"It's been too long. I'm glad you called."
We order our coffees, settle into the leather chairs, our favorites, in the back corner, away from everyone. Today, two too busy friends make time for each other.
We begin with small talk, easing into the conversation, seeing how far, how deep, the other wants to go.
Kids . . . . amazing. Planning a 16th birthday party, another child's first steps.
School . . . . I'll be done one day. Feels like forever sometimes.
Work . . . . overtime. Crazy, busy. A new promotion for her. Mine standing in as motivation to finish school faster.
I ask how her husband is. She smiles. They've been in love since grade school. It hasn't dimmed over time. Instead, it's grown stronger. I try to ignore the sharp pain that skims the surface of my heart. I'm happy for her, for them. They've found what most could only hope to.
What I could only hope to . . . .
She smiles at me again, knowing I'm ready to go deeper. I take a sip on my coffee, she sits back and gets comfortable, I draw my knees under me. My standard pose when I'm ready to talk.
"It's weird, really, to remember that I was ever married, someone's wife. I don't even really remember how that feels. It's almost as if I am reading someone else's story, not my own."
Her and I are so different. She has always been the type to set down roots quickly and stay long enough in one place for them to take hold, keeping her in the places she has chosen to be. I, on the other hand, rarely stay anywhere long enough for anything to take hold. I've always known each place was just temporary.
"Weren't you dating someone? The teacher? He seemed nice." She asks me.
"His wife got in the way. It's amazing how well he thought he was hiding her. But I'm glad I found out so early in, before it went on too long."
She has that smile again. I'm used to it. One of concern, but never pity. From anyone else, I would recoil, feeling their looks of "Oh, poor Michelle. She'll never settle down" But with her, with our history, it's different. It's based on love, concern, a knowing of what she believes I should have. Wanting me to have what she has. I can't blame her, but we're too different.
People always told us we were two peas in a pod, with me fighting to get out and her wanting to stay cocooned where she was comfortable forever. Age and time haven't changed us. If anything, we are further cemented into who we are.
"Do you ever hear from him?"
This is when I go quiet, like I always do, lost in thought. She knows me too well, knows how to go straight to the center of what I need to let out. No one else can ever do that, but only because I don't let them. It still hurts. Less so, but pain is pain, no matter how small or how intense.
"He calls sometimes. A random text here or there. I ignore it now. Knowing the story too well to read it again. I could never figure him out. But, lately, I wonder if I have and I just don't like what I know, what I knew. It's a game for him. Always has been. I was his favorite team mate. I hate that my heart still loves him, even though he is undeserving. I can't control that, I've learned. It's something beyond me. It happened without my permission and it lingers there. It has to go away one day. I mean, it can't continue on without being fed."
"But don't you feed it, hon? Don't you allow it to be there?"
I pause with her quiet revelation. I don't have an answer.
"Maybe. Yeah, maybe. Maybe I do."
I know our visit is almost over. I have class, she needs to be home to make dinner, see her husband. I'm not ready to stop talking to her, not ready for this time to end.
"I want roots, too, like you have. I always have. You just got lucky the first time, grew something so beautiful. I don't plant roots because I don't want to grow weeds. I don't want to take care of something I don't want. I don't want to grow weeds, I want to grow . . . "
"Orchids. I know, Michelle, you want orchids. You deserve orchids."
I drink the last of my coffee, now cold. I stand up and stretch, hug her. We both know it will be a while before we see each other again.
"We want you to come over for dinner sometime. Call me and we'll set up a time."
I feel as if I didn't get to tell her near enough, yet also feeling as if I said everything I needed to. I realize I do have roots, stretched out wide. Deep, strong roots, spread out to give me the freedom I want while always keeping me rooted where I need to be. I like knowing this about myself.
As I'm leaving the coffee shop, I take out my phone and open my To-Do list.
Buy Orchids.
Mirror, Mirror
Originally written July 2010.
Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, I don't recognize who I see at all.
I press my nose against the reflection, maintaining contact with the eyes--usually green, sometimes blue. Today, watery, red rimmed, black shadows, waterproof lashes running down my cheeks. My breath fogs up my image. I back away and draw a heart, breathe on it again to make it disappear.
I stare again at my eyes, the windows to the soul. I see nothing, am I soul-less? I glance at each feature intently, individually, can't connect the dots. I see my eyes as others see them: dark, reflective. Reflecting what? They seem empty today, all me-ness flushed out with tears. I look at my nose. I've never liked it much; too short, squatty, too big for my face really. But the scents it picks up make my heart race again. The familiar scent of regret and pheromones. My mouth is next. Small, delicate. You have an abnormally small mouth I still laugh when I remember my dentist telling me that. Could you put that in writing, no one would ever believe such a thing. But yes, my mouth. My allure, my destruction. Sweet words, witty comebacks, sharpness delivered right on point if you cross me. Nope, never have to use my hands in a fight with a mouth like this. A sailor and Einstein, confined in one space
Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, I don't recognize who I see at all.
I press my nose against the reflection, maintaining contact with the eyes--usually green, sometimes blue. Today, watery, red rimmed, black shadows, waterproof lashes running down my cheeks. My breath fogs up my image. I back away and draw a heart, breathe on it again to make it disappear.
I stare again at my eyes, the windows to the soul. I see nothing, am I soul-less? I glance at each feature intently, individually, can't connect the dots. I see my eyes as others see them: dark, reflective. Reflecting what? They seem empty today, all me-ness flushed out with tears. I look at my nose. I've never liked it much; too short, squatty, too big for my face really. But the scents it picks up make my heart race again. The familiar scent of regret and pheromones. My mouth is next. Small, delicate. You have an abnormally small mouth I still laugh when I remember my dentist telling me that. Could you put that in writing, no one would ever believe such a thing. But yes, my mouth. My allure, my destruction. Sweet words, witty comebacks, sharpness delivered right on point if you cross me. Nope, never have to use my hands in a fight with a mouth like this. A sailor and Einstein, confined in one space
Today, I have no words to say.
I press my forehead against the glass again . . . . breathe in, breathe out. Reach around to the small space left between my face and the glass and draw a heart. This makes me laugh. The sharpness of it causes me to stop. Is this who I've become? I sometimes wonder if I truly find anything funny anymore or if that's all make-believe as well.
I stare at my reflection and wonder without a thought in my head. Just staring to see if anything comes to me, comes together. It's that damn wall again, pressing in. I've become a seek and find game. Only a little revealed at a time, can you guess who it is before all the pieces are revealed? Sometimes I almost question my sanity, but a therapist already did that for me. Clean bill of mental health, with the exception of some hyperactivity. But really? Do other people do this? Gaze into mirrors, confused by the idea of staring at the stranger you are certain you know but can't quite put your finger on how?
My hair is a mess. I decide I like it this way and pin a flower behind my ear before spraying it to hold the disarray. I wipe the mascara streaks off my cheeks but leave the shadows under my eyes. This seems like a red lipstick day to me. Probably stilettos as well. .
One last touch with my red lipstick and a heart on the mirror, one that won't evaporate. I turn off the light and stop thinking.
Oh, mirror, mirror on the wall, you have no clue either, really, none at all
I press my forehead against the glass again . . . . breathe in, breathe out. Reach around to the small space left between my face and the glass and draw a heart. This makes me laugh. The sharpness of it causes me to stop. Is this who I've become? I sometimes wonder if I truly find anything funny anymore or if that's all make-believe as well.
I stare at my reflection and wonder without a thought in my head. Just staring to see if anything comes to me, comes together. It's that damn wall again, pressing in. I've become a seek and find game. Only a little revealed at a time, can you guess who it is before all the pieces are revealed? Sometimes I almost question my sanity, but a therapist already did that for me. Clean bill of mental health, with the exception of some hyperactivity. But really? Do other people do this? Gaze into mirrors, confused by the idea of staring at the stranger you are certain you know but can't quite put your finger on how?
