A friend once wrote a poem about me
And a part said
"[people] they try to fit her pieces where they shouldn't be...
that is sad though."
But what if I'm handing them those pieces
Begging them to help
"Please, can you tell me
Where this one
And that one go?"
Because today
And most days
I don't even know where my own pieces
belong.
Pieces
May 27, 2020
A friend once wrote a poem about me
And a part said
"[people] they try to fit her pieces where they shouldn't be...
that is sad though."
But what if I'm handing them those pieces
Begging them to help
"Please, can you tell me
Where this one
And that one go?"
Because today
And most days
I don't even know where my own pieces
belong.
I often wonder if something is wrong with my hands.
They don’t seem to know when to hold on
And when to let go—
Always too tight around someone long gone
Always too loose around the boy in my bed.
Hands
April 23, 2020
I often wonder if something is wrong with my hands.
They don’t seem to know when to hold on
And when to let go—
Always too tight around someone long gone
Always too loose around the boy in my bed.
I fall in love too quickly
And I think that’s okay
In fact, I love that about myself
It’s not without struggle or heartbreak, that’s for sure
I don’t know what purpose I believe in for us here anymore
But I do know
That we came here to feel something
And make others feel something too
Make Me Feel
I fall in love too quickly
And I think that’s okay
In fact, I love that about myself
It’s not without struggle or heartbreak, that’s for sure
I don’t know what purpose I believe in for us here anymore
But I do know
That we came here to feel something
And make others feel something too
Everyone always tells you that heartbreak is sad
That they get it
Everyone gets it
But they don’t tell you
How it feels
Like someone
sitting on your chest
While you play house
And all the best tricks and love
Aren’t enough
To make them stay
How powerless it feels
Like caring for a dying grandparent
The end inevitable
So you make it as comfortable and kind
As you can
And in two seconds you’re four again
And dad isn’t coming home
And no one tells you
That hurts too
Because “for the better”
Never cuts it
When you really just want someone
Anyone
To stay
Just a little longer
Just this one time
Playing House
April 20, 2020
Everyone always tells you that heartbreak is sad
That they get it
Everyone gets it
But they don’t tell you
How it feels
Like someone
sitting on your chest
While you play house
And all the best tricks and love
Aren’t enough
To make them stay
How powerless it feels
Like caring for a dying grandparent
The end inevitable
So you make it as comfortable and kind
As you can
And in two seconds you’re four again
And dad isn’t coming home
And no one tells you
That hurts too
Because “for the better”
Never cuts it
When you really just want someone
Anyone
To stay
Just a little longer
Just this one time
Lately, I've felt neither here nor there.
Who am I kidding?
I've felt neither here nor there since the day I was born
Have always wanted to sip the wine
— blood like my first fuzzy baby hairs—
— blood like my first fuzzy baby hairs—
But never drink a full glass.
All I want to be able to say
Is that I lived and tried
Not left gently
Or afraid
Because she who knows love
not need fear death.
But the pews feel so suffocating
While everyone says they can breathe better
The walls feel too high
Too enclosed
The walls feel too high
Too enclosed
I breathe better in open spaces.
I love Jesus-like
While I don't totally love
The God they speak for
Who says no drink of wine
Not even a drop
But what if I want to live
Neither here nor there
For me you have made no room.
No room for the ones I love most
Who think differently, or talk differently
Or who love just like you
Yet you call it an abomination.
I will never drink the full cup,
Only drops here or there
And I'm learning
To be okay with that
I'm learning
To still love my body
my brain
my heart
my soul
That eternally seem to be
neither here nor there.
neither here nor there.
Neither Here Nor There
May 26, 2019
Lately, I've felt neither here nor there.
Who am I kidding?
I've felt neither here nor there since the day I was born
Have always wanted to sip the wine
— blood like my first fuzzy baby hairs—
— blood like my first fuzzy baby hairs—
But never drink a full glass.
All I want to be able to say
Is that I lived and tried
Not left gently
Or afraid
Because she who knows love
not need fear death.
But the pews feel so suffocating
While everyone says they can breathe better
The walls feel too high
Too enclosed
The walls feel too high
Too enclosed
I breathe better in open spaces.
