Are You Gonna Go My Way
I swear and roll my eyes. It has been a day of one small thing after another going wrong. The last thing I want to do is drive all the way into Atlanta for a concert that I didn’t really want to go to and that I knew without any doubt that he definitely couldn’t afford. It’s one of those things he’s always doing. Spending money he doesn’t have. It drives me crazy!
As I lock the door to the convenience store, I let out a long frustrated sigh. I am beyond tired and my legs ache. Still, I know he bought the tickets as a treat for me. Lenny Kravitz’s music has always been in the background of our relationship. I can see how he would think of it as a way to celebrate our relationship. Still, what else could that money have been used for? I hope into my car and head home.
When I pull up, he’s already there, waiting on the doorstep in the rain. I try to plaster on a smile, and get out of my car. ‘Ya know, you could wait inside. It’d be a lot dryer.’ I try to keep the bite out of my words, but don’t quite manage it.
’You’d think so, wouldn’t you? However, your roommates disagree with you and think it’s far better that I sit out here in the rain. So kind of them.’ he bites back at me.
It’s my fault, this dislike between John and my friends. I can’t deny it. His ardour, his passion towards me scared me to no end. Add to that the fact that I was dating someone in our group, before John came in the scene, it was a recipe for disaster. I shake my head at myself. What’s done is done and there’s no way for me to change it now. What does he want from me? Love is a fantasy, a fairytale, one of those things people write about but doesn’t really exist. Growing up in my family, you couldn’t really think otherwise. ‘You could’ve waited in your car, ya know, that one right there.’ The minute the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could grab them and shove them back in. I know why he’s not in his car. He loves to play the martyr. I’ve just given him the perfect opportunity to do so by leaving work late tonight. ‘Never mind. Just give me a sec to change and we can head out. Do ya wanna come in with me?’
‘No, I’ll wait in my car,’ he says as he turns and walks away. I bite back the words of frustration and go on in. Five minutes later, I’m back outside and jump into his car. He’s angry, I can tell, but he’s trying to put a brave face on it. He’s trying to salvage this evening. He always wins bonus points for sheer determination. It’s how he won me over in the first place. From the first day we spoke, he told me that he knew we were meant to be together. I just laughed. That sort of thing doesn’t ever come along.
We make our way onto the interstate to head into Atlanta. The rain is miserable, and his wiper blades are not up to the challenge. We strain our eyes out of the windscreen, trying to see the road ahead of us. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to miss the opening act, but we should make it in time for Lenny,’ he says with a smile while he reaches across and takes my hand. I can’t help myself. I have to smile. Moments like these make me happy in spite of myself. He does some stupid things, but he also has one of the kindest hearts I‘ve come across. Lenny Kravitz comes out of the radio. ’Synchronicity,’ he says with a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. It’s his superpower. Whenever he needs a song to come on the radio, it does. If he is ever in a situation that a song can sum up perfectly, it magically comes out of the speakers. We’ve always joked about his superpower, but it really is uncanny. I give him my biggest smile and squeeze his hand and his eyes light up. I chuckle to myself.
As I turn my attention back to the road, we hear a bang, the car swerved and hydroplanes on the wet tarmac. John grabs the steering wheel and tries his best to turn into the skid. We slide across several lanes and I do my best not to scream. He manages to pull off onto the verge. The regular thump, thump, thump as we pull off leads no doubt in our minds. It’s a puncture. John puts the car in park and starts to get out of the car. ‘I can help,’ I offer. Goodness knows I know a lot more about cars than he does, but his chivalry prevents that.
’No, sweetheart, you stay here where it’s dry. I’m wet already, anyway. He disappears into the rain. I hear him rummaging around in the trunk. Some swearing penetrates the window panes and I can’t help but smile. He tries so hard. He is always so determined to make everything right. The swearing gets louder. I start laying odds on what has gone wrong this time. I feel like maybe I should double down on there being no jack in his car.
He opens the door and sticks his head in. Water is dripping from him everywhere. He’s rolling his eyes heavenward. His eyes lock again with mine and in the most deadpan voice says, ‘I think we’re going to miss the concert,’ he sighs, ‘no spare’. I burst out laughing. I can’t help myself. This whole day was a comedy of errors and of all the things on his mind, he’s worried we won’t make the concert.
