Predicament of a Monster

Oh how I loved thee.

Your hook for a hand made me bleed.

You said “Follow Me,”

And I went to the darkest forest;

I am still here and my leader is nowhere to be found.

With a black hole as a heart you dragged me in

Shredding me to pieces, yet I remained.

I know that it is me who sits here,

But I also know that it is not who I used to be.

The men who took all of me and decided

I was now soiled and used,

The men who woke me from a coma

Only to bashed my heart and head in,

The men who whispered sweet nothings

Who in a turn of events yelled all my secrets

This one is for you:

I am the monster and you are Frankenstein.

All I am is a corpse resurrected again and again.

This is who you created, and I am nothing to you now.

Let me count the ways.

The World is Your Oyster

The time has come

I must speak of this one thing:

I wish ever so dearly for red high heels,

Life is meant to be lived away from the harbor

Nostalgia comes in the form of typewriters and sealing wax

I hate both cauliflower as well as cabbages

I am appalled by the contrast of rags and the riches of Kings

I am not denying the possibility of a sea gone a broil

Or the account of little pigs with wings.

Yet it is none of these things which I wish to say

I only wish to comment once more

Of my undeniable favorite parts of the day:

Early in the morning, around 6 and late, late at night, around 12.

It is in the surrounding hours that I seem to work best.

I could do without the meaningless 8-5,

Filled with scanning and phone calls and time wasted.

There is life to be lived out there, my friend,

And it is up to us to take it.

No, Not I

It is not I who will be able to save you from all of your crying

It is not I who will be able to stop the evil world from trying

It is not I who will be your superwoman and kill all the bad guys

It is not I who will confront all the bullies for I am shy

It is not I who will buy every tub of ice cream I can find

It is not I who will be irrevocably or consistently kind

However, just like the Beatles, I will hold your hand

However, I will give you a box of tissues when the days are mean.

I will take a good beating with you until we are black and green

I will stand beside you, quivering, when you tell off the bullies

I will stay up late with you after break ups and eat all the goodies

And I will swiftly apologize for every mean word and slight of hand.

I will love you the only way I know how:

Not perfect, but genuine.

Unsatisfyingly Happy Ending

“They all go through their little ruts, but they end up alright in the end”

Although this is a quote from my better half in reference to the Walking Dead series characters, I believe this is true of the characters in our own lives. My mother went through a divorce in 2014 and now she is back with her husband. I was not sure how I felt about this. I wanted her to be strong enough to be by herself; I wanted her to be happy in my own definition of happy.

I was holding your hand when the whole world came crashing down

I was listening with a pained heart when no one was around

My heart hardened when you found another man to caress

My ears were turned off when you said you knew best

Lonely nights you spent alone in your bed

Fearing the future with scary thoughts in your head

I tried to convince you I could be enough

Knowing the sweet nothings were too tough.

How telling retrospect can be

It is now that I can finally see

You were just going through a rut, a crevice if you will

A huge dent that looked as if it would loot and pilage and kill

Yet you have risen again, my beautiful Phoenix bird

As long as you are happy, I care not that all of the lines are blurred.

The shout into the void

I am the favorite lines from your favorite movies.

I am the bubbly flirty girl you remember from high school.

I am the quite ponderer, the ever thinking brain

I am the passive aggressive girlfriends

I am the writer who loves to read more than write.

I am the writer who must write due to all the birds in my head.

I am the crazy atypical writer who is probably bipolar.

I am Bee from Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants; confident like crazy

I am Bee from the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants; quietly broken.

I am a bright young woman, sick of swimming, ready to stand.

I am a five year old who wishes to be a mermaid.

I am the loved and adored; I am the rejected and the ignored.

How intriguing it is that only 104.6 lbs of me contains all of these thoughts and feelings simultaneously.