I love Jesus-like
While I don't totally love
The God they speak for
Who says no drink of wine
Not even a drop
But what if I want to live
Neither here nor there
For me you have made no room.
No room for the ones I love most
Who think differently, or talk differently
Or who love just like you
Yet you call it an abomination.
I will never drink the full cup,
Only drops here or there
And I'm learning
To be okay with that
I'm learning
To still love my body
my brain
my heart
my soul
That eternally seem to be
neither here nor there.
neither here nor there.
"We're like bulls in a china shop,"
my Grandma would say,
"us women in this family."
And we miss you everyday.
And we miss you everyday.
Bulls in a China Shop
August 3, 2018
"We're like bulls in a china shop,"
my Grandma would say,
"us women in this family."
And we miss you everyday.
And we miss you everyday.
The other night, as I am wont to do when mad ideas fill my head, I couldn't sleep.
I paced. I "cleaned". I read. I wrote.
I thought about work. I thought about ideas.
Work,
ideas,
Work.
Then I thought about love.
I thought about my family.
My tribe comprises of 7+ kooky trailblazers who have loved and been loved since the day they were born. No questions asked.
We laugh, we cry, we hurt, we love. We repeat.
In fact, if I had to sum up love after all these year of living it would be just that: "No questions asked. We laugh, we cry, we hurt, we love. We repeat."
Because when I've tried to ask questions, when I have tried to control, when I have tried to "laugh, cry, oh-this-is-too-hard, oh-this-isn't-who-I-think-you-should-be, oh-what-the-h-are-you-doing-with-your-life, or why-isn't-my-love-changing-you-into-who-I-need, repeat" I have never created much love.
I created, instead, a desperate and wanting delusion.
Because, in reality, we don't have much say in love.
And that terrifies us.
Terrifies us to the point that we turn love into something it is not: forced, fixed, conditional.
We put rules on love, we require guarantees of love, and we define and confine love until we've lost it altogether.
We crave love so desperately, yet we want it to show up on our short-sighted terms.
So much have I wasted on love-as-it-should-be.
But we can do better.
We can love better,
ourselves,
others.
And for whatever reason, the other night, alone and unable to sleep, family on my mind,
I felt it.
On Love
April 27, 2017
The other night, as I am wont to do when mad ideas fill my head, I couldn't sleep.
I paced. I "cleaned". I read. I wrote.
I thought about work. I thought about ideas.
Work,
ideas,
Work.
Then I thought about love.
I thought about my family.
My tribe comprises of 7+ kooky trailblazers who have loved and been loved since the day they were born. No questions asked.
We laugh, we cry, we hurt, we love. We repeat.
In fact, if I had to sum up love after all these year of living it would be just that: "No questions asked. We laugh, we cry, we hurt, we love. We repeat."
Because when I've tried to ask questions, when I have tried to control, when I have tried to "laugh, cry, oh-this-is-too-hard, oh-this-isn't-who-I-think-you-should-be, oh-what-the-h-are-you-doing-with-your-life, or why-isn't-my-love-changing-you-into-who-I-need, repeat" I have never created much love.
I created, instead, a desperate and wanting delusion.
Because, in reality, we don't have much say in love.
And that terrifies us.
Terrifies us to the point that we turn love into something it is not: forced, fixed, conditional.
We put rules on love, we require guarantees of love, and we define and confine love until we've lost it altogether.
We crave love so desperately, yet we want it to show up on our short-sighted terms.
So much have I wasted on love-as-it-should-be.
But we can do better.
We can love better,
ourselves,
others.
And for whatever reason, the other night, alone and unable to sleep, family on my mind,
I felt it.
 |
| Fresta de luz |
Tonight five 6th grade girls
performed
the most flawless Palestinian dubkeh
I've ever seen.
Mistakes were perhaps present -
perfection just a 10-letter word -
but with every kick and turn,
a full audience came closer
to another world turned not-so-foreign.
Mistakes were perhaps present -
perfection just a 10-letter word -
but with every kick and turn,
a full audience came closer
to another world turned not-so-foreign.
Those little bouncing bodies,
so full of light and love and future,
jumping,
stomping,
clapping
in unison,
hand in hand -
bright-eyed,
hearts pumping -
stomp, stomp,
beat,
stomp,
beat.