I continue to laugh, and after a moment, he joins in, together we laugh until tears are rolling down our faces. ‘Man, I love you.’ and I try to regain my breath when I notice that John has gone absolutely still beside me. He doesn’t move. It’s like he doesn’t even dare breathe. Everything seems to stop.
John whispers so quietly, I almost don’t hear what he says. ‘You’ve never said that before.’ Now there are tears in his eyes but for a very different reason.
Mom,
Sometimes I catch myself looking too closely at the lines around your eyes. The way they paint your skin. I find them beautiful, this sign of age and love and life. An art piece designed by God and life and trials and happy moments. I try to remember when your skin was smooth. I can only see it in old photographs. I wonder what I will look like after living like you. Everyone always said I looked like you. An almost perfect match. It never felt that way. You are far too perfect. Too beautiful. Too strong. Too funny. Too much of everything I want to be and everything I will never be.
I catch myself remembering when I was younger. The moments when I was so small they may have been dreams. Everything was always loud. Too much to do. Not enough time for anything. I watched you. The way you ran about the house. Watching children. Cleaning messes. Cooking dinner. Making calls. Answering the door. I watched and followed. I wanted to learn. I wanted to make it easier for you. I didn’t like the way you sighed into Dad’s arms when he came home. The way you seemed to disappear until one of us cried long enough for you to return. I tried to soothe them myself. It never worked, until it did.
They listened to me. My little brothers were soothed by the words I copied from you. I learned which books they liked best. My older brothers were tired and stressed. I learned the best way to make them laugh using your voice. I felt like you. I liked making them happy and I liked the way you smiled more often. Your wrinkles became more pronounced with bright eyes instead of tears.
I liked to be like you. I wanted to be like you. Until I didn’t. Surrounded with messes I didn’t make. Children that weren't mine. Food I couldn’t prepare. Calls I was terrified to make. Doors I refused to open. I became angry. I didn’t want to be like you. I felt like another mother. Another parent for siblings older and younger. I hated that I had your eyes. I hated that I had your voice. I hated that I shared your responsibility. But there was some light in your eyes, some of your laughter through the house. You were brighter in a natural way. You went out with Dad. You had time for friends I'd never met before. I could handle everything. I promised you. I really could.
And I did. I handled it all. I wanted to make your life easier. Juggling two jobs; one far too thankless and wageless. I could make it easier, even if it made me hate you a little more every day. I would make your job easier, but I wasn’t made to be a mother. Not yet anyway. From baby dolls and bottles to growing boys and homework in what felt like seconds. A stupid path I chose. I could feel myself crumbling into something I wasn’t. I looked too much like you, but I had a hatred that not even I could comprehend.
It wasn’t your fault. You tried. You really did. I insisted on it and you were tired. If I wanted to step up, who were you to say no? You and Dad could barely handle it on your own. I wasn’t going to let any of your efforts go to waste. I had promised myself and God. You would know you were loved and appreciated. My teacher taught me that imitation was the greatest form of flattery. You deserved more than just flattery.
I promise you it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes I still get angry at everyone, but never you. You were doing your best. I could never blame you.
And I still remember watching you, wanting to be you. I still want to be you. Maybe I’ll take a little break before becoming a mother though. I don’t think I’ll be as good as you. I’ll never have your warmth or your smile or your patience or your kindness. I think I lost it on my way here. But I have my first wrinkle. It’s next to my right eye. I saw it in a mirror. It’s more of a crinkle, but I noticed it when you said a joke. I know you said it just to make me laugh. To make me feel better. To make me feel like a kid again. To say sorry again for everything you couldn’t do for me before. You said you could never apologize enough. I told you once was enough, but I’ll take the extra laughter and the extra smiles. They remind me of yours just like the wrinkle of happiness around my eye.
I wanted to be like you too young. I still want to, but now I think I understand. You were never your responsibilities or your duties or your relationships. You were the scent of apples. You were the color green. You were your red hair. You were the upturn of your lips. You were your love of sewing. You were your many baking ventures. You were the person who loved shrimp. You were your kind words. You were your laughter, the kind so full and loud that everyone can’t help but laugh too. But most importantly you were the wrinkles forming on your skin, etching every happy moment of your life into a tapestry.
