I pull things apart like string cheese;

the tiniest of pieces pulled from something

that was once whole. Trying to make

something out of something else like

if I can’t find the solutions to all my

problems, maybe I can make a bird house

out of them instead. Maybe I could paint

it and leave it out by the oak tree.

Maybe blue birds will find it worthy

of laying eggs; comfort and a new song.

I lay in the field and imagine being

back in New York City. Back in the

noise. I pull the thoughts from my

mind and dissect them; cut them

open with a scalpel and try to figure

out the “whys” of it all and all I can

come up with is “the quiet is too quiet.”

All I can come up with is, “I need

to be apart of something bigger.”

All I can come up with is, “I think

I belong somewhere else.”

Rebecca DeFazio

#morethanaflowerpoetry

#poetry #womenwhowrite #writing #belonging #poem

We find each other again;

we melt into words that lead

to actions that cause feelings

to explode into the space that

we thought would be empty

forever. We crawl through the

briers that grew from trauma,

stress, and silence; misunderstandings

leading to mistrust and heartbreak…

Knees bleeding, we remember

who we are. In the light and in

the shadows; finding each

other’s lips, fingertips, and

hearts still alive; still grasping

for one another’s flesh…

For one another’s affection,

validation, love. We admit

that we will never find

another connection like ours

and we give into the raw.

We give into the now. Where

pride and fear of rejection no

longer exist… Where we’re

more than flaws and perfections.

We see the damage done and

kiss it away; begging for forgiveness

from one another until the days

become lighter and the love

becomes fuller. We remember

what it is to love; teenagers again

looking into each other’s eyes

accepting that we’re so flawed…

But so loved.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than A Flower

#poetry #relationships #love #lovepoetry #poem #amwritingpoetry

The grass touching the soles of my feet sent shivers up my spine; I wasn't expecting it to still be wet but I took off running anyway. Tangled hair falling into my face, tree branches brushing against my skin, barely dressed, I found my way to a space in the woods where I would sit until the sun tickled my skin a little too roughly. Your dad had cut down one huge tree in this space using it to finish up a cabin we often would run away to just a few hundred feet from your house. We would pretend we were grown and on our own… We would have picnics in the space where the tree once lived or you'd go out there alone to think, journal, cry... When I went out there you never chased me. You knew I didn't need you right now. This is a learned habit; you put this runaway spirit in me. I used to hate the grass on my bear feet.

"It's fucking itchy!! Why can't we just wear some shoes every once in a while?"

"You can't feel anything if you wear shoes. Stop being a baby."

"What is so important that I need to feel out here?"

"Everything."

Once I found my way to the tree stump, I sat down and held my hands out; angry.

"Could you please give me something beautiful to hold on to? I think I'm losing everything. I think I'm lost. I don’t think I can help her.”

Tears fell quietly as I continued to sit there with nothing but my anger. I longed to hold your hand and tell you that I love you and have you actually hear it. Have it mean something. Have it change something. After a while, my anger had left. It had been taken away by the wind, I guess.

As I walk back, I feel everything; the way the ground feels soft but firm, the roughness of the twigs and small branches that have fallen, the rocks pushing against my heels, the cracking of the leaves; dead. When I walk into the kitchen, you are there. You are eating half a slice of toast with the smallest amount of peanut butter; it's barely visible, scraped across so lightly. You try to smile but tears fill your eyes and spill over immediately. You don't say anything but I already know what you want to say. You want to say, "It hurts. It feels "ugly." It feels like giving up. It feels like I’m never pretty enough.” So, I hug you. I hug you and I can feel every bone in your body. I can feel every piece that is trying so hard to hold you together. You fall apart; hyperventilating.

"I love you. You'll make it through this. I'm here."

You pull away and look at me with blue eyes and tear stained freckled skin; trying so hard to smile. You take another bite and pretend like it doesn't feel like dying. I walk away and give you space; give myself space. We breathe and it falls into a rhythm that feels like love, like strength; feels like healing.

Eventually, you push me away and I let you. It’s hard to watch someone hate themselves; it’s hard to know you can’t really force healing but I write you a letter years later… And it brings me peace, I think you found your own solace too. Friendships are sometimes only around for a season I’ve heard and that hurts but I’m thankful for all the lessons I’ve learned.

