Missing Piece

Deep inside there is cleverness abound,

never calculating, never plotting, NEVER quiet

overtly obvious to all who care;

no one….

creativity spurred by adrenaline, nature, song

endorphins a necessity,

all that my pores soak up

once recreated with expensive red wine;

waiting for the brilliance to bubble to the top,

the inner voice

tugged me back to my seat

again and again,

and when I sipped, I slugged thirstily,

and when life entered,

I was too big to handle.

I still miss me,

but you could not live there in that place

the residence of the artist “upstairs”

that which must imbibe in absoluteness

to make the wheels spin slower,

quieter, more like you

I miss the artist galloping

on horseback

traversing the prairies, jungles, stretches of green,

 faster than you can say

“Crazy Lisa”

 

 

Exasperation

Tumultuous, bubbling about like teen angst

an angry sea of emotion bumping about my insides

like a pinball bouncing against the glass

that is my skin

what you see is an attempt to fill the sails once more

an attempt to point the bow towards shore

when shore is something unfathomable

something clouded by emotions heavier than fog

How can It possibly be out there

when I cannot see or touch it

how can I just believe it is so?

 

 

Such Great Friends

If I could write a letter to my long lost childhood friend…it would go like this. (Have you written yours yet?)

Dear Kay Kay,

 

   It’s me, Lizzy.   Do you remember me still? The other day my daughter and her friends did a fashion show and dare I say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it wasn’t nearly as wacky with perfect comic pairing of music but pretty close. Wonder what other things that we did together that she will do?
Remember, how we’d scheme up little ways to terrorize that boy who visited only in summer and was a hellion that made us feel like Butte Montana was wall to wall rabble rousers wreaking havoc on our world of suburban utopia? We would spy and write little trails of messages for them to discover? On our most wicked days, we’d get all giggly standing on your deck soaking one of your mom’s tampons in red ink and hucking it over the fence for a slam-dunk right into their pool;  smitten with ourselves.  I think back now this had to be my idea; you were innately more kind than I.  
Our summers were spent staying up late practicing our live version of Reagan getting shot reenacting “Buckwheat is Dead!” And acting out Mr Robinson’s neighborhood. Eddie Murphy, George Michael and Danny Zuko were our heros. Childhood was spent listening to records, pressing our noses to the glass of the juke box and feeling every song as the metal hand set into motion the soundtrack of our youth. Most sleep overs were filled with hours of just us playing pinball, but on occasion there would be sleeping bags of girls lining your basement and I used to stay up all night just so my hair wouldn’t be smashed to one side of my head, I never slept.  That is soo messed up! 

After school was the usual, you preparing me snacks as if I were the queen and then we’d fold paper into delightful little working mechanisms to read our fortunes with. Yours were always creased nicely and ornately folded, mine a blob, with perfect spelling……we’d fill it in with our smelly purple pens; names, cars, professions, numbers of kids we’d have, predicting what our future life would be filled with; whom we’d marry?Secretly we must have known which were the bad apples that turned out to be the Cocaine pushers and those who were indeed gay, no surprise to anyone when they came out. Perhaps just that one….. who came out at our twenty year reunion as a girl instead of a boy.  BTW the class president guy-I see him at the soccer fields all the time, and he speaks to me!
  If I did bump into you today, you might just notice, I am not so consumed with myself as I was as a kid. I don’t drive a garbage truck after all and funny thing…..I got a call from THAT boys sister outta nowhere years back….I did go to his wedding -you know the one-we shared a huuuuuge crush on.  He married some young ethnic girl, nothing like us. I am sure he still pines for us!  He never did become the the button down kid with perfectly trimmed nails.  I do regret having that extra beer at his wedding,  and grabbing the mic for a dedication; something I don’t do anymore.  I don’t do things that are wild or risky or even call attention to myself anymore, in fact it’s as if I have taken on a new identity. I don’t even drink-you might find me almost mellow these days?  Would you have predicted that?

