October 22, 2011

bedsheets of my soul.

I lay wondering.
Wondering what happened to the comfortable laughter.

I miss her.

Lover competes with these bedsheets in catching my tears.
He loves me so much.
He always tears up when I’m unfolding.
I curl in around the pillows and he curls in around me. just holding me. letting me drench these bedsheets.


These bedsheets of my soul. Drenched in the river of my heart.


I dont care if it was all fake or if it was all real or if you hated me or if you loved me. I dont care if everything was all I lie.

I want it back. Living a lie was universes better than this… this empty sister’s heart I have. Throw me back to the sun and let me burn if you must – at least I’ll be able to see your smile from there. watch your red orange rose peach colored treses in envy from there.

I dont care what the past 365 days have done to us. I dont care what the past holds in its clutches or what the future has in its flowering basket for us… I meant it when I said I wanted to watch movies with you like we used, when we’re 80, lying on the floor, eating raw cookie dough by the gallon… just like we used to. And I know it hurt you more deeply than ever when you werent standing next to me when I sealed a commitment with kiss, but I meant it with every fiber of my skin when I told you you were the only girl I wanted there. 

Time had other plans. and I am so deeply sorry.

I meant it when I said I wanted to raise our babies together. I meant it when I said I wanted to live on the same street as you. I even meant everything I ever told you that I didnt follow thru with.  I dont know where you are in your world or what meaning I hold to you, but know that everything that ever came from me was reckless abandon, heartfelt sincerity, love letters with intention of knitting my soul to yours everyday for the rest of my life. That the bond I had with you was not that of friends.

but that of my sister.

October 20, 2011




I have ridiculous dreams of running on all fours.
Of chasing something thru a thick wood, but not ever seeing what is running for it’s life.
I feel the drool drain down my neck as the wind rips thru my hair.
I feel the current in my veins surge thru my rapid rampant heart.
I can taste it. I can smell it. I can feel it in my human mouth.
One of these nights, I will catch it. Whatever it is.

I walk up trees and eat the moths that flap around me.
I feel the evil crawl around on my skin. 
I laugh with a growl. I’m good at this…. Making you fear me. 
I can do anything here. I can eat you if I wanted to. 
Where this wood is, I am Bandersnatch.

In this part of my head, I hate getting lost.




October 5, 2011

the morning in photographs.


Instead of Just Writing about my morning…
I will show it to you in photographs.


While babe sleeps.

I eat breakfast.
In bed.
My cozy cozy bed.

I watched my great grandmother’s 24 carat gold fork move between my fingers.
and I think of her.
Her never ending smile.
Her gentle spirit.
Her very few words.
Such such a lady.

I can’t say the same for myself.
I put wine in my teacup.

I put on Claire de Lune and the rain begins to fall.
Nothing compares to seaside rain.
The atmosphere is drenched in scents and smells of the harbor.
with rain water collecting in our unintentional rain collectors..

I step out underneath it.
Claire de lune calling from the door.
The grass is cold and the rain is more so.
The sky is heavy and my mind is free.

My great grandmother’s feet leave prints in the soil.
 { I used to hate these feet..
until I was told they were hers. }

I stand here.
in the soil.
and think.
and wonder what my Cherokee ancestors would think of me.
I wonder if I resemble them.
With my hair wild and down..
I like to imagine I might.

This morning’s rain rinses me clean.
soaks my skin and softens my hair.
and thoughts are good.

so so good.



October 4, 2011

[trying to find the light switch in here..]

I’m scratching myself raw.
viciously and meticulously trying to find me under my skin.
I’m in here somewhere….

I feel as tho this pilar of human flesh I have to cascade around in are hundreds of separate parts.
My mind panics..
My brain sends wrong messages..
My mouth explodes with words..
My bones crinkle under the sound of my unstitched tongue..
My muscles all pull in a different direction..
One knee buckles while the other stands strong..
My heart… my heart beats its off tempo song.
While I, out here, trying to make sense of it all, am left to orchestrate. 


have you ever been to a symphony?
You know that anxiety inducing few seconds right after the maestro raises his wand?


September 30, 2011

“arms, take your last embrace…”

I flipped thru the archives of my soul like a dusted book from my childhood and I held onto to the smiled that splintered my face.

Then beauty began to resinate thru my bones and every one thing I laid my eyes on, let my ears hear, became something universal.

Something I could breathe in and swallow.

I let words I read move me. 

I let beauty fall into my eyes and I drenched them in water of depth and appreciation.