My tapestry is just beginning. My motherhood is not quite here. My wrinkles are just starting to form. I want to be like you. I want to be myself, amplifying every little gift you give me. You gave me life, sorrow, and happiness. You gave me everything I am. I only hope that I can live up to it all. But I know what you’ll say. You don’t care as long as I’m me, as long as I’m happy. I love you for that. I love you for every mistake you made, every lesson you taught me, and for every moment you made me smile.
Mom, I’ve never met anyone quite like you and I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. Though my childhood wasn’t perfect and neither was you, you were the best mother for me. You were everything I could have asked for and more. I love you and I can’t wait to see the rest of your wrinkles.
Love,
Your Daughter
Kyle
Kyle was the kind of guy who filled his plate up so much that food spilled off of it at buffets.
Kyle liked food.
One day Kyle decided to eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat.
Then he popped.
I guess he was insatiable.
A Beautiful Life
Mother, thank you for your undying, unconditional love. Thank you for teaching me the things that really matter in life, things like service to others, the importance of family, and how precious children are.
You supported me even when you could have put me out, you loved me even at my worst, and you got me through and helped me become better than I started out.
"Thank You" is not enough. I just want you to know that I hope to see you one day with your grin and smiling eyes. You gave me a beautiful life!
The last seventeen years has been really hard without your love and guidance.
Missing you terribly,
Your Daughter.
My Love, My Mother
I grew up cold and blamed it on the shadow of my older sisters. Not because I am the youngest or smallest in the family, but because I felt a sense of not belonging. I wondered if I were an alien creature being studied on a planet of people who only resembled me in appearance, but the similarities ended there. My mother seemed to favor my sisters, with their baby pictures hung large on the wall of her bedroom where mine was forgotten on some far forgotten to-do list. I remember such feral anxiety at the thought of losing my mother still. I grew older and bitter, but still held that deep seeded need for security, attention, and affection. Even if I did not get exactly what I craved, I knew I should never wander far from my mother. She may not be the warm embrace of a homemade chocolate chip cookie, but she will always tide me over. I met a man and took a leap of faith on him and a thing called love, which helped me draw boundaries and take a step away from my family of origin. There was so much to learn about life and my sense of self. I value different things and support different politics. And then the day came that I dreamed of my entire life. 8.5 pounds of nothin' brought my life to a screeching halt. I have birth to human perfection. His hair was thick and dark and his skin a rich olive red. "Whose baby is this?" I wondered. I expected a pale bald or blonde baby that me resembled myself. I couldn't have been more prepared for motherhood and yet I was not prepared at all. The love, the ecstacy of the new baby smell, and the sheer terror at realizing I am responsible for this life and its every need. My child IS my love. I need to feed him when he cues, but first to learn his cues constantly varying. The long nights, the cry-inducing panic, and the distrust of my mother-in-law that made me reject assistance. Being a mother is horrific in the greatest way. It is living with the best peace of your soul split from your human form. Suddenly, I get it. I don't love it, but I get it. My mom was all but abandoned by my father for most of my childhood. She wasn't purposefully neglectful, she was spread thin. My older sisters were provided opportunities that I was not because there were not enough resources to go around. Instead of evenly distributing what my mom could, she tried to do it all, and all for my sisters prevented any for me. It wasn't intentional, and I never complained. I was so resigned to being hated and unwanted that I never dared to ask why I was being left out, why I was not loveable, why I didn't matter. I didn't know I could speak my truth until I met my husband, who said things out loud that shouldn't have been spoken at all. I grew into myself more away from my mother. I lost some love only to find it in my own son. My relationship with mom isn't as close as my sisters' seems to be, but my appreciation for all that she could spare has been tremendous. Pieces of me that shattered under the pressure of being less than have found their way to building something new. I am reborn after having given birth. My child will know he is wanted and loved in the ways I still yearn to feel. I will take charge of my relationships and my life as a whole. I am a mother now, and mothers have to build their children's world from the bottom up while the weight of the world presses harder and harder. Being a mom is thankless and all-consuming, but it is the closest thing to being a God there is. Creating life is the easy part, keeping the child alive is the never- ending challenge. We're all doing the best we can, so ask your mother the hard questions, love others the way you yearn to be loved, and thank your mom for keeping you alive!