 
Why the letter? It seems so apparent to me now as meaningless as the childhood years appear at the time, I swear they have molded me into something I feel proud of and well, I am glad I am me! The blossoming character building of  grade school friendship feels incredibly eternal-then poof, it’s gone!  
Daily, I watch it under my own nose, mocking my own child as he does exactly the same nerdy things I did at 14!   I watch my boy, fearful to knock on a friends’ doors but rather inclined to just wait for a friend to knock at his-Just as I did.   I see him smile and turn away so I can’t see the glow of his intense happiness….just like me..  I hear him do the forced laugh, or wear the same thing all week because he is immune to caring what people think of his habitual comfort needs.  I see with my own teenager, myself and my childhood all over again.
I’m proud that he is slow to need to impress, and am pleased he too prides himself that his friends are his most prized possession, above all else. It warms me to see his loyalty, loyalty I used to have. I  thought I would savor my mates like a fine cheese, forever but I grew too busy in life to keep up and now I am old and don’t eat dairy. Oh yes the letter, I no longer do anything fear based, just things that make me smile. I won’t forgo an attempt for friendship for fear of disappointing them with my imperfect friendship.

 There is after all, no such thing…..friends inhabit the heart forever and change you.  Perfect plays no part in friendships.
  Today friend, I would NEVER think to correct your spelling mistakes on the notes you passed; I would just simply be giddy to share time spent thinking about things that eventually will not matter.  I would show you long, long ago, I threw perfectionism by the wayside, and kissed it goodbye forever.
As far as your husband goes, I don’t regret being misunderstood, I just regret that you were a bridesmaid in my wedding ….don’t tell me that when Bridesmaids the movie came out-you didn’t watch and think of me?  My only regret is that I made you my bridesmaid. Friendship is doomed- when you make a friend a bridesmaid.  Despite your absence in my life, thank you for all the friendship I carry in my heart today, because you and I were such great friends.

Imagine Away the Hole

theotherlisa1999:

For all of my sober sisters……

Originally posted on wordfulwhimsy:

How I arrived at the Kennel is a mystery.

 Perhaps like a lush arrives at the bottle’s end

I was looking for something.

Biscuit, I would name her, for her toasty almost white fur.

One precocious lab stared me down hard,

Watching me with longing, chocolatey warm eyes

She didn’t know my childhood pooch died in my arms.

I preferred the fictitious lives,

whose pages comforted me always, lining my dusty shelves,

Encounters, if too stirring, I could abruptly set down

My friends, Daphne, Saul, Edith and D.H. would never leave me

Cause even when they died, I could see them again,

If I so chose.

View original

What you see is all of Me

it’s serious, shirt pressed crisp,

white as white

I face the mirror, reluctantly

imperfect, soured by habit;

what I used to see

after magnifying my world, up close to  see the pain

I quiet my judgment,

await the sun to follow the rain;

seek to learn, to know, to be, to practice;

 what’s not natural to my brain

diffuse the jagged sparks of old; 

 manifest as pain

the tenderly surround my inner plight,my truth my good

the path that’s real, the link from eyes to heart

prevails through only art

just as it should

 

 

the burdens of change what’ true fine art

my outward body pleads with my inward soul

my paradoxical self shakes hands with the crazy artist, and suddenly it’s less heavy to lift each foot, and life the endless stroll becomes an adventure

I wear my wrinkles with prideful

as the masochist that used to thirst for blood, is busily collecting the wrinkles of time, no longer wishing to cover up the scars

 

 

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Bigger than Life

The ground dropped out

beneath my soul,

the earth I trusted,

A mud filled hole.

As sure as life was all around

silence stilled hearts, a crack…no sound

Our states’ land spilled forth

battered tirelessly by a drink of rain

washing lives from the earth

as if their presence a stain

crushed like a castle,
tended to by a child’s hand, one fatal wave reduced life to sand,
fragility; a message –bruises hearts with a thud,
your importance is savored deep beyond devastation or mud,
one man’s sorrow described his son’s death as the “devil’s hug,”
Tis true, nature’s claimed you, as sure as the waves lap the shore,
but now you’re bigger than life
reach out your hand,
there’s more.