The Thankful Bus

17 Apr

Everyone is thankful these days. And it’s not even Thanksgiving.

I hear a gentleman say “Thanks” to the bus driver as he steps out into the street with me. Then, with my feet firmly planted on the cold pavement, a robotic voice coming from the bus kindly says “Thank You” to me and anyone else standing close enough to hear it. Yes, even busses are grateful for us humans these days.

The barista at the coffee shop thanks you for your order as she hands you that coffee, the towel girl at the gym thanks you and wishes you a good day, the farmers at the market’s stands thank you for purchasing their crops…

And I wondered: with so many kind, grateful people around to thank me for my menial gestures and outright responsibilities, do I ever return such kindness to myself?

I can’t remember the last time I thanked myself for doing something good for my body. I exercised this morning and had a green smoothie, and didn’t even think about mentally thanking myself for my wise healthy decisions. Why is it that we treat ourselves so much worse than we do strangers? Why is it that even a mode of transportation like the bus can thank us for merely going along for the ride, and we still can’t thank ourselves when we do good for our soul, for humanity, for that little ant you deliberately didn’t step on?

Be kind to yourself. Don’t just look in the mirror and place the blame for all the terrible things that may happen to you on your own two shoulders. Sure, we could always be better. But now and then, we are good. In fact, now and then, we are really good.

So thank yourself.

Everyone else seems to be doing it already.

L-Shaped Couch

14 Apr

Disaster has become the norm

I run and hide in your L-shaped couch,

Lay across your lap like your second skin

And find in  your arms the comfort no one else could ever give

Because you see the darkness in me

And it doesn’t make you run

You see my imperfections

and somehow love each one

Truth is, Darling you love me more than I could ever love me

More than I would care to love anyone, you see

And you make me feel like it’s ok to just be

So I’ll love you with every breath I breathe

Because my sweets, that’s all I have to give.

Morning Baths in Paris

6 Apr

Been taking a little vacation

Pretending as I sit miday on your couch in a bathrobe

That I still have a place in your life

That things could go back to the way they were,

When they were good

Before we gave it all up

 

But this place doesn’t feel like home

I’ve carried away all traces of me

Now I’m only a ghost

Trading showers for morning baths in Paris

Searching all four corners of this room

For the remaining pieces of me that I’ve somehow left behind in your sheets.

 

 

 

Mid-March

22 Mar

“Have a great day,” he says

As he flashes me his most earnest smile

I’m bare faced, tear stained

Crying in public transportation again

So I say “thanks” and step into the snow

Mid-March

 

Around the bend I make my way

Back to the music house

Searching for things to kick while I walk

Fantasizing about screaming so loud that I swallow the world, 

Whole

And all that’s left is a white screen

Serene

 

Hard days, somedays

Have their way with me.

 

 

 

 

Get It

1 Mar

Tell me

Could you get to be the thing I rush home to be with?

My candlelit nights with Mary Jane and Drake

And a pen and paper,

naked with my thoughts

Bare

Would you flicker enough to hold my attention

Or would I find myself bored by the constant pattern of your shining light?

It’s never easy to love

But there are easier people to love,

than me

Why

then, me?

Your hearbeat,

Would it sync to mine?

Your thoughts,

Could I get inside?

If you wanted to, you’d be there

The depths of my soul, my innermost ghosts

My lungs and on my breath

on my breasts

engraved on my heart,

forever mine and you forever my

Your hand, could I fit inside?

Would you clench to me like an object,

or write with my body your  most beautiful work?

The hope in a blank piece of paper

Is a possibility of the new

And I’d like to feel you down under my skin,

Like a constant bass

buzzing on my body

You’d make it impossible to forget you

And you’d get me enough to know I would at least try

You’d get me because you never got me

So let’s get together

and get it.

She

25 Feb

She is a whirlwind of chaos

Not afraid to live, to love, to fail, to feel every feeling there is

And give names to ones that haven’t yet been named.

 

She is a gorgeous mess of unsaid words,

quietly begging others to crawl insider her heart and live there for a while,

free of charge.

 

She is an illusion, a mystery,

master of reinvention, and a total perfectionist,

Who would never ask of others the same.

 

The world is gray,

and sometimes she is blue

Still, she sees that silver lining and the rose hue of life

And where some may only find silence, for her there’s always a song

In the tip of her tongue

In the sashay of her hips

In the pattern her footsteps make on the snow

 

Yes, she is the moon and the sun

And she doesn’t yet know that she owns the entire sky.

Simple

12 Feb

10 pm
She walks on a white glittered carpet
Around the bend
Straight to the music house
She takes long baths with Mozart
Now and then
To see her body smoke
And the candlelight flicker
When they meet the cold atmosphere

The simple things to her are the most substantial
Perhaps
Because she’s everything but simple.