One woman
even wept
at the sight of so many tiny dancers
moving to a new rhythm.
A seemingly insignificant
prance,
a mundane little school rehearsal,
on such a microcosmic stage.
Oh, how often we tiny dancers suffer:
Toes bleeding,
we misstep,
we feel too weak,
too small,
too insignificant,
too out of sync,
too overwhelmed by the spotlight
too crushed
by our own inner critique
cutting deep,
that we miss
the rush,
we miss
the rush,
we miss
the dance,
we miss
the woman weeping.
Tiny Dancer
March 23, 2017
|
| Fresta de luz |
Tonight five 6th grade girls
performed
the most flawless Palestinian dubkeh
I've ever seen.
Mistakes were perhaps present -
perfection just a 10-letter word -
but with every kick and turn,
a full audience came closer
to another world turned not-so-foreign.
Mistakes were perhaps present -
perfection just a 10-letter word -
but with every kick and turn,
a full audience came closer
to another world turned not-so-foreign.
Those little bouncing bodies,
so full of light and love and future,
jumping,
stomping,
clapping
in unison,
hand in hand -
bright-eyed,
hearts pumping -
stomp, stomp,
beat,
stomp,
beat.
One woman
even wept
at the sight of so many tiny dancers
moving to a new rhythm.
A seemingly insignificant
prance,
a mundane little school rehearsal,
on such a microcosmic stage.
Oh, how often we tiny dancers suffer:
Toes bleeding,
we misstep,
we feel too weak,
too small,
too insignificant,
too out of sync,
too overwhelmed by the spotlight
too crushed
by our own inner critique
cutting deep,
that we miss
the rush,
we miss
the rush,
we miss
the dance,
we miss
the woman weeping.
 |
| The High Dive |
I once watched a girl
Attempt the high dive
About 25 times
Before she finally leapt
(nay, flopped)
into the deep pool below.
And as much as I laughed inside,
with every small child that passed her by
flipping,
twirling,
diving,
without inhibition,
On so many levels
I knew exactly how she felt.
Because we've all been that girl on the high dive:
Our toes dangling on the edge of something great,
Eyes surveying the height,
Mind weighing the pros and cons,
Heart pumped by exhilarated breathing,
We
Step
Back.
We think.
We fear.
We retreat.
We would rather miss the fall,
the potential flop,
that bruising smack of failure,
the embarrassment of emerging
wind knocked-out
and
spirits
low.
We simply
would
rather
not.
This year, however,
I want to jump more.
I want to jump more.
I want to feel the rush,
the plunge,
the smack,
the bubbles,
the lungs choking on chlorinated laughter
the gasps,
the applause.
I want to feel it all.
So take the job,
tell him how you feel,
call your mom,
start the blog,
start the blog,
u
J m
p
u
J m
p
and then
u
J m
p
some more.
Here's to those heart-sinking high dives.
May we all take them, daringly.
The High Dive
February 26, 2017
|
| The High Dive |
I once watched a girl
Attempt the high dive
About 25 times
Before she finally leapt
(nay, flopped)
into the deep pool below.
And as much as I laughed inside,
with every small child that passed her by
flipping,
twirling,
diving,
without inhibition,
On so many levels
I knew exactly how she felt.
Because we've all been that girl on the high dive:
Our toes dangling on the edge of something great,
Eyes surveying the height,
Mind weighing the pros and cons,
Heart pumped by exhilarated breathing,
We
Step
Back.
We think.
We fear.
We retreat.
We would rather miss the fall,
the potential flop,
that bruising smack of failure,
the embarrassment of emerging
wind knocked-out
and
spirits
low.
We simply
would
rather
not.
This year, however,
I want to jump more.
I want to jump more.
I want to feel the rush,
the plunge,
the smack,
the bubbles,
the lungs choking on chlorinated laughter
the gasps,
the applause.
I want to feel it all.
So take the job,
tell him how you feel,
call your mom,
start the blog,
start the blog,
u
J m
p
u
J m
p
and then
u
J m
p
some more.
Here's to those heart-sinking high dives.
May we all take them, daringly.
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