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

So Thirsty

SO THIRSTY

It was not that I was ever terribly thirsty.
I wanted the world to slow down,
So I could catch up.
It was not that I was so in love with the taste of hops
Or grapes, it was that I knew inside,
I might never catch up; or bloom, or be good enough
I did not know okay, was…. okay.
There was no wiggle room,
Only room to disappoint.
I never would have been so thirsty
If I had been taught to slow down
To listen to my own cry for help
Or a cry of any kind….
I was told NOT to cry,
Those tears may have rolled
Down my hot cheeks;
Landed on my tongue
And just maybe I wouldn’t
Have felt so thirsty?