You taught me a lot of things I didn't expect you to; things like how to care about someone (outside of family) more than yourself, how it feels to want things for someone but also not want those things; the ache inside like a fire burning endlessly. You can never put it out. You taught me how to love in ways that I keep under lock and key; secrets I’ll bring to the grave. You taught me to enjoy things that felt out of reach; taught me how to dance in the rain and feel like dying a little less inside. You were the most I have ever loved anyone platonically, in my entire life, I think and yet I also hated you and the things that you did... The things you said... The things that you believed made you, you.

You taught me what it is like to love unconditionally.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than a Flower

She loves when the water burns her skin;

I think I soaked too long in boiling bath tubs.

Heat rising through my skin and into her tiny

incomplete body. She cries as much as I do;

our hearts too empathetic, our mouths wide open.

I wonder what else I’ve given her; will she

be tortured by nightmares? My hearts trauma

bleeding into the space that should be only hers?

Do we truly feel the burning of our past family members?

How much sadness can one generation alone hold...?

She loves when I sing to her; my voice trembling.

In whispers she tells me she can hear the sad that lives there.

Our tears fall in the same moment.

I can’t help but wonder, my daughter...

Do you feel everything I feel?

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than A Flower

I have a hard time being sweet sometimes; it’s gotten harder over the years to always be vulnerable. To always be stripped down; raw and on show for the world but I love you. I find that sweet sticks to your skin; I can’t help but smile at the sound of your voice even when I’m crying. I don’t like to express my happiness too loudly because I think it pushes people away, they find it to be such a sour taste but you make my heart glow and I think even if I said nothing at all they would see it from a mile away.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than A Flower

We are two broken bottles from families who loved to smash pretty things. Our edges jagged; sharp in some places and dull in others. We shine brightest when lined up together on window sills where the windows

actually open; freedom gracing our figures creating watercolor ballets on the bedroom wall. We are opposite colors. You are red- anger and shame fill up more of you than you’d like to admit but warmth lies inside of you too. I am deep ocean blue-full of more sadness and self hatred than you like to think but my love for you runs to those ocean depths and even further than that. When we dance together we mix so beautifully (even when we don’t.) We can’t fill the empty spaces, fix the cracks, or rewind the time back to when we were whole and new but we sit together, watch the sun rise and fall, create memories that make the old ones a little less vivid; we love through it all.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than A Flower

The air smells like cinnamon

and the sun is shining down on me

as a cool breeze swims through my hair.

I'm alone for the first time in a long time

and it's starting to feel like home.

No one ever told me alone

would feel good; that it

would feel like release.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than a Flower

Sometimes I feel like a poem;

obscure to most of the world.

They avoid me like a plague

knowing that I will pull out

all the feelings they bury.

They don’t want me

to comfort them, bring

them peace, or teach

them that tears bring

healing. They want to

leave the scary things in

the dark; they hate

hide & seek.

They hate poetry

[me.]

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than A Flower

I want you to tell me how I smell?

Can you smell the disappointment

I carry in my heart over the fact that

I was never loved by my father?

Can you smell the distain I hold

against my self? I want to know

if men lie about women smelling

like cigarettes and sadness or

roses and happiness.. Can you

smell the hurt that lies always on

the surface on my skin? Please,

tell me that I smell more than

sadness and whiskey..

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than a Flower

I’m always diving into the deep end of everything I do.

I get lost in the way that you look at me and I fall in love,

instantly. It never stops me from looking foolish;

something I try to avoid but never end up avoiding.

I wonder if that is how love likes it. If love likes when

you embarass yourself. If she sits above you in a cloud

of magic dust and giggles whenever you trip and accidentally

spill a cup on water or red wine on your brand new date.

That is something I would do and have done. Thankfully, I

never had to date… Not really anyways. The boys that I “loved”

were disconnected from me physically. They were boys on

the internet, boys who I thought I could love, boys who I

thought could take me away from the home where I was raised

as cattle for slaughter. Boys who had no idea that all I needed

was someone to talk to, not dirty talk… Just real talk… Until

I met you. I met you through a game where I could be a cat

and no one would care. I met you through a speech bubble.

I met you through words and that was what really did me in

I think. I met you before you could touch me, feel me, experience

my snoring. I met you and you were just a boy who had too

many emotions so you put them into music and I became

your biggest fan girl. I would listen to your covers on

a CD player. Full blast, headphones in. I didn’t share your music

with my friends because it felt special. I dove so deep that

I actually moved. I physically said goodbye to everything

I knew and I found my way to you. First time meeting, face to

face, your entire body was shaking and I think that was when

I really, truly knew… This boy… really loves me.

Freewrite…

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than a Flower