A letter to my mother
A few days remain until Mother's Day, and as I sit down to write this letter, I can't help but wonder: what significance does that day truly hold? None at all, if throughout the year one doesn't cherish their mother—this day won't change that. It's akin to cramming for an exam the day before, it might yield results, and with luck, you could even deceive the teacher, but you can never deceive yourself. As I pen this letter, I can't help but feel ridiculous, because why can't we humans express ourselves freely as we desire? Due to our own limitations, embarrassments, traumas, and inner conflicts, we resort to using cards and physical gifts as a crutch, instead of seizing the moment to openly share our feelings on any given day. But since we're already here, I'll embrace the sentiment of this card.
In my day-to-day life, I don't often express these types of things—attribute it to any excuse you'd like: being busy, lacking time, or simply not being in the right mood, but deep down, none of these reasons suffice. The truth is, we find it difficult to express love, yet find unwavering strength in voicing our opinions when angry or upset, in fear of being trampled upon. But expressing love terrifies us. We are afraid of not being loved, afraid of not having a mother who cares for us, and when we have one, we’re afraid of losing her.
Because let's admit it, we all love our mothers—not solely for the immense sacrifices they've made in raising us amidst adversity. That's not what matters, as every mother faces her unique challenges and deserves our love, regardless of her journey. So, I won't tell you, Mom, that I love you because you've given everything for me, because yes, of course you have, but that's not the reason. It's not for what we've been through together or the things you've done—it's for who you are, because you're my mother. And I didn't have to attend any school to learn how to love you.
Lifelong lessons hold no sway when it comes to loving and caring for you, Mom. A mother's love for her child remains steadfast, even if they've gone astray or fallen into the darkest of paths. Because everything learned and all the morality one believes they possess would vanish in an instant, without a second thought, if their mother is in danger. It doesn't matter what must be done or how many heads must be trampled, no matter how terrible we know it might be, and certainly, if it were for ourselves, we wouldn't do it—but for our mother, who gave us life, yes, without a doubt.
And again, no, I'm not grateful for being alive, I don't owe you my life because I didn't ask to be here, you chose to bring me into this world. This letter isn't about gratitude, it's about justice, it's about truth. At this point in the letter, I feel power and bravery, but it soon turns to tears and emotion—damn it, I didn't want to cry. Anyway, let's leave it here, because watching a child cry isn't the best gift a mother could receive, though I know that when you read this, you'll cry too.
The example you've set for me has taught me that I didn't need it at all. I didn't need a role model to follow to become as great a mother as you, I only needed your love, and that is more than enough.
If there's something I don't understand or don't agree with, I'll tell you. If there are things you do that I believe aren't correct or aren't good for you, I'll tell you without hesitation, only to try and help you. So, isn't this the most unconditional love of all, not needing to cite anything specific to justify that I'll always be by your side?
Mom, Do You Remember…
Dear Mom,
Do you remember the Mother’s Day cards I gave you when I was little? I hope not. Because when Dad was grocery shopping, he bought them from a discount rack, and gave them to me and my brothers to give to you. And I don’t know where he got those vats of cheap perfume that he gave you. But you always thanked us.
That reminds me. Do you remember that you always made me thank an aunt for sending a gift? You would call one of your sisters on our rotary dial phone and say that I wanted to tell her something. I would take the receiver and cram all my words together – “Thanks for the present. Here’s Mom.” – and give the phone back to you. My brothers did the same thing. But you never stopped making us say thanks.
Do you remember picking up the phone and dialing a number when my brothers and I were bad? You said into the receiver, “Hello, Bad Boys Home, I have a pickup.”
Do you remember pounding meat on the kitchen counter to stretch the slab into meals for ten? Do you remember giving us haircuts in the kitchen to save money? Do you remember playing piano in the living room and calling out chords so we could strum along on guitar? Do you remember holding grandchildren?
Sorry for asking all these questions, but when last I saw you in the memory wing of the assisted living home, sometimes you did not remember your sons’ names. I just wonder if you got your memory back after you passed away.