I heard voices sing.

I read poems giant authors scribbled.

I clasped these lashes and saw a world made of clouds. of a boulevard made of gold. of faces full of peace and mercy. of happiness.

pure happiness.

I stretched out these new arms and tried grabbing onto everything I felt. of the colors He saved for His world. of the love…

the love I still dont quite understand. of the love I know I will only understand until I get there. and then probably still wont.

just wont understand. how. or why. how He could love this. this world of weary flesh.

How I just want to be there. and take everyone with me. I cant wait to just step thru the gates like a lost child.

I cant wait to hold up the line and just let it all sink in. to  close my eyes and whisper, “I’m Home….”

I cant wait to watch my little one run past me. to watch Him bend to His knees and scoop my little one up.

Maybe then the drums will thunder. the harps will vibrate. the chorus full of every voice will belt songs with every amount of volume they can put forth.

This will be the most perfect moment. This will make me cry. and I will cry.

and He will walk up to me. Take His perfect and everso green thumb and push the tears away.

Maybe He’ll wink at me. Maybe He’ll tell me, “I told you so. My silly little girl…” Maybe I’ll laugh. nervously.

I already know the first thing I’ll say to Him. If I can speak. He’ll probably beat me to it, but hopfully, I can tell Him first that…

“I always loved you. Always.”  and then nervously pour into, ” I know I never acted like it, that I wrecked this skin you put me in, that I ruined every chance you ever gave me, that my faith is the weakest thing about me, but I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

I love you. I do.”  

Maybe, I’ll beat Him to it. But something tells me that once His eyes meet mine, I’ll be forever gone. I’ll literally run into Him. 

Forever falling into His arms and crying so hard it breaks the new body He just gave me right in half.

Something just tells me….

I know this will happen.

I already feel it happening down here.

September 27, 2011

What I Ate.


{ zuke – may – tow- egg }

I amaze myself.

I’m not bragging…

I genuinely amaze myself.

I am GOOD at cooking.

{ I’m sure real chefs might think differently *ahem* }

I was never taught how to cook and I rebel against all things “recipe.”

I just summon the kitchen and it obeys.

Today, I wanted something filling, but light and easy on the tummy.
{ I’ve been feeling slightly unmotivated with a loss of apetite due to my son not going to bed til 9 pm,
waking 5-6 times during the night,
and merrily screaming his “Goodmorning Sunshine” song at FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AM.
needless to say, I’m a little out of it. }

If youre having nights like this with your wee ones..

I implore you…

Make the Zukmatoegg:

  1. cut hole in pumpernickel bread.
  2. butter a frying pan.
  3. slap bread on pan.
  4. crack egg in the hole of miss pumpernickel.
  5. with/out breaking yoke, flip egg and bread when reaches desired temp.
  6. let sizzle for a smelly sec.
  7. flip back over and immediately place desired cheese atop.
  8. melt.
  9. place tomatoes and spinkle with S&P and basil.
  10. flip again. just long enough to hear the tomatoes scream for mercy.
  11. I like it tomato up so flip again and remove from heat.
  12. cut your zucchini into thin strips and throw it in the pan with some butter.
  13. let sizzle until desired temp.
  14. pile ontop of tomato.
  15. and VIOLA! the ZUKMATOEGG!

or Zukanater…
or Zooknuker…
or Eggzukto…

or what have you.

But it is down right amazing.


September 24, 2011

{ wonderment }

Chapter 1~
I sit pondering on thoughts that shouldnt be in my mind.  I feel the blood surge thru my veins. dancing and racing. twirling and laughing. I twist my hair in a knot on the top of my head, roll up my sleves, breath in deep, begin to type, and then…. nothing. Like suspended in time, my fingers freeze.  my brain goes numb. my eyes franticly search the keyboard and panic sets in as the letters begin to rearrange themselves. I feel my brain come alive and like a snake it coils in and around itself. its retreating. typical. I had grand plans. I had a story. I have a story.

If only my body would respond to the beauty that envelopes my mind. 