My hair is a mess. I decide I like it this way and pin a flower behind my ear before spraying it to hold the disarray. I wipe the mascara streaks off my cheeks but leave the shadows under my eyes. This seems like a red lipstick day to me. Probably stilettos as well. .
One last touch with my red lipstick and a heart on the mirror, one that won't evaporate. I turn off the light and stop thinking.
Oh, mirror, mirror on the wall, you have no clue either, really, none at all
Self-Aware
Originally written May 2010.
"Is it alright if I smoke?"
"I'd rather you not, I need you to not have any distractions."
I sigh and stub out my cigarette, sadly watching the glowing tip burn out. I really need a cigarette right now and I'm not sure why. I don't really believe I will learn more about myself just from the flip of a few cards and the colors that surround me. But what the heck, I'm open-minded, I'll try anything once.
I lean back against the soft leather cushions and try to get comfortable. Maybe if I'm comfortable, I'll be more open. Open to what? I'm not really sure. But before I can even let my mind begin to wander into that thought, she flips the first card.
"Assertiveness, this is a really good card and it being first shows how strong it is in you, if you just let it. You need to let it come out. But you're too scared of letting people down."
I realize I'm no longer sinking into soft leather. Instead, the creases of the cushions are digging into my legs as I sit forward, suddenly more interested in what she has to say.
"Well, I've always had that side of me, but kinda scared to show it, because, you know, I don't want to upset people." Suddenly, I really, really want to relight my cigarette.
"Your aura is strong. I see oranges and black around you. You're struggling with unforgiveness. You should let it go."
By this time, I apologize to her (forgetting to be assertive. Damn, I should work on that) and relight my cigarette. I inhale deeply and suppress a cough. The nicotine is comforting.
For a moment, I forget this is a random psychic reading in a small bar, I almost feel as if it's a therapy session. I want to open up to her and explain it all. But a part of me remembers psychology. It's all "illusion". Get them to talk enough, they can figure anything out. I remain silent, testing her.
She is honest and says I am surrounded by strong symbols, but she is still new at this and can't read them all. I sigh inwardly, catch myself just in time before I roll my eyes.
As she stares at me, my mind wanders. I Think of my orange and black aura. "Figures," I think to myself, "I can't be simple enough for tranquil blue or maybe a hot pink."
She then smiles and tells me I am strong, stronger than anyone realizes. I am highly underestimated and it frustrates me.
I take one last drag off my cigarette, sit it down and begin to question her.
"That's an easy read. Come on, everyone feels that way."
"Not like you. You have a deeper strength than most. You have struggled so much. But it has worked to your advantage, if you will let it."
I sink back into the couch again . . . . "Hmmm."
She let's me know our time is up and if I have any questions. I ask her what I need to do to be surrounded by a tranquil blue aura.
She laughs and tells me, it's simple, be someone else.
I watch the last grains of sand slide through the opening of the hour glass. I pay her the $5.00 fee and go into the bathroom. I stare into the mirror, nose pressed against my reflection and squint. I close one eye and then another, trying to catch a glimpse of a bright orange glow. But my reflection only shows a dim light from the one lightbulb over the sink and the reflection of a woman who thinks too much.
I join my friends again and order a beer. They ask what great truths were bestowed upon me. I"m not ready to share the insight with them so I just laugh it off. "Riches and true love." I roll my eyes to further cement their view of me as "The Cynic." I decide, for once, to not explain everything, but let time show how my life unfolds.
I do, however, let them know, I like the color orange a little bit more . . . .
"Is it alright if I smoke?"
"I'd rather you not, I need you to not have any distractions."
I sigh and stub out my cigarette, sadly watching the glowing tip burn out. I really need a cigarette right now and I'm not sure why. I don't really believe I will learn more about myself just from the flip of a few cards and the colors that surround me. But what the heck, I'm open-minded, I'll try anything once.
I lean back against the soft leather cushions and try to get comfortable. Maybe if I'm comfortable, I'll be more open. Open to what? I'm not really sure. But before I can even let my mind begin to wander into that thought, she flips the first card.
"Assertiveness, this is a really good card and it being first shows how strong it is in you, if you just let it. You need to let it come out. But you're too scared of letting people down."
I realize I'm no longer sinking into soft leather. Instead, the creases of the cushions are digging into my legs as I sit forward, suddenly more interested in what she has to say.
"Well, I've always had that side of me, but kinda scared to show it, because, you know, I don't want to upset people." Suddenly, I really, really want to relight my cigarette.
"Your aura is strong. I see oranges and black around you. You're struggling with unforgiveness. You should let it go."
By this time, I apologize to her (forgetting to be assertive. Damn, I should work on that) and relight my cigarette. I inhale deeply and suppress a cough. The nicotine is comforting.
For a moment, I forget this is a random psychic reading in a small bar, I almost feel as if it's a therapy session. I want to open up to her and explain it all. But a part of me remembers psychology. It's all "illusion". Get them to talk enough, they can figure anything out. I remain silent, testing her.
She is honest and says I am surrounded by strong symbols, but she is still new at this and can't read them all. I sigh inwardly, catch myself just in time before I roll my eyes.
As she stares at me, my mind wanders. I Think of my orange and black aura. "Figures," I think to myself, "I can't be simple enough for tranquil blue or maybe a hot pink."
She then smiles and tells me I am strong, stronger than anyone realizes. I am highly underestimated and it frustrates me.
I take one last drag off my cigarette, sit it down and begin to question her.
"That's an easy read. Come on, everyone feels that way."
"Not like you. You have a deeper strength than most. You have struggled so much. But it has worked to your advantage, if you will let it."
I sink back into the couch again . . . . "Hmmm."
She let's me know our time is up and if I have any questions. I ask her what I need to do to be surrounded by a tranquil blue aura.
She laughs and tells me, it's simple, be someone else.
I watch the last grains of sand slide through the opening of the hour glass. I pay her the $5.00 fee and go into the bathroom. I stare into the mirror, nose pressed against my reflection and squint. I close one eye and then another, trying to catch a glimpse of a bright orange glow. But my reflection only shows a dim light from the one lightbulb over the sink and the reflection of a woman who thinks too much.
I join my friends again and order a beer. They ask what great truths were bestowed upon me. I"m not ready to share the insight with them so I just laugh it off. "Riches and true love." I roll my eyes to further cement their view of me as "The Cynic." I decide, for once, to not explain everything, but let time show how my life unfolds.
I do, however, let them know, I like the color orange a little bit more . . . .
You had me from hello . . . .
. . . somethin' in your voice caused me to turn my head
You had me from "Hello"
You had me from "Hello"
Girl I've loved you from "Hello"
"Mom, the car behind us is honking, the light is green."
"I'm sorry, I don't know where my head is today."
Erin giggles, "You always get weird when this song comes on."
"Do I? I hadn't noticed."
I do notice . . .how could I not when every note, every word taking me back to the first smile from a stranger, a funny comment and a long conversation about salsa and racing while another man stood helplessly by, knowing there would be no second date. The chill outside is forgotten as I once again feel the heat as we sat at the park that summer, learning each other, while the screams of children and the squeaking of swings faded into the background.
We stop at a red light and Erin sees the large hotel up the road and, as she always does, asks if the restaurant on top really rotates and if I was scared to be up there, since I hate heights so much. I tell her, as I always do, that it does and it did; that I almost passed out, so far up, as I looked down. She asks if I got dizzy. I smile and tell her that it doesn't rotate fast enough to make someone dizzy.
My dizziness came from arms wrapping around me, giving me the strength I lacked and the feeling of our hearts beating against each other and that only then was I able to stop and breathe, the first time all day. I don't remember much except hands in my hair, pulling me in, fingers gently touching my cheek, the feel of his heart beating against mine; beating for mine as I felt my world slipping from under me with my mom's cancer diagnosis.
