Independence Day

I stopped loving you
The day you stopped loving me
I doubt that 
You were aware
But I 
Was. 
The judgment   
The control. 
Took me 
Awhile
But today
Is
Independence Day
Love looks
Different to 
Everyone…
But me baby..
It looks nothing
Like this. 
That was yesterday
And 
Today…
It’s Independence Day. 


The Rain

I pass it twice 
To and from my day.
Third floor
Fifth window from the right.
No matter how
Hard I try 
Not to look
I do..
Its the room
Where we
Consumed
Each other
Time after time.
If only
I had that time
Machine
Go back
Knowing
It would be
The last
Time.
The last time
To feel that way..
Last time to look 
In your eyes.
Sometimes when I pass by
The curtains are open
And I remember standing there
Watching the lightning
Feeling the thunder..
Teasing you..
That this drought ridden hell
Has finally found relief
And you are the cause
That you’ve brought the rain.
That like me..
The months of waiting
Have been worth it..
The dry earth and me
Are soaking it up.
But time passes
Things change
And the realization 
That loving a man
Who’s heart is locked away
Is worse 
Than any drought
Lack of rain
Lack of love…
So I know it’s wrong
But I pray
For the drought
To continue..
Because no matter
How bad it’s 
Needed 
When you come
You bring the 
Rain.


Scoot In

Night falls
And here they come
Every time
My god
They scoot in
Close.
Mistakes..
Regrets.
They whisper to me
Reminding me.
I hate them
Yet I wait for them
With anticipation
Breathe them in.
Welcome them.
Embrace them.
Play them
Over and over.
In my head.
Feel it…
Till it hurts.
I never saw you coming.
Never dreamed
It would end
Like this.
Broken
Changed…
Sometimes I run
My hand over
The empty side of the
Bed..
Remembering you here
Feel the emptiness.
I would give anything
To have you back.
But it doesn’t matter
What I give
You’re not coming back.
You haunt me
You are gone…
You are complicated.
You make my stomach
Hurt..
But my God
When you
Scoot in…
Those memories..
That smile
Those eyelashes…
That heart.
It stops me.
Right where
I am.
Beautiful
Beautiful
Complicated
Man..
When night falls
And you
Scoot
In close..
That pain..
How my breath
Catches..
How my
Stomach
Hurts.
I hold it
Close.
Praying for the pain
To stop..
And secretly
Hoping
It never does
Because once the
Pain is gone….
I’ll have
Nothing
Left
At all.
So for now..
Scoot in…
I’ll make room.
Plenty of room
For the pain.


Between the Pages

I think back and remember you as a boy…me just a girl…no children..no marriages..no life lived yet. Nothing but promise lay before us. But now so much life has passed..And here you are ..out of nowhere and I am curious about the man you have grown to be and all of the million things that have come to pass since the last time I saw your face…and I wonder if you are still the same after all these years of being pressed between the pages of my memory.


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Settling

4:30 am most days
When I wake
And it only
Takes seconds
To remember
Second failed marriage
And the need
To
Suck it up
And move on…
Both times
My fault
I settled..
When I knew
I shouldn’t.
My need to please..
From long ago.
Brutal hour and twenty minute
Commute..
But cradled in
The arms of
People who
Love me.
All black most days…
Dressed for the city..
In the city..
City busy..
City weary.
All my mistakes
Cloud my head.
But on that
Commute home..
When I leave
The interstate
And hit the
Two lane..
I feel the shift..
I turn off the air..
Roll down the windows..
Smell that black dirt.
Feel the open space.
I slip off my heels
Drive barefoot…
Wind blowing
Messing’ up my
City hair.
Turn the music up
Remember who I am..
And promise myself..
No more settling.
This time
It’s all me.


Home

Brick streets
People I
Haven’t seen
In thirty
Years.
No locked
Doors.
Tractors..
Pickup trucks.
Lots of
Yes ma’am
And no sir.
Community.
I get
Lost
Sometimes…
In the
Rush
The city…
The traffic
And the
Crazy.
Makes me
Lose
Myself.
But this
Place
Call it
What you
Will…
But it is
Home.
It’s a
Balance
I know this..
But when
You need
To heal
Find yourself
Remember
Who you
Are..
This is
The place…
This is
Johnny Cash
This
Is
Van Morrison..
This is
Quiet..
And soothe
Your soul..
This is where
You raise
Your children ..
Hayrides and bake sales.
This is 7th grade
Got your back…
Till you are ready
To leave
This earth..
This
This is
Cornfields
And
Haylofts..
This
This is
Real
Life…
And this
Is just
What I
Needed
To remember
Who
I am..
And where
I came from.


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