Chapter 2 ~
I want to tell you things that hold me captive. That seize my mind. That throw me to the stars and let me hang for a while. I want to tell you things that break my bones in two. I want to tell you how a person so pretty can bring me to tears. I want to laugh OUT LOUD. I want to tell you exactly what I think and I want to demand the same from you. Why waste your hard work and thought up flattery on me if you dont like me.  The truth behind this acknowledging smile I give you is… I know youre only lying to me. I want to spread my brain out like a blue print to a renovation and go thru every last detail etched in white. Describing to you all its wonder. imagination. memories. empty spaces and why they are left so…

I want to do these things, but my body doesnt respond to the beauty that envelopes my mind…

Chapter 3 ~
Attachment is one of my many personality traits of impeccable flaw. I attach myself to people like a barnacle to a whale.  most the time the whale doesnt even know. So here I am. again. attached. and the whale doesnt have a clue. It sorta hurts, but isnt that my own damned fault?

Chapter 4 ~
I dont see things. at all. Daddy always told me I was forever a four year old with an open heart. If the monsters in my closet told me they were scared too, I’d welcome them in. Well, the heart is closing and I’m beginning to see things as they are… these monsters have fangs. 

Chapter 5~
And I dont think any of this makes any sense…
The disasterously beautiful End.

September 22, 2011

Its Wednesday….

I’m a day late for my post.
For my Just Write post.
I’m typically a day late for everything.
House cleaning.

Its bad.
Its funny bad.

I sit in a heaping pile of baby toys.
The simple kind made for babes just learning to crawl.
He is beautful. My son.
I sit here in the middle of the living room floor becuase its more comfortable
than the 200 dollar desk I bought just for my laptop and all its uses.
The house is so quiet after babe goes to sleep.
So deeply quiet. Its a little unnerving to be honest.
I can’t even remember what it was like before my babe.
I’ve become so accustom to the hustle and bustle of baby tending that I almost
dislike the down time. The down time I can’t wait to seize when I’m hustling and bustling…

Life here in this corner house on Grant Ct is simple.
Not to demanding.
Homemade and comfy.

A fact for today:
I want 7 seven children.
I saw a woman today with 7 children.
All raven haired beauties with their mother’s eyes.
And she was the epitome of “put together.”
With SEVEN little duckies all in a row.
I want to be her.


September 17, 2011

flowering tea for one, please.

I got lost in old letters today.

Its also still raining outside.

I -honestly- feel a little abandoned.

The annoying thing about me….

I feel too hard.

I dont like to call it “dramatic.”

makes it seem like the feeling shouldnt be acknowledged as real,

but mere moments of idiocy.


This is real.

and it hurts.

I stood in the middle of my kitchen looking for food I didnt plan on eating.

Then I remembered my secret pick-me-up that I keep stashed in the very back cabinet.

I save it only for feelings such as these…

hard feelings.

deep feelings.

Flowering Tea for one, please.


the end.

September 16, 2011

– Gabrielle? –

it bites me.
makes me itch.
makes me loath the human staring at me thru the mirror.
the visible scars etched into my arms and legs.
they will always be there…
I thought I could turn them into a positive thing and call them “survival scars.”
I survived myself – but those scars do nothing but laugh at me.
Theyre maps of where my heart went.
where my mind tried to hide.
where every uncontrollable emotion tried to make sense of itself.
I damaged myself. terribly. wrecklessly. my once smooth skin is nothing but a mockery, ridged with lost cause after lost cause.

over time, they sort of – in a way – became a comfort. I liked to think that these scars were from a thorny rose bush just trying to grow on me. unconsciously doing damage on its way up, but trying desperately to become something -someone- beautiful.  Just trying. Just trying so hard.

I have secrets. deep secrets. secrets I want so badly to just write. or speak of.  to scream. I want someone to hear me. someone to congradulate me on surviving what I did, for never speaking of it before, for such a beautiful mind. a mind that can tolerate and control such horrificness. I want that pat on the back – but then I dont, because I know thats all it will be – just a pat on the back.
I dont want you to know my secrets….. I so desperately need you to know.

….secrets that ended up like hyroglifics on my skin.

When he took my out in the middle of no where  – I vanished into these scars. they became a comfort before, maybe they could again.   I closed my eyes and went deep inside the covering of my bones…. the wrapping of my organs. I buried myself. deep deep within my scars. I imagined them like a blanket that I was protecting myself with… monsters cant get you if your under the blankets. 

the monster figured it out. this was a nightly occurance. he was bound to figure it out sometime.
and new scars began to take shape. 
tracing along the curvature of my body, like how I would imagine music flowing thru air, if you could actually see it happening. Try to make it something beautiful….. it was a rose bush before  – it can be music now.  

nothing beautiful ever came of these.
these laughing little demons permenately flawing my skin.
thats all they are to me….
pieces of life that had no direction…
no direction that ended up like a petrified splinter in my olive skin.