Erin asks me where I go when I disappear. I smile and she giggles. Her life is lived in split seconds, she doesn't care if I answer and I stay silent as memories of Honey Bear,143, kissing frogs, long days doing nothing, scribbles on paper hidden for me to find, $30,000 trucks, blushes and apologies flow through my mind . . .
I'm dancing with friends, three tequila shots into forgetting. A song comes on and I stop, the words breaking through the tequila and sobering me. I stand still as couples circle around me, arms holding onto each other as I feel my own emptiness. My phone is in my hands, a quick text, "I miss you". The song continues and my phone stays silent. My friends see the look on my face and plead with the DJ to change the song.
Inside, I built a wall
So high around my heart, I thought I'd never fall
One touch, you brought it down
The bricks of my defenses scattered on the ground
And I swore to me I wasn't gonna love again
The last time was the last time I let someone in . . .
I lean against cold stones, the sharp edges bruising my back, the cold air sharp against my skin through the thin dress. It's a small annoyance compared to the pain slamming into me with each note. I place my hands over my ears to tune out the song and sink to the ground . . .
Leaves staring to turn, Indian summer, a warm breeze. He brings out old CD's and I laugh at some of the songs he's playing. A country twang fills the air . . . .
One word, that's all you said
Somethin' in your voice caused me to turn my head.
Your smile, just captured me
And you were in my future as far as I could see
And I don't know how it happened, but it happened still
You asked me if I love you, if I always will . . . .
"That reminds me of us."
I smile as I remember the first time I had seen you. My computer had crashed, I was going out with friends to have a break, you're leaning against the counter. The cashier tells me he can fix computers, retrieve information.
"Well, if you do that, I'll have no excuse to drink." I turn my head when I hear you laugh.
"What? I always do everything out in the open."
You tell me that you never know what people do behind close doors.
That smile is back and I mention that I haven't had a date in a long time. I'm surprised by my boldness.
"He wants you to have his number," the cashier tells me the next time he sees me. "He can have my number."
Well you had me from "Hello"
I felt love start to grow
The moment that I looked into your eyes, you won me
It was over from the start
You completely stole my heart
And now you won't let go
I never even had a chance you know
You had me from "Hello"
"This song reminds me of you, of us" The words are etched into my heart. The song ends, my friends find me and offer me another shot. I turn it down, knowing I couldn't forget at this point, wondered if I ever would.
We make it home and thunder is rolling in the distance. "I think it's going to rain, you go on in the house, I'll be in in a second." I turn the radio on and hit play, close my eyes and let a soft country twang pull me back, one more time. I feel the tears start to fall until I feel a tug on my skirt. "Mom, really, where do you go all the time?" I turn the radio off and smile at her. "Nowhere, Erin, nowhere important, I just like this song."
Erin shrugs and laughs, "Music makes me dance." As the first drops of rain start to fall, I hold out my hand and ask her to dance. As she holds on, I don't even wipe away the tears that the rain hides as I let go of the memories and hold onto the reality in front of me.
As we dance, the sound of the rain and thunder drowns out the song I had been lost in only moments earlier . . . .
You had me . . .
You had me from "Hello"
You had me from "Hello"
Girl I've loved you from "Hello"
"Mom, the car behind us is honking, the light is green."
"I'm sorry, I don't know where my head is today."
Erin giggles, "You always get weird when this song comes on."
"Do I? I hadn't noticed."
I do notice . . .how could I not when every note, every word taking me back to the first smile from a stranger, a funny comment and a long conversation about salsa and racing while another man stood helplessly by, knowing there would be no second date. The chill outside is forgotten as I once again feel the heat as we sat at the park that summer, learning each other, while the screams of children and the squeaking of swings faded into the background.
We stop at a red light and Erin sees the large hotel up the road and, as she always does, asks if the restaurant on top really rotates and if I was scared to be up there, since I hate heights so much. I tell her, as I always do, that it does and it did; that I almost passed out, so far up, as I looked down. She asks if I got dizzy. I smile and tell her that it doesn't rotate fast enough to make someone dizzy.
My dizziness came from arms wrapping around me, giving me the strength I lacked and the feeling of our hearts beating against each other and that only then was I able to stop and breathe, the first time all day. I don't remember much except hands in my hair, pulling me in, fingers gently touching my cheek, the feel of his heart beating against mine; beating for mine as I felt my world slipping from under me with my mom's cancer diagnosis.
Erin asks me where I go when I disappear. I smile and she giggles. Her life is lived in split seconds, she doesn't care if I answer and I stay silent as memories of Honey Bear,143, kissing frogs, long days doing nothing, scribbles on paper hidden for me to find, $30,000 trucks, blushes and apologies flow through my mind . . .
I'm dancing with friends, three tequila shots into forgetting. A song comes on and I stop, the words breaking through the tequila and sobering me. I stand still as couples circle around me, arms holding onto each other as I feel my own emptiness. My phone is in my hands, a quick text, "I miss you". The song continues and my phone stays silent. My friends see the look on my face and plead with the DJ to change the song.
Inside, I built a wall
So high around my heart, I thought I'd never fall
One touch, you brought it down
The bricks of my defenses scattered on the ground
And I swore to me I wasn't gonna love again
The last time was the last time I let someone in . . .
I lean against cold stones, the sharp edges bruising my back, the cold air sharp against my skin through the thin dress. It's a small annoyance compared to the pain slamming into me with each note. I place my hands over my ears to tune out the song and sink to the ground . . .
Leaves staring to turn, Indian summer, a warm breeze. He brings out old CD's and I laugh at some of the songs he's playing. A country twang fills the air . . . .
One word, that's all you said
Somethin' in your voice caused me to turn my head.
Your smile, just captured me
And you were in my future as far as I could see
And I don't know how it happened, but it happened still
You asked me if I love you, if I always will . . . .
"That reminds me of us."
I smile as I remember the first time I had seen you. My computer had crashed, I was going out with friends to have a break, you're leaning against the counter. The cashier tells me he can fix computers, retrieve information.
"Well, if you do that, I'll have no excuse to drink." I turn my head when I hear you laugh.
"What? I always do everything out in the open."
You tell me that you never know what people do behind close doors.
That smile is back and I mention that I haven't had a date in a long time. I'm surprised by my boldness.
"He wants you to have his number," the cashier tells me the next time he sees me. "He can have my number."
Well you had me from "Hello"
I felt love start to grow
The moment that I looked into your eyes, you won me
It was over from the start
You completely stole my heart
And now you won't let go
I never even had a chance you know
You had me from "Hello"
"This song reminds me of you, of us" The words are etched into my heart. The song ends, my friends find me and offer me another shot. I turn it down, knowing I couldn't forget at this point, wondered if I ever would.
We make it home and thunder is rolling in the distance. "I think it's going to rain, you go on in the house, I'll be in in a second." I turn the radio on and hit play, close my eyes and let a soft country twang pull me back, one more time. I feel the tears start to fall until I feel a tug on my skirt. "Mom, really, where do you go all the time?" I turn the radio off and smile at her. "Nowhere, Erin, nowhere important, I just like this song."
Erin shrugs and laughs, "Music makes me dance." As the first drops of rain start to fall, I hold out my hand and ask her to dance. As she holds on, I don't even wipe away the tears that the rain hides as I let go of the memories and hold onto the reality in front of me.
As we dance, the sound of the rain and thunder drowns out the song I had been lost in only moments earlier . . . .
You had me . . .
Little Girl
I'm a grown-up, sometimes. When the laundry needs done, the aching bodies needs soothed, the bills needs paid. I am a grown-up.