That’s okay if you do not recall all these events. My brothers and I are keeping your memories for you.
Love,
Sandlot
Drowning in the Wake of Bad Decisions
The most powerful entity on Earth and perhaps the known universe is the mother. Before I begin, let me give a shout out to mothers of all the other forms of life on the planet be they mammalian, reptilian, fish, or lower primate because they too are the moving, and evolving genesis of their species. However, for the sake of time, I will focus on the most advanced, dynamic, intelligent, compassionate, loving. and dangerous (when their offspring is threatened) of mothers residing here on Earth, the human mother.
Like their fellow lifeforms, human mothers are the authors of humanity, selflessly allowing the parasites growing within them to take everything needed to grow and develop to maturity. All of this happens while nurturing a love and bond that is beyond the scope of words with and for the little life growing within them. This parasitic relationship continues beyond the womb as the infant human is totally reliant on its mother for survival. Now, let it be known that a woman's life giving power isn't without burden and the responsibility of bringing new humans into the world is best described by that great student of human nature, the inspiration for the invention of spandex costumes, and the creator of the Marvel Universe, Stan Lee, "With great power comes great responsibility." Most of the time, mothers bear this responsibility with a wisdom and strength that is notably absent in their phallically equiped counterparts. However, this isn't always the case. Not every woman who possesses the power to bring human life into the world should nor should every woman want to have children. While most women are biologically capable of bringing life into the world, not all are suited to supporting and nurturing that life once it is born. This is in no way a fault as human beings are infinitely complex, adaptable, and as a result. sometimes have different roles to play as part of humanity. Because of the adaptable nature of humanity some women choose a different path in the world, a path that is equally important to the continuance of the species. This doesn't mean that the woman who chooses to be childless or feels that they are incompatable with motherhood doesn't love children or would do them harm. It simply means that whatever role they may play in humanity makes child rearing difficult, or sometimes undesirable.
Sadly, patriachal society has made becoming a mother an essential part of completing the, "Being a Successful Woman Check List." This is cruel, discriminatory, and given the current population of the world, totally antiquated and redundant. What's worse, many women who're pressured into motherhood might lack the unique set of qualities that it takes to be a good mother. This doesn't mean that they don't love their childen. It means that they were better suited to being childless. My mother is just such a woman.
My mom began life beset by mental health issues. She was given to depression, anxiety, agorophobia and coupled with the trauma of losing her dad to suicide by the age of 4 and being sexually assaulted by a family member as a 10 year old girl, she struggled to care for herself. By the time she was in highschool she was self-medicating with, nicotine, marijuana, alcohol, and amphetamines. At that point, my mom was against ever becoming a mother, but her wounds would make this VERY wise choice difficult to stay committed to.
Sadly, my mom's total lack of self-worth and feelings of abandonment stemming from the trauma she experienced as a child made her turn to anyone for affection, and men were happy to oblige her for a price. My father was just such a man and within a couple months of knowing the fresh out of bootcamp sailor my mom was pregnant with me. My dad would've been happy to board the USS Enterprise (CVN 65) as it headed for Vietnam in the waning hours of the war, leaving a bastard behind, but due to an Irish Catholic push from my dad's grandmother, my parents were married by the time I was born.
Motherhood didn't due my mom any favors two years and one positive test for a STI later, she and my dad were divorced. If EVER there was a marriage due to fail it was my parent's extended for waaaaaay too long one night stand. Unfortunately, my dad (a major asshole then and now) would be the last guy she attached herself to who worked, didn't have a criminal record, or thought that beating women was an acceptable passtime for the next decade. So, I was now being raised by a mentally ill mother who was even more deflated after being cheated on by her first husband. As can be expected given my mom's horrible character judgement my seaborne deadbeat dad would (and I'm shocked to think to this day) be the best of her penile possessing prospects. This would lead to a string of abusive relationships and two more ill conceived children.
I was almost out of highschool when my mom FINALLY admitted that she should never have had children, hadn't wanted children, and had dreamed of being the favorite aunt to her nieces and nephews. Instead, she had dragged me and my siblings through a series of violent, unhealthy relationships inflicting trauma to us along the way. Oh, she loves us, of that I have no doubt, but she wasn't capable of caring for herself let alone three little humans. The extended consequences of her actions would be experienced by her three children more than her.
