little by little

the wheels 
have been put
into motion

as the night goes long
and my fingers fidget
i laugh

i've no ring to pawn
pass on
tuck away in a small box
pushed to the back of a drawer
to be forgotten
until it is remembered
during sad
sauvignon nights

contemplation continues

there was never 
a proposal
the 'big rock" moment
joyous tears
speech impeding shock
the announcement
and following picture
to the circle of friends
oohing and aahing
the phone call
to parents
sharing the same 


just an obligatory acceptance
of wedding
the mother
of his 

i would like to think 
he loved me
i would like to believe
i was more than a
live-in maid
personal assistant
i would like to hope
that it wasn't all for 


i don't
i can't
i won't

i will keep 
churning the crank
operating the 
and tired 
rickety yet
integral to
and capable of
the shackles
which once
bound me
to him

yet again

one would think
I'd have given up by now
the hopes
of a union
where I was a person
not property
to be treated
the way 
I treat them
with compassion
to be loved
the way I love
with acceptance

but bumps 
do not deter me

the flaws and follies
of others
are not my responsibility
the coldness
and underlying
do not phase me
as I've dealt 
with far worse

I will simply
keep going
as I always have
I've a lot to accomplish
in so little time
and if another
stumbles onto my path
choosing to walk
along side me

I'll let them

until they, too
find issue with the direction 
I'm heading
the fact that I'm still walking
and not hailing
a cab
and when they start to pick away
at how I can be
getting to where I'm going
much more efficiently
(to them)
I'll listen

and continue my journey
the way I see fit
whether they 
choose to be a part of it
or decide to disengage
is not
a concern

I'll not be pushed
to alter my course
or mode of transport
I'll arrive
when and where I need to
with or without
a companion

Tia Molly

I kissed two fingers  
and then
pressed them 
upon her 
surprisingly smooth
my boys
kneeling beside me
kept quiet
no one told them to
they seemed
to gather 
the gravity of grief
all on their own

I didn't expect the tears
she and I weren't close
there I was


the heaviness
pervaded my being
I knew
I was heartbroken
for the ones
she left behind
but mostly
her sisters...
just as tiny and frail
just as angry 
just as hopeful
just as loved
just as stubborn
in the face 
of lives 
which never came easy

I sobbed.

Here it was.

the blinding awareness
of my warm
two fingers
pressed against
her cold
and surprisingly smooth


i peer at her
on the quiet days
black ink
white paper

a treasured sketch
a gift
which I'll
never part with

i think

today is the day
i will take the picture 
out of the frame
read the message
left behind it

i haven't though
so many of those
have passed
i've come to accept
the reality

i'll never do it

i am not 
nearly as strong
all that

scrolling through

a photo of him
grinning with a friend
interrupted her afternoon
of apathetic
time wasting
doom scrolling
political soundbites
status updates
announcing mostly
the mundane

and nestled between
all of 
the nonsense
there he was
a snapshot
next to a gorgeous gal
strands of his hair
catching the wind
eyes squinted against the sun
smiling for the selfie

and she was 
given the unwelcome
the lost friendship 
the absence of
being seen
to the depths 
of her core
by someone
once considered
Real and

making her 
also feel
Real and 

she didn't linger long
the disconnect
the indifference
made this
an easy

good for him,
living life...
she thought
remembering all the things 
she had wanted to do
to explore
to discover
to talk over
to dream about
with him

she kept swiping
they only loved
the idealized
versions they had created
of each other
and that
made it 
not so bad

but damn
if losing his companionship
as a confidante
didn't still 
something Fierce


i see
the glitter
a glimpse into the eyes

they are live

shimmery specks
of splendiferous 
fuzzing about
the periphery
of the pupils

joyous crackles
crinkling the

pure and present
pouring abundantly

in a tiny

to be sighted 
and swallowed
through such 
an ecstatic lens

the pulse

i am dizzy
brought to 
much needed


my love
has always been

paw prints
left new
on freshly fallen
shadowed cutouts
the gauzy glittered mat

the chill waft
of the 
incoming storm-soaked wind
cooling the beads
of summer sweat
on the shoulders
of the worn

the sizzle of the
feeding the 
small fire
constant and
the gift
yet generous

this is why
i am flummoxed

meets peace...
and the world
turns upside 

the passion ensuing
the blizzard 
brilliant and dangerous
phenomenally blanketing
all in crystalline 
paw prints lost
tenderly forgotten
during kisses
and soft

the warmth of hearts colliding
thunderous crackles
the branches shaking 
to keep from roots
as torrents
the peasant ground
we splash in muddied puddles
in hysterics
why not

your hand in mine
flames flickering
upward and 
silver slivers
tinted white
golden blue sparks
splintering the darkness

a blaze

and we are 
the old
the dying
curling into
burning to ash

my love
has always
been quiet

until with you

July 3rd and I can’t sleep

I miss them all

despite the tears
broken words spilling out 
into the vacuum of indifference
guttural cries
in the dark

the cat dismayed
at such overly dramatic displays
of the 
Once Again
coupled with the
I'll Never Learn

i do miss them

not with the longing
of what is lost forever
nor the sentimentality
of all the previous love's 
hazy rosy eyed gazes