But when I am missing you, I am a little girl again. When I am scared and in need of a mother. When my heart is broken, I am a little girl. When I am overwhelmed, I am a little girl. I am YOUR little girl.
When I need to cry so badly, but my daughter's need me more, I am a grown-up. When I am working hard to provide, I am a grown-up, even when I am forcing the smile.
When I get home at night and think of you, long for you, I shrink, collapse, roll into a ball, trying to squeeze the pain so small, it no longer hurts. In that moment, I NEED to be a little girl, YOUR little girl.
Such a foolish grown-up I was and still can be, denying my needs . . . natural needs. Even grown women need their mothers, need to be someones little girl.
And even now, still, when I dream of you, I am never comforting you, I am never the grown-up. I am a little girl with quivering lips and tear stained cheeks curling up next to you, as close as possible . . . I am your little girl.
And when I am needing my mom, when I am desperate to have you back again, I wonder how in the world can I just be grown-up enough to never feel like a little girl again?
But when I am missing you, I am a little girl again. When I am scared and in need of a mother. When my heart is broken, I am a little girl. When I am overwhelmed, I am a little girl. I am YOUR little girl.
When I need to cry so badly, but my daughter's need me more, I am a grown-up. When I am working hard to provide, I am a grown-up, even when I am forcing the smile.
When I get home at night and think of you, long for you, I shrink, collapse, roll into a ball, trying to squeeze the pain so small, it no longer hurts. In that moment, I NEED to be a little girl, YOUR little girl.
Such a foolish grown-up I was and still can be, denying my needs . . . natural needs. Even grown women need their mothers, need to be someones little girl.
And even now, still, when I dream of you, I am never comforting you, I am never the grown-up. I am a little girl with quivering lips and tear stained cheeks curling up next to you, as close as possible . . . I am your little girl.
And when I am needing my mom, when I am desperate to have you back again, I wonder how in the world can I just be grown-up enough to never feel like a little girl again?
I'm listening
. . . and I am not liking what I hear.
15 years old . . . . crying. The pain of rejection too much to bear at such a young age. He wanted what I refused to give, what others had already taken. A number comes up on the television.
Do you feel lost, alone? We understand. 24 hours a day, let us love you.
Hands shaking, number dialed.
"I just want to be loved. I hate the way they look at me, it makes me feel dirty."
"Well, it has to be YOUR fault....the way you dress entices them. They are weak. You are the one who is wrong. You need to own up, young lady, and become respectable"
I'm sobbing "It wasn't my fault. I did nothing to deserve this."
"Jesus loves you but that won't last if you do not change." CLICK . . . . .
We had been friends. . . I thought. I saw you across the store, picking out your pretty pink shirts and Mom jeans for spring. I know you saw me, too. I saw the look of recognition and then the blank stare and I saw you push the stroller away so I would know, without a doubt, you wanted me to stay away.
You disagreed with my choices. Did you realize, however, how much I needed you through those choices, how much I needed my friend, some guidance? How I longed to tell you that my sins were not contagious.
Standing at the bar, the loud music vibrating through my body. A man offers me a beer. I turn around and laugh.
"Didn't we use to go to church together."
Slick smile . . . . eyes no where near my face.
"So where's the wife?"
"Left her at home. You wanna hang with me? I always thought you were so hot."
My skin crawls, no one is safe. And all I could think is: They judge ME?
A Sunday morning. The pain is intense, I need relief. I get dressed and drive to church. I slip into the once familiar pews and read through the program.
Not much has changed. Children's program. Sunday night dinner. A call to help those in another country.
I let go and tears are running down my face. I put my head down, ashamed at my weakness. A woman comes up to talk to me, sees the tears and tells me that it's good to see me, it's been just too long, and walks away.
Please, someone. Tell me how to get through this!!!!!
Another person comes up, hands me a welcome visitor packet. I wipe away the tears and tell him I had been a part of this church for five years. I figure I was easier to recongize with a plastic smile. The REAL ME is too unrecognizable.
Not one hug. Not one hand held out.
The music in the background makes me laugh . . . .
If we are the body, why aren't His arms reaching . . . .
Yes! Why aren't they?
I get up and leave. It's really no different IN THERE than it is OUT THERE.
A four-top, waiting to be served. Overhearing the conversation makes me dread the next hour.
"I thought she was a strong Christian, but she believes in Ev-O-lu-tion." A word spat out quickly, scared that if it lingers on the lips, the sin will infect her soul.
"Three hail mary's and you'll be good as new"
An hour of tortue, rudeness, contempt.
"Good night, young lady, can't you figure out how to get this right? I swear, such incompetence"
I'm listening. I'm observing and it makes me sad. How I long for one moment to stand up and scream.
"Doesn't anyone get it?"
Sometimes, okay, most of the time, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut, your arms open and just let a grieving, broken person BE.
I have so little left and you tell me to give it to God. Why would I tempt such fate knowing how little I have learned that you believe I am worth?
I'll keep what's left and hold on tight, you get no part of it anymore. You have only proven to me that you are not strong enough to handle it or ME. But . . . . your loss. Because, I promise you, I'm okay. Jesus loves me, even with a hangover, some dirt on my face and a bad word on my lips.
And churches wonder why they are losing so many people. It's simple really. You lost us because you never wanted us in the first place . . . ..
15 years old . . . . crying. The pain of rejection too much to bear at such a young age. He wanted what I refused to give, what others had already taken. A number comes up on the television.
Do you feel lost, alone? We understand. 24 hours a day, let us love you.
Hands shaking, number dialed.
"I just want to be loved. I hate the way they look at me, it makes me feel dirty."
"Well, it has to be YOUR fault....the way you dress entices them. They are weak. You are the one who is wrong. You need to own up, young lady, and become respectable"
I'm sobbing "It wasn't my fault. I did nothing to deserve this."
"Jesus loves you but that won't last if you do not change." CLICK . . . . .
We had been friends. . . I thought. I saw you across the store, picking out your pretty pink shirts and Mom jeans for spring. I know you saw me, too. I saw the look of recognition and then the blank stare and I saw you push the stroller away so I would know, without a doubt, you wanted me to stay away.
You disagreed with my choices. Did you realize, however, how much I needed you through those choices, how much I needed my friend, some guidance? How I longed to tell you that my sins were not contagious.
Standing at the bar, the loud music vibrating through my body. A man offers me a beer. I turn around and laugh.
"Didn't we use to go to church together."
Slick smile . . . . eyes no where near my face.
"So where's the wife?"
"Left her at home. You wanna hang with me? I always thought you were so hot."
My skin crawls, no one is safe. And all I could think is: They judge ME?
A Sunday morning. The pain is intense, I need relief. I get dressed and drive to church. I slip into the once familiar pews and read through the program.
Not much has changed. Children's program. Sunday night dinner. A call to help those in another country.
I let go and tears are running down my face. I put my head down, ashamed at my weakness. A woman comes up to talk to me, sees the tears and tells me that it's good to see me, it's been just too long, and walks away.
Please, someone. Tell me how to get through this!!!!!
Another person comes up, hands me a welcome visitor packet. I wipe away the tears and tell him I had been a part of this church for five years. I figure I was easier to recongize with a plastic smile. The REAL ME is too unrecognizable.
Not one hug. Not one hand held out.
The music in the background makes me laugh . . . .
If we are the body, why aren't His arms reaching . . . .
Yes! Why aren't they?
I get up and leave. It's really no different IN THERE than it is OUT THERE.
A four-top, waiting to be served. Overhearing the conversation makes me dread the next hour.
"I thought she was a strong Christian, but she believes in Ev-O-lu-tion." A word spat out quickly, scared that if it lingers on the lips, the sin will infect her soul.
"Three hail mary's and you'll be good as new"
An hour of tortue, rudeness, contempt.
