It Ain’t Going Anywhere

You know which path,

You know what Y means,

Go it boldly or don’t go,

Eyes open, head high,

Listening, yes distracted, by the soundtrack-the one that plays in your head,

If you’d Knelt down and whispered in your ear,

yes, you’re own ear,

And once again a little louder,

-you’d have said, “you know better”

Standing next to the Speaker, wearing that hat, having that drink,

A sweaty mosh pit reminded you…..

“You are alive.”

I tell him “Son, ear plugs are cool,”

but don’t stand by the speakers, never;

Knowing his brain cannot jump forward in time.

Mesmerized by the drums, pulsing to a whining guitar,

Always Feeling so much more than the auditory nerves can soak up…..

Angry vocals, raw but playful,

Coming together like sugar and cream;

Nothing store bought could compare…….

honesty is meeting a stranger’s gaze,

Courage is not staving off the awkward moment

but relishing it’s teachings.

Beauty is scraping your broken self from the rubber of your shoe,

Feeling defeated but smarter.

Why did I once wince at the imperfections?

…the humiliation, unrelenting palpitations of hurt,

Handcuffs, eyes swollen from tears, defeat.

Embrace it like you did when you saw your first drag queen,

It’s heart is beating, it is truth and it ain’t going anywhere without you.

We are related……but you don’t know about me.

After the StorSecrets, how to keep them…how to hold them, how to look them in the eye when they have burst open and flutter before you like the down of the pillow escaping…….secrets, I can just taste one…. melting on my tongue and disappearing forever

The Doctor’s Recogntion

Heartache fully realized is relief;

Just as a clay sculptor forms brilliance through design

A forever mark, an expression of capability,

A trademark; “of his truth”

Each artist must journey through the kiln,

Pass through the fire, to know

 His realized beauty.

Once, a grey lump of malleable sand and silt

Emotion harnessed from heart-to hand-to object;

Before him in this thing of nature,

That was once meaningless is now exquisite.

The doctor scrawls his words in his notebook

“A slight murmur”

A stethoscope has changed nothing,

This murmur was his song,

Always one beat behind,

Varnished red, as brown as hemoglobin’s shadow

Always a little blue,

A song of a struggle, a song of a want; oxygenation

How do some live an artless life?  

Why do some fight for air, when it surrounds us?

How could art be….

All that it is

Without the doctor’s recognition

of a broken heart?

A Genuine Sort

                         Genuine

I was never the sort

To discard photos of old boyfriends;

…..even after I married.

I wouldn’t ask my husband to delete

Chapters 3-7 of his favorite book?

I was never the sort,

to think, perhaps I knew what I was doing?

From the day I gushed forth onto this earth.

Even in my twenties, when recklessly surveying

 My own resilience in life;

Puking in an alley way after showing the bartender my titties;

Humility was not in check inwardly or outwardly

This I knew, I was a late bloomer

Life itself spoke to me daily in both whispers and shouts,

In neon buzzing letters that dripped from the sky;

Fading into all that I would become.

I was never the sort to ask for help

But would prefer to swallow that whole bottle;

 And have you ask

“Can I help you?”

Now I am the sort where forgiveness is as abundant as poetry;

I want to read the book to its entirety,

Most often a sour start can end so sweetly