i miss the moments
that were brand new
gleaming like chrome
before familiarity
before we disappointed
one another
when we were
not of this realm
this mortal plane
we were
celestial beings
odd outsiders
crazy puzzle pieces
fitting in a way
quite unlike
the others
i miss the stars
in our smiles
i miss the way
a small touch could set
our skin on fire
i miss the quiet breathing
of sleep
next to my awake
the songs we hummed to
the conversations 
long rainy afternoons
i miss
the hops in our laughter
every day being a better day
because we were in it


i find i miss them most
during the quiet nights
my solitude,
my haven
the silence
reminds me
that i am alone

i miss them
those who took my time,
my space, 
my love,
and nurtured it
until it was no longer
worth the effort
i am made only that 
much more aware

i miss the Me
i always was
in the beginning
the most

Don’t Forget

"Don’t forget where you came from"
I haven’t
I won’t.
Every time my boys cry
I remember
My little brother 
Not even 7 
Quickly wiping away tears
Because he was being called a faggot
A sissy boy.
A “little girl”
Those last two words hurled with a sneer
Because we all knew, having feelings was relegated to the card carrying vagina members
And that was shameful
Uncles and his own mother
MY mother
Drug addled and bitter
Insults as poisonous darts
Piercing my gentle younger sibling’s soul.
I don’t forget where I came from
When I call them to me
My weeping children
Feelings are everything and sometimes can only be expressed through tears.
I hold them close. 
I ask them to use their words.
Sometimes I am just as frustrated as they are.
But I’ll not shame them.

"Don’t forget where you came from."
I fucking remember.
I learned how to swallow the torrents of pain which threatened to
Break through the dam of my lids
I’m tough
I’m untouchable
Crying is for the weak
You’ll never break me.
I am Stronger Than All Of You.
When my mother called me a whore after I had been raped at 12.
When my grandmother told me I “shouldn’t have been out that late” after being assaulted and almost gang raped at 16.
When anyone I had ever put trust in proved to be unworthy of that privilege.
Yes. I remember where I came from.

I came from The Vicious Cycle.
I came from the Women Who Accepted The Very Least And Counted It As The Best,
I came from the Long Line of Toxic Masculinity Disguised As The Norm
I came from the Over and Over and Over 
And Over AGAIN
Because That’s JUST HOW IT IS.

I remember where I came from.
My great-grandmother doing her best to shield me from the Bad Touch Uncles. Failing. Begging me to not anger my grandmother because she could not stand to hear her beat me. Shamed because it was a mirror of her past behaviors.
My grandmother crying in silence when she got the news her mother had passed. Becoming stoic in less than a second of being noticed. After all, she had to be “strong”. More guilt than grief for she hadn’t been kind to her ailing mother. 
My mother nursing wounds in private which occurred decades ago because trust wasn’t her strong suit. Self-medicating in the worst way; escapism was easier than the thorny shit reality left to face. Homeless, drug addict, write off.

I remember where I came from.
I came from a great great grandmother who was married to a 27 year old man at the age of 12. A woman who had her first living child of a dozen at the age of 14. A woman married to a man who liked his little girls a little too much, which did not exclude his own daughters. A woman who never knew an easy day the way we know easy days.
I came from a great grandmother who took her 3 little girls, left her husband and the boxcar they were living in to search for something better. A woman who started fresh in Chicago, working several jobs, never taking a husband until her girls had married on their own for fear of what they would suffer at the hands of a strange man. A woman who worked hard her entire life to leave something of substance for her girls. A woman who failed at being kind to her daughters, whose love and desire to protect became unyielding suffocation and unnecessarily harsh discipline.
I came from a grandmother dedicated to never being as cruel in punishment as her own mother was, yet failing because she unfortunately had her mother's temper. A woman who decided that after all the heartbreak, she would rather spend the rest of her days alone. No one could hurt her if she didn't allow them into her life. A woman who raised her grandchildren in hopes to fix the past mistakes she made with her own. A woman who was sorry, but had not any inkling on how to apologize.
I came from a mother with a heart so huge and compassionate, you’d never see it past her stony exterior. A woman with enough demons to stock a second hell. A woman who has not yet forgiven herself for things everyone else has already forgotten. A woman who could have been a good mother, had anyone ever given her the chance and  belief. 

"Don’t Forget Where You Came From."
People toss that around like it means money. Stature. Material Bullshit.
I remember where I came from.
A long line of women
Who could have been 
Were they not women.
Who were weak when they should have been strong, mistaking what it was to be either.
Who loved and were never loved back
Who woke up every day… wondering… Is This Fucking It.
Women who tried. 
Who stopped trying because it just didn't seem worth it.
Women fierce and soft
kind and cruel
quiet and loud
Women who have taught me
albeit inadvertently
just how important it is
to live life with
compassion and forgiveness.
How important it is
to know my worth.

I carry a piece of each
In random memories of their grimaces, frown lines creasing foreheads.
Black & white photos of forced smiles.
Candid polaroids of true joy.
Spontaneous thoughts and ideas of how to be better.
Song lyrics out of the blue which they would hum during the 
few moments when they were happy
(a character trait of which I am happy has been passed down through the generations)

I'll never forget.
I am well aware 
Who I am.
Where I came from.