"Good night, young lady, can't you figure out how to get this right? I swear, such incompetence"
I'm listening. I'm observing and it makes me sad. How I long for one moment to stand up and scream.
"Doesn't anyone get it?"
Sometimes, okay, most of the time, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut, your arms open and just let a grieving, broken person BE.
I have so little left and you tell me to give it to God. Why would I tempt such fate knowing how little I have learned that you believe I am worth?
I'll keep what's left and hold on tight, you get no part of it anymore. You have only proven to me that you are not strong enough to handle it or ME. But . . . . your loss. Because, I promise you, I'm okay. Jesus loves me, even with a hangover, some dirt on my face and a bad word on my lips.
And churches wonder why they are losing so many people. It's simple really. You lost us because you never wanted us in the first place . . . ..
Fear
I'm afraid of , well, everything . . . .
Snakes
The dark
Heights
Falling: to the ground, over myself, IN LOVE
Failure . . . .Success . . . .
We're all afraid, honestly. Some of us just choose to continue moving forward, to continue living, in spite of it. While others, others choose to slowly die, alone in a shell, never realizing how much is there to NOT be afraid of ----
First kiss, second kiss, last kiss
Falling: in love; down a grassy hill, on a Tuesday, in May; out of love; into yourself
Running: away from; towards more; across a finish line . . . .
I spent too long scared, missing out, slowing dying inside. My passion dimmed to mere observation. Life was full of glass houses-- created of bullet proof glass that I was no longer strong enough to invade. I felt myself shrink, retreat, go dim. I attempted to break through; feeble kicks, half-hearted punches . . . . barely making a dent . . . . I felt myself shrink, bruised and dirty---too exhausted to remember why I had wanted to break through in the first place . . . .
Then I remembered, somehow, that I WANTED to live-no longer content with exisiting.
Fight or Flight . . . . I chose both.
The secret to flying is to aim for the ground and miss . . . .
I hit the ground many times before I realized WHY I needed to miss it . . . . and I soared---
I rapelled off of a bridge; I danced, alone, in the dark; I fell in love; I fell out of love; I fell in lust--into kisses--into arms--into bed; I chose to not hate myself in the morning.
Each mistake moving me forward . . .
I stood on a stage and made people laugh; I stood on a stage and received silence but stood on the stage again; I danced with no cares of who saw; I kissed on the first date; I chose to wait until the fifth date for others.
I've made my choices and fallen flat on my face. I've been crushed, cried, laughed, screamed, ran, hit something . . . . and survived.
SURVIVED.
The smoke clears; the pounding in the head stops; the tears are wiped away . . . .
....and in spite of it all, still standing.
A little taller; a lot stronger; a bit wiser; eyes more clear. I no longer had to beat against bullet proof glass--the doors were wide open and welcomed me in . . .
But still . . . .
I'm afraid of everything . . . . but I'm doing it anyway.
Snakes
The dark
Heights
Falling: to the ground, over myself, IN LOVE
Failure . . . .Success . . . .
We're all afraid, honestly. Some of us just choose to continue moving forward, to continue living, in spite of it. While others, others choose to slowly die, alone in a shell, never realizing how much is there to NOT be afraid of ----
First kiss, second kiss, last kiss
Falling: in love; down a grassy hill, on a Tuesday, in May; out of love; into yourself
Running: away from; towards more; across a finish line . . . .
I spent too long scared, missing out, slowing dying inside. My passion dimmed to mere observation. Life was full of glass houses-- created of bullet proof glass that I was no longer strong enough to invade. I felt myself shrink, retreat, go dim. I attempted to break through; feeble kicks, half-hearted punches . . . . barely making a dent . . . . I felt myself shrink, bruised and dirty---too exhausted to remember why I had wanted to break through in the first place . . . .
Then I remembered, somehow, that I WANTED to live-no longer content with exisiting.
Fight or Flight . . . . I chose both.
The secret to flying is to aim for the ground and miss . . . .
I hit the ground many times before I realized WHY I needed to miss it . . . . and I soared---
I rapelled off of a bridge; I danced, alone, in the dark; I fell in love; I fell out of love; I fell in lust--into kisses--into arms--into bed; I chose to not hate myself in the morning.
Each mistake moving me forward . . .
I stood on a stage and made people laugh; I stood on a stage and received silence but stood on the stage again; I danced with no cares of who saw; I kissed on the first date; I chose to wait until the fifth date for others.
I've made my choices and fallen flat on my face. I've been crushed, cried, laughed, screamed, ran, hit something . . . . and survived.
SURVIVED.
The smoke clears; the pounding in the head stops; the tears are wiped away . . . .
....and in spite of it all, still standing.
A little taller; a lot stronger; a bit wiser; eyes more clear. I no longer had to beat against bullet proof glass--the doors were wide open and welcomed me in . . .
But still . . . .
I'm afraid of everything . . . . but I'm doing it anyway.
Ramblings
Words flying through my mind, begging for a voice. How do I say it all without screaming?
Control+Alt+Delete, pause, rewind . . . fast forward. But to what? What lies there?
Ampitheather type seating, with you on the front row. Mic on high, bass blaring. You have no choice but to listen now.
Don't beg me back. It's insulting to my intelligence. You asked for forgiveness. I granted it. Don't look so smug. It's for me, not you. You! You still suck. You chose your Lover over me. She provided a bigger high, no matter how destructive, than I ever could. Did you ever feel bad as you cheated on love for the rush only She could provide?
How can I compete with a Lover of Her magnitude? She has known you longer, She is more tempting, so readily available. No need to seduce and swoon. She is just there waiting for you . . . everywhere. She has no jealousy, no demands . . . in the beginning.
I guess you were too enraptured to see what I saw. I saw your light going dim. That killed me the most: the loss of your smile. Your eyes were too glassy to see how much you shone. For a while.
Did you not ever realize how beautiful you were when your eyes were clear? Too much honesty for you there, I guess.
You made your choice . . . . for a while. Me . . . Her . . . Me. I chose in the end. I chose ME. I let you go to Her knowing I would never ask for you back.
I can't compete with a Lover who is always there and with such history.
You wanted me to catch you before you would fall. But I only strengthed you enough to return to Her. I had to stop for myself.
As I said, I forgive you. For Me. You still suck.
What was the feeling like as you felt Her touching your lips? Was it too much to bear, did you shake and swallow quickly or did you take your time to savor the moment as your tongue felt Her, waiting for the wetness to help Her go down easier?
Your sick little love affair. Kept so secret; still so obvious.
I'm too human to provide the rush that She could.
Knowing the lack of quality of your Lover--who/what you chose over me makes it easier to move away.
You're my muse now. Your betrayal pushing my pen to paper, helping me create.
Your betrayal--another page in my scrapbook.
I'd say I wish you well but we both know that a Lover of your magnitude rarely leaves anyone sane when She finally departs.
You chose to be Her victim. I chose to not be yours.
Control+Alt+Delete, pause, rewind . . . fast forward. But to what? What lies there?
Ampitheather type seating, with you on the front row. Mic on high, bass blaring. You have no choice but to listen now.
Don't beg me back. It's insulting to my intelligence. You asked for forgiveness. I granted it. Don't look so smug. It's for me, not you. You! You still suck. You chose your Lover over me. She provided a bigger high, no matter how destructive, than I ever could. Did you ever feel bad as you cheated on love for the rush only She could provide?
How can I compete with a Lover of Her magnitude? She has known you longer, She is more tempting, so readily available. No need to seduce and swoon. She is just there waiting for you . . . everywhere. She has no jealousy, no demands . . . in the beginning.
I guess you were too enraptured to see what I saw. I saw your light going dim. That killed me the most: the loss of your smile. Your eyes were too glassy to see how much you shone. For a while.
Did you not ever realize how beautiful you were when your eyes were clear? Too much honesty for you there, I guess.
