourself worthy to speak to me while i lounge here, sleep, and try not to kill you in my anger.
surprisingly, i do shut up.
as i think upon my harsh words, i wonder if i perhaps need to take my own advice.
i recognize my fantasy world of dreams and wishes, worries and fears,
the tension that surrounds every little thing.
the projection of feelings: that i am inadequate
that everyone is disappointed in me
and my life
and my choices,
that i am a failure.
i think that yes, my life could be better.
but it could also be worse.
wishes are not tangible.
they are whispers,
becoming useless at the first tinge of dampness.
am i worrying about my life?
so much that i'm missing it.
i don't take it back, i say. 
i needed to hear that for myself - not say it to you.
but that's how it came out.
taking your own advice?
i think i need to.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

change not

what do you do when you want to say i love you but you aren't sure if its true?
what do you do when you want to step forward, but that means stepping off a cliff?
what do you do when the end of the story comes, but you know more comes afterwards?
what do you do when every sentence starts to sound the same?

how do you react when he tries to hold your hand, but you don't want him to.
when she wants to be friends, but you just don't like her.
when they expect you to do one thing, but you do the complete opposite.
when you're you, but no one realizes it.

why do we mask our true self?
why do we run from what we want?

is it the a terrible beast
in the night?
it roars and screams,
killing our dreams and breathing life
into our fears.

wishing to make us

but we have to resist.
we must hold firm
to what we know:

that the love is true
the cliff has stairs
there is a sequel
and the sentences sound the same because we have a limited vocabulary.

he likes you. deal with it. other people don't like you so well.
be her friend, because she needs one, not because you do.
do both: the expected and the opposite. but do the opposite first,
so they know that you will be you first, not last.
then they will see you.
not your reflection
or your mask.

they will see the self that you run from.
the self that you run from because its beautiful -
not like what they want you to be.
it's a glorious creation,
not the beast everyone tries to accuse it of being.

But you are perfect.
just you.
not what they want you to be.
will you conquer it - the expectation?
expectations are just ripples on the lake, so flimsy, only created by wind.
they aren't the lake itself.

expectations leave.
from generation to generation
and each has a higher standard
than the last.
expectations are unreliable.
you are not.

so, if you're confused about the words that are in bold (as my mother informed me that she was) try this: read the poem once through, just regular, don't put emphasis on the bold words. Then read it again, but this time ONLY read the words in bold. two poems in one! bad-um-tsh....yep. Enjoy!

Monday, May 11, 2015

ma mere

I think my mom is the greatest.
Even on mother's day, she's doesn't stop. She keeps going. I try to help, try to get her to sit down and relax. Come on, Lexy, unload the dishwasher...Mom, you go sit down and relax.
But she doesn't. Let me make dinner for you, I say. But she's out in the garden, madly weeding and planting and planning, reading books on health and juicing and her new blender. She's thinking about Lexy's graduation. She isn't stopping.
When I have a meltdown (an untimely one) and question the existence of the universe, she doesn't say It's mothers day...leave me alone. let's talk about this later...I'm too tired. She sits with me, and listens, and closes her eyes. She looks like she's sleeping, but somehow, I feel like she's praying too. She wishes me the best, and tells me that its okay, that I just need to trust. That we aren't supposed to get WHY God did everything he did...that we just need to live, and know that he loves us. that he knows. it baffles me, but she prays, and I feel a little better.
She watches me. When I think I'm not ready, she shows me how far I've come, and how I'm prepared for the next step, even though I don't feel like it.
When I become stagnant, waiting for a wave that's not going to come, she pushes me into the deeper water. She knows I can handle it.
She is herself, but also self-less. Maybe unwillingly. But she's good at it. Is it all the years of practice? Minute after minute after minute of being MOM, that beautiful, hard job of creating and shaping people.
I think it's a title. She is MOM. her name is Melody. but to me, she is MOM. actually, it's beyond a title. It's a job, without the pay, without the appreciation that a volunteer gets. its somehow worth it, sometimes, and sometimes, you can tell that she just wants to run away, because being a mom is hard work. almost not worth it work. almost too hard. but she does it anyway. somehow.
She is the support when I don't have energy. She's the voice in my head, even when she's not in the same room, that repeats the lessons.
even simple stuff, like I before E except after C and when it sounds like A is recorded in my mind in her voice, with the lilt that I can't master. And when I start to color the paper-covered table at bible study, her voice takes me back to 2nd grade when she would read aloud our history lesson of Benjamin Franklin or Leif the Lucky, and we would color the picture that went along with it. Or the fictional geography stories as we colored our 6th grade maps of parts of the world.
She's beautiful. Olive-tan skin, wrinkling at the corners of her mouth when she smiles and in between her eyebrows when she's thinking or upset. The way she waves her hands when she talks, her knuckles sticking out a little, with the strong, light fingernails. Sometimes they have dirt under them, from working in the garden. Her dark hair, evenly sprinkled with silver hairs. She keeps talking about getting it colored and highlighted again, but I like it salt-and-pepper. She's more her that way.
Her quickly-waning obsession with coffee that she has passed on to me and my sisters. She doesn't drink it anymore. Says it gives her hot flashes. But her three daughters love it.
She is my guide to life. She knows so much. Not just academically (she homeschooled one kid from 3rd grade up, and two all the way - K through 12), but spiritually, emotionally, mentally. She knows things that you don't get until you're older. She just knows. You know how God is all-knowing? He gave some of that trait to moms when he made them. Something about having kids kicks in the eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head mechanism. Maybe it's the hormones.
It's intimidating. To have such an incredible role model. I feel like, if I ever have kids, I won't be able to match up to the standard she's set. She's perfect.
I mean, yeah, growing up she made me mad plenty of times. But in hindsight, every time she told me NO, every time she said You need to think twice about what you're wearing, who you're hanging out with, the media you're choosing....she did it all in love. She wanted me to be the best that I could be, and she was - and is - going to do everything she can to make sure that I have the opportunity to be that.
It's nice to have that. Someone always in your corner. Between God and my Mom, I'm set. I can do anything with them on my side. so, yeah - Happy Mother's Day to the best mom in the whole world. You are incredible. You have such patience (with me and everyone else), such depth that is hard to find in people now days. You are an awesome walking buddy, and you listen when I talk, even when I'm just spouting nonsense. You hold me when I cry over spilled milk, or the irrelevant equivalent of that. You are a Mom. and that's the coolest thing ever.
I love you.