Somehow, I was the lucky one. I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy by the time I was three years old. I only heard the theory regarding the cause after I became an adult. The theory was that I stroked out in utero due to exposure to moderate amounts of amphetamines, alcohol, nicotine, and psychadelics before my mom would realize she was pregnant. As an adult, I would spend some time in a mental health facility for my own depression, anxiety, and domestic violence related PTSD. Eventually I would marry WAAAAAAAY out of my league and have kiddos of my own. So, being a dad, I went back to school and became a, "Normy Drug and Alcohol Counselor," meaning a substance abuse counselor who's never been an addict. I guess I realized after my failed attempts to help my family that I wanted to help someone. My education continued until I became the first person on the maternal side of my family to earn a college degree.
My sister would be sexually assaulted before she was 14 years old and was an addicted mother of three herself by the time she was twenty. Each child was born exposed to methamphetamine, her first was born very premature at one pound thirteen ounces. The other two struggled with learning difficulties and all three suffer from various forms of mental illness. The doctor delivering her last child, fearing that she would continue having drug exposed children actually obtained early approval from Medi-Cal to offer and perform a tubligation on my sister, something that wasn't usually approved by Medi-Cal until the mother was twenty-five years old.
My brother also became addicted to methamphetamine and became quite adept at stealing cars. He's been homeless off and on his whole adult life, struggling to hold down jobs while dealing with organic mental health issues and not so organic meth induced psychosis which I believe has become permanent.
So, mothers are the most powerful entities on the planet, always have been, always will be. However, all women are powerful and becoming a mother isn't a gauge of success as a human. Women are the pinacle of human evolution, motherhood is just one thing women excel at. If you're a lady who doesn't feel like you have the mommy gene, don't sweat it. I can honestly say that for me, my siblings, my nieces and nephew's and most of all, for mom's sake, I wish she'd been able to stick with her notion that she wasn't mommy material. Fuck, considering staying with my dad, a one night stand that went waay beyond what should've been a walk of shame the next day with no further contact, and putting me up for adoption or even having an abortion my mom could've prevented a long string of tragedies. I guess the wake that forms from bad decisions sometimes drown more that just the decision maker.
Thank You.
I'm sure you know I love you but to be sure, here it is : I love you.
I remember when I was given a book to fill in when I was very little, there was a question that went something like : " Who do you want to be like when you grow up?" I don't think I ever answered anything, but I know now that I would put you.
You are the person I most want to be like. You're so strong, so caring, and after all you've been through you are still kind and patient and always want to believe the best of people ( though with a much-needed pinch of scepticism).
I've noticed, over the years how similar I am to you, in many ways. I can only hope that I will always be as respected as I respect you, and as thoughtful as you have always been.
Thank You for always being there,
I Love You.
Homeless Eyes
She punctured me from out of glass
Without intent as she strode passed
We broke the barriers of class...
The mask society permits...
To gaze into her windswept eyes...
So hungry and unsupervised...
How many of us still survive
Bouncing upon this rustic plane?...
With judgements quashing liquid hearts...
And pointed views like traffic cones...
It's easier to close the door
Where yowls mutate and turn to roars...
I see her digging through the trash...
This angel from another sphere...
The broadcast she keys in is vast...
Her shirt in shreds, as she draws near...
Ebony skin so dark and deep...
I'll see her when I go to sleep..
She floats over the concrete slabs...
Where shooting stars go flying past...
Bold advertising overhead
Will paint a world unequal to
The broken sequins from the chain
That someone dispelled in the rain...
To gaze into her windswept eyes...
So hungry and unsupervised...
How many of us still survive
Bouncing upon this rustic plane?....
They're closing books on human rights...
Decks are stacked, the lines extend...
Now more than ever, I'll need a friend
To gaze into my homeless eyes...
If you have something left to give...
If you're susceptible, and raw...
If you resist the claw machine
You'll find me dancing by the stream...
Maybe tonight when moonbeams spill
Our sights will lock and without words
We'll shed our chains, the flood within
Will draw us spinning out our skins...
Bunny Villaire
5/6/24
Edit #4