You made your choice . . . . for a while. Me . . . Her . . . Me. I chose in the end. I chose ME. I let you go to Her knowing I would never ask for you back.
I can't compete with a Lover who is always there and with such history.
You wanted me to catch you before you would fall. But I only strengthed you enough to return to Her. I had to stop for myself.
As I said, I forgive you. For Me. You still suck.
What was the feeling like as you felt Her touching your lips? Was it too much to bear, did you shake and swallow quickly or did you take your time to savor the moment as your tongue felt Her, waiting for the wetness to help Her go down easier?
Your sick little love affair. Kept so secret; still so obvious.
I'm too human to provide the rush that She could.
Knowing the lack of quality of your Lover--who/what you chose over me makes it easier to move away.
You're my muse now. Your betrayal pushing my pen to paper, helping me create.
Your betrayal--another page in my scrapbook.
I'd say I wish you well but we both know that a Lover of your magnitude rarely leaves anyone sane when She finally departs.
You chose to be Her victim. I chose to not be yours.
Seasons
He is (was) my Summer. No matter how much time passes, I always
remember him (us) the most when the tree out front blooms with white
flowers; white flowers that the girls would rain down on me, pretending
it was my wedding day. At one time in my life, I believed in a wedding. A
strapless gown, simple, light beading around the edges. I would wear a
tiara for fun. I was going to be a princess that day. The vows were
written in my mind (on my heart) within months of our meeting. Lines
from a song . . .
God Bless the broken road . . . .
We fell in love under the shade of trees, while the children played, and we tried to ignore the heat of the sun (of ourselves). A visit after work, A/C broken, windows open, providing little relief. Hours spent making love and making conversation . . . neither one of us able to get enough of either . . . or each other.
I fell in love with him in June. A time of new beginnings, a love blooming with the flowers. The scents of lilacs and mowed grass making me smile a little, the pain no longer as intense.
He fell out of love in the Fall . . . of course.
I fell in love for the second time in the Winter. California had never quite adjusted to Midwest winters. A rare 60 degree day and we wandered around a small town, exploring shops, each other, allowing hearts to thaw and minds to open. The cold returned and cracks began to form. He hid himself under so many layers, I never really knew who he was. But a person can only remain hidden from themselves for so long.
We shared his first Christmas together. A last minute seach for a Christmas tree. . . his first . . . ever. The excitement when we found OUR tree. Charlie Brown would've been proud. He tied it so carefully to his car, a 35 mile per hour drive home and that smile, his beautiful smile.
Once we put it in water, will more needles grow back?
Really, California? I did my best to hide my laughter . . . It's still just a tree.
No, dear, its my FIRST Christmas tree. This one is special.
The perfect presents for me . . . .bringing tears to my eyes. A pen, two journals, and a book. Has anyone ever known me so well?
The tree lasted the short season. It only started turning brown when his demons came to surface.
Days missing . . . no phone calls. Excuses upon his return.
Money lost that I coudn't account for.
Phone calls, texts, from someone else.
He chose his Addiction over me . . . of course.
The New Year came and brought a new beginning (ending) for me. I said goodbye and stumbled away.
How broken can a heart be and still function?
As the days become longer, the sun provides warmth, and not just light, I wonder about him . . . sometimes. I sometimes stop and wonder who he (we) would be if it wasn't for, well, himself? I wonder if I never knew him at all or if I fell in love with a ghost.
The trees are blooming again and my house is slowly becoming full of small glasses of flowers. A new love is blooming again . . . .with myself, with my words, with a pen on paper.
Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall. Yes, I've had a lover for them all . . . .
God Bless the broken road . . . .
We fell in love under the shade of trees, while the children played, and we tried to ignore the heat of the sun (of ourselves). A visit after work, A/C broken, windows open, providing little relief. Hours spent making love and making conversation . . . neither one of us able to get enough of either . . . or each other.
I fell in love with him in June. A time of new beginnings, a love blooming with the flowers. The scents of lilacs and mowed grass making me smile a little, the pain no longer as intense.
He fell out of love in the Fall . . . of course.
I fell in love for the second time in the Winter. California had never quite adjusted to Midwest winters. A rare 60 degree day and we wandered around a small town, exploring shops, each other, allowing hearts to thaw and minds to open. The cold returned and cracks began to form. He hid himself under so many layers, I never really knew who he was. But a person can only remain hidden from themselves for so long.
We shared his first Christmas together. A last minute seach for a Christmas tree. . . his first . . . ever. The excitement when we found OUR tree. Charlie Brown would've been proud. He tied it so carefully to his car, a 35 mile per hour drive home and that smile, his beautiful smile.
Once we put it in water, will more needles grow back?
Really, California? I did my best to hide my laughter . . . It's still just a tree.
No, dear, its my FIRST Christmas tree. This one is special.
The perfect presents for me . . . .bringing tears to my eyes. A pen, two journals, and a book. Has anyone ever known me so well?
The tree lasted the short season. It only started turning brown when his demons came to surface.
Days missing . . . no phone calls. Excuses upon his return.
Money lost that I coudn't account for.
Phone calls, texts, from someone else.
He chose his Addiction over me . . . of course.
The New Year came and brought a new beginning (ending) for me. I said goodbye and stumbled away.
How broken can a heart be and still function?
As the days become longer, the sun provides warmth, and not just light, I wonder about him . . . sometimes. I sometimes stop and wonder who he (we) would be if it wasn't for, well, himself? I wonder if I never knew him at all or if I fell in love with a ghost.
The trees are blooming again and my house is slowly becoming full of small glasses of flowers. A new love is blooming again . . . .with myself, with my words, with a pen on paper.
Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall. Yes, I've had a lover for them all . . . .
My Life's Playlist
Originally written 2010
I sat in a bar last night, my drink ignored as the amazing talent that is so hidden in this town came out, stepped on a small stage and became stars. The music washed over me, washed away anything that had been there in the moments before "Georgia on my mind" was sent into the air, so beautifully intoxicating, it brought tears to my eyes.
I go back in time and remember my own songs, sung and stored quietly in the deepest recesses of my soul, holding onto memories I cannot ever let go of.
It's summers as a child hearing Conway Twitty sing of Tight Fitting Jeans and girls who hasn't been that far before. Songs that even now, decades later, cause my heart to race and my eyes to close, wanting nothing to interfere with the rough perfection of his voice.
It's playing outside in the summer, singing along with my little sister "Just a swingin'" . . . . our innocence still intact. The smell of Pine-sol and fried chicken. And the country music in the background letting us know, mom was cleaning. It's still the only genre that is allowed when I decide to de-clutter my home . . . my life.
It's Plush, Linger, and Come as You Are ushering in music for a youth needing something of their own, something uncharted, even as it became more popular and mainstream. Music that caused us to stand to our feet and stand for something: Standing out. Even though, looking back now, we all really did look alike. And right now, it's I Was A Teenage Anarchist that reminds me of the passion I had (have) and should live for.
It's You Had Me from Hello reminding me of a first love, first kiss, first time letting go, letting in, holding nothing back, sweat, kisses, tears, release. A song that playing over and over until I couldn't cry anymore when his hello became good-bye. The pain reminding me that I DID Feel, that I CAN Feel, that I need to, want to, am going to feel again.
It's Craig Morgan singing of Tough woman and the first man who saw me the same way, even at my weakest moment.
It's Amazing Grace . . . .how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. Even when I feel beyond saving and the closest I feel to God is the summer winds at night, caressing my face. Reminding me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I think I am.
It's Beautiful Disaster and arms around my waist, pulling me closer, begging my heart to open. And it did, one step, one night at a time and even now, the song causes me to smile, even though he no longer does.
It's the love songs we hope to dedicate to someone; the break-up songs we pray to God we never have to know. It's the songs that move us; slow us down or cause us to dance until the bright lights let us know it was time to go . . . for now.
It's the perfect song to sing along to in the car, as loud as you can . . . .
The tunes you hum because you forgot the words but still know the sound by heart.
It's the perfect song that causes you to grab a broom and dance . . .
And it's the song that gives you the courage to lean in for a first kiss . . . .hoping he feels the same and the absolute joy when you learn that he does and storing THAT song away into your playlist.
It's Etta James "I'd Rather be Blind" letting you know, you can survive your heartbreak if you can sing about it. Even as the pain in her voice matches the pain in your soul, you can't get enough.
It's life, one note at a time, just waiting to see which song will be lived next . . . .
I sat in a bar last night, my drink ignored as the amazing talent that is so hidden in this town came out, stepped on a small stage and became stars. The music washed over me, washed away anything that had been there in the moments before "Georgia on my mind" was sent into the air, so beautifully intoxicating, it brought tears to my eyes.
I go back in time and remember my own songs, sung and stored quietly in the deepest recesses of my soul, holding onto memories I cannot ever let go of.
It's summers as a child hearing Conway Twitty sing of Tight Fitting Jeans and girls who hasn't been that far before. Songs that even now, decades later, cause my heart to race and my eyes to close, wanting nothing to interfere with the rough perfection of his voice.
It's playing outside in the summer, singing along with my little sister "Just a swingin'" . . . . our innocence still intact. The smell of Pine-sol and fried chicken. And the country music in the background letting us know, mom was cleaning. It's still the only genre that is allowed when I decide to de-clutter my home . . . my life.
It's Plush, Linger, and Come as You Are ushering in music for a youth needing something of their own, something uncharted, even as it became more popular and mainstream. Music that caused us to stand to our feet and stand for something: Standing out. Even though, looking back now, we all really did look alike. And right now, it's I Was A Teenage Anarchist that reminds me of the passion I had (have) and should live for.
It's You Had Me from Hello reminding me of a first love, first kiss, first time letting go, letting in, holding nothing back, sweat, kisses, tears, release. A song that playing over and over until I couldn't cry anymore when his hello became good-bye. The pain reminding me that I DID Feel, that I CAN Feel, that I need to, want to, am going to feel again.
It's Craig Morgan singing of Tough woman and the first man who saw me the same way, even at my weakest moment.
It's Amazing Grace . . . .how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. Even when I feel beyond saving and the closest I feel to God is the summer winds at night, caressing my face. Reminding me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I think I am.
It's Beautiful Disaster and arms around my waist, pulling me closer, begging my heart to open. And it did, one step, one night at a time and even now, the song causes me to smile, even though he no longer does.
It's the love songs we hope to dedicate to someone; the break-up songs we pray to God we never have to know. It's the songs that move us; slow us down or cause us to dance until the bright lights let us know it was time to go . . . for now.
It's the perfect song to sing along to in the car, as loud as you can . . . .
The tunes you hum because you forgot the words but still know the sound by heart.
It's the perfect song that causes you to grab a broom and dance . . .
And it's the song that gives you the courage to lean in for a first kiss . . . .hoping he feels the same and the absolute joy when you learn that he does and storing THAT song away into your playlist.
It's Etta James "I'd Rather be Blind" letting you know, you can survive your heartbreak if you can sing about it. Even as the pain in her voice matches the pain in your soul, you can't get enough.
It's life, one note at a time, just waiting to see which song will be lived next . . . .
Love Letter
Dearest Love,
Do you not know how long I've waited on you to listen to my words? I love you, so much. Why can't you believe me? Why do you keep pushing me away, shoving me down, silencing me . . . . hurting me?
Do you not realize, that in the end, you are only hurting yourself?
Yes, you've been hurt . . . rejected . . . .used . . . discarded. But haven't we all? Show me one person who has been left unscarred by Life and I will stop now and walk away.
I try to wake you at Dawn to whisper in your ear all the dreams I have for you. You shut me out. As the sun rises, you pretend we never spoke. You know the pain of not being loved back, why would you continue to do it to me?
I've given you words, gifts, opportunities to soar above the wreckage you continue to surround yourself with.
Why? How broken are you, is your view, that you cannot see the beauty I see?
Why do you hide from me . . . from the world . . . .yourself?
You deny what you want. You refuse to let yourself be loved. Or to love.
Yes, you've been hurt. Badly. But look before that moment of pain and see this . . . you were....you ARE capable of amazing love. Don't you know (and I know you do . . . stubborn, stubborn woman) that you will receive what you put out?
You want to be loved, underneath the armour, behind the walls, where you truly are, you want to be loved. You desire it. It drives every moment of your life. You think if you go fast enough, you can deny yourself. Aren't you worn out from running from where you're supposed to be?
Try this for me, please. Just . . . .STOP. Lie in the grass, stare at the stars, forget all you believe you know and just be. Listen to the sounds, to the nothing, feel your heartbeat. Listen my words.
You are loved. You have always been loved. You just refuse to believe it.
Your sadness has never come from lack of love, but your refusal to accept it.
Your tears have not gone unnoticed. They are a necessary cleansing. You have mourned, you are more whole now than you know.
Stop hiding your softness, your beauty . . . .your YOU'ness. Because, you can't hide it much longer. I see it and desire it strongly. I desire the love I know you are capable of.
Do you not understand how necessary it is for you to Love me? To Love yourself?
How do you plan on ever reaching your goals, succumbing to those desires that awaken you, begging to be heard, while you wipe the tears from your cheeks., if you refuse to ever look beyond that which you cling to so strongly. Be warned, it may hold you up now, but things that weak have a tendency of letting go before you are ready.
Do you really want to continue existing when you are capable of Living?
I love you. I have always loved you. Even when you were too broken to know it. In fact, I loved you the most when you were the most broken. I loved you when you clutched at nothing, begging for some relief. I was there, but you pushed me away.
You are amazing. You are beauty. You are loved . . . .
Sincerely,
You
Do you not know how long I've waited on you to listen to my words? I love you, so much. Why can't you believe me? Why do you keep pushing me away, shoving me down, silencing me . . . . hurting me?
Do you not realize, that in the end, you are only hurting yourself?
Yes, you've been hurt . . . rejected . . . .used . . . discarded. But haven't we all? Show me one person who has been left unscarred by Life and I will stop now and walk away.
I try to wake you at Dawn to whisper in your ear all the dreams I have for you. You shut me out. As the sun rises, you pretend we never spoke. You know the pain of not being loved back, why would you continue to do it to me?
I've given you words, gifts, opportunities to soar above the wreckage you continue to surround yourself with.
Why? How broken are you, is your view, that you cannot see the beauty I see?
Why do you hide from me . . . from the world . . . .yourself?
You deny what you want. You refuse to let yourself be loved. Or to love.
Yes, you've been hurt. Badly. But look before that moment of pain and see this . . . you were....you ARE capable of amazing love. Don't you know (and I know you do . . . stubborn, stubborn woman) that you will receive what you put out?
You want to be loved, underneath the armour, behind the walls, where you truly are, you want to be loved. You desire it. It drives every moment of your life. You think if you go fast enough, you can deny yourself. Aren't you worn out from running from where you're supposed to be?
Try this for me, please. Just . . . .STOP. Lie in the grass, stare at the stars, forget all you believe you know and just be. Listen to the sounds, to the nothing, feel your heartbeat. Listen my words.
You are loved. You have always been loved. You just refuse to believe it.
Your sadness has never come from lack of love, but your refusal to accept it.
Your tears have not gone unnoticed. They are a necessary cleansing. You have mourned, you are more whole now than you know.
Stop hiding your softness, your beauty . . . .your YOU'ness. Because, you can't hide it much longer. I see it and desire it strongly. I desire the love I know you are capable of.
Do you not understand how necessary it is for you to Love me? To Love yourself?
How do you plan on ever reaching your goals, succumbing to those desires that awaken you, begging to be heard, while you wipe the tears from your cheeks., if you refuse to ever look beyond that which you cling to so strongly. Be warned, it may hold you up now, but things that weak have a tendency of letting go before you are ready.
Do you really want to continue existing when you are capable of Living?
I love you. I have always loved you. Even when you were too broken to know it. In fact, I loved you the most when you were the most broken. I loved you when you clutched at nothing, begging for some relief. I was there, but you pushed me away.
You are amazing. You are beauty. You are loved . . . .
Sincerely,
You
How to get a 2nd date
Originally written in 2009. My dating guidelines have changed quite a bit since then :/
A few months ago, I wrote a sarcastic dating profile. I figure, at this point, it's time to make a wee little list on how to (or not to) get to a 2nd date with me.
1. Show up on time. Sad that I even have to mention this. But really, nothing screams "Stood up" more than a pretty girl sitting alone in the bar, restaurant or the little section of Sonic, drinking a water and checking her phone every 5 minutes. I don't like being put in this situation. Especially when a really hot guy at the end of the bar/restaurant/or next stall at Sonic is giving me "The Eye". The longer you wait, the more I give "The Eye" back and by the time you show up, I may already be planning my second date with Mr. Man. As they say, the early bird gets the, er, worm ;)
2. In case you need a refresher course on obtaining a date with me, let me bring up the subject of Ex's again. Let's not talk about them. And most importantly, if your ex was hot, do not show me a picture of her. I am a woman. I will spend the rest of the date trying to decide how to suck in my tummy, amp up my cleavage and inconspicuosly keep applying lip gloss so my lips look oh so shiny and kissable. This will detract ALL attention away from you. If you decide to not heed this warning and show me a picture, at least pull up a picture of your slightly odd looking Cousin from Alabama. Then, Ill spend the rest of the date feeling quite 'lucious. After all, we all want to believe we are the "Most Beautiful Woman You Have EVER Met"
3. How about we just make it simple. Let's pretend that you have never had a relationship with anyone else because you were waiting for someone as fabulous as me. I will know, deep down, it's all a lie. But that's okay. We all lie a little anyway.
4. Do not stare at my cleavage. Yes, I know it's nice, but I believe in making eye contact and if I have to keep bending my head down to maintain eye contact, the date will end early because my neck will hurt and I will be so pissed that you never looked in my eye, I won't let you give me a massage. And I didn't wear Crest Whitestrips for a week and splurge on the "Lasts 8 hours, shiny, makes lips kissable" lipgloss to have my mouth ignored :)
5. Don't complain about the prices on the menu. You asked me out, so there's a damn good chance, I let you pick the restaurant. If you do complain, I am ornery enough that I'll order an appetizer and the most expensive meal on the menu, eat 2 bites and then let you know I'm dieting and can't possibly finish it all. If you can't afford to pay for dinner, donate some more plasma and call me when your red blood cell count is back to normal.
6. Please don't hit on the bartender/waitress/car hop. At least not in front of me. I have a small bladder, I'll excuse myself to go pee alot. You are welcome to flirt then. Refer back to my message about lies. I can't get angry about what I don't know.
7. Open my door for me. If you jump ahead of me and barge through the door and slam it in my face, I promise you, you'll probably be standing around for 10 minutes thinking I'm peeing again and will be back at any moment before you realize, I'm not :) Instead, I'm probably at the cool bar next door where the bouncer winked at me as we passed by (You would've seen this if you hadn't been staring at my cleavage). I promise you, bouncers open doors for ladies ;)
8. Do not take me to Wal-mart on the first date. I do not care that you ran out of toilet paper at home. Grab some napkins from the restaurant. If you don't want me to see you do this, you can grab them and stuff them in your pants while I'm on one of my many bathroom trips. On the first date, I do not want to know that you prefer Angel Soft over Charmin. In fact, I do not even want to imagine that you use toilet paper . . . or why. But with my mind being the way it is, I will start thinking of that and suddenly, you'll look more like a friend than a "I'll kiss him on the first date" prospect.
9. Do not tell me about a fabulous trip you want to take me on in 5 months. It's the FIRST date. Save big plans like that for at least the 5th date. That's the perfect amount of time to start making future plans. And since I like to think people mean what they say, I don't want to be the dumbass who starts looking forward to the trip, ask for that week off work, post about it all over Facebook and tell my friends only to realize you couldn't think of anything else to say once you weren't given the option of staring at my boobs and/or hitting on the bartender/waitress/car hop and have no intention of taking me anywhere.
10. Please, don't get me drunk on the first date. I start saying things I truly believe I mean when in reality, I wish I had never said them. I promise you now, if I mention wanting you to meet my family, kids, or love at first site, it wasn't me, it was the Vodka/Tequila/Jager. And if you wake up the next day with a flight confirmation to Florida, I tried to warn you beforehand, so it's your fault ;)
11. And FINALLY: Please, for all that is good and right in this world, DO NOT tell me about nor show me a picture of you in ladies panties. And when I laugh and ask how your Halloween was, do not be shocked when I suddenly have to run away when you tell me you wear them daily. Honestly, I'm not uptight, I just do not want to use the brain power to figure out how you keep everything tucked in or wonder if your ass looks better in red boyshorts than mine does.
A few months ago, I wrote a sarcastic dating profile. I figure, at this point, it's time to make a wee little list on how to (or not to) get to a 2nd date with me.
1. Show up on time. Sad that I even have to mention this. But really, nothing screams "Stood up" more than a pretty girl sitting alone in the bar, restaurant or the little section of Sonic, drinking a water and checking her phone every 5 minutes. I don't like being put in this situation. Especially when a really hot guy at the end of the bar/restaurant/or next stall at Sonic is giving me "The Eye". The longer you wait, the more I give "The Eye" back and by the time you show up, I may already be planning my second date with Mr. Man. As they say, the early bird gets the, er, worm ;)
2. In case you need a refresher course on obtaining a date with me, let me bring up the subject of Ex's again. Let's not talk about them. And most importantly, if your ex was hot, do not show me a picture of her. I am a woman. I will spend the rest of the date trying to decide how to suck in my tummy, amp up my cleavage and inconspicuosly keep applying lip gloss so my lips look oh so shiny and kissable. This will detract ALL attention away from you. If you decide to not heed this warning and show me a picture, at least pull up a picture of your slightly odd looking Cousin from Alabama. Then, Ill spend the rest of the date feeling quite 'lucious. After all, we all want to believe we are the "Most Beautiful Woman You Have EVER Met"
3. How about we just make it simple. Let's pretend that you have never had a relationship with anyone else because you were waiting for someone as fabulous as me. I will know, deep down, it's all a lie. But that's okay. We all lie a little anyway.
4. Do not stare at my cleavage. Yes, I know it's nice, but I believe in making eye contact and if I have to keep bending my head down to maintain eye contact, the date will end early because my neck will hurt and I will be so pissed that you never looked in my eye, I won't let you give me a massage. And I didn't wear Crest Whitestrips for a week and splurge on the "Lasts 8 hours, shiny, makes lips kissable" lipgloss to have my mouth ignored :)
5. Don't complain about the prices on the menu. You asked me out, so there's a damn good chance, I let you pick the restaurant. If you do complain, I am ornery enough that I'll order an appetizer and the most expensive meal on the menu, eat 2 bites and then let you know I'm dieting and can't possibly finish it all. If you can't afford to pay for dinner, donate some more plasma and call me when your red blood cell count is back to normal.
6. Please don't hit on the bartender/waitress/car hop. At least not in front of me. I have a small bladder, I'll excuse myself to go pee alot. You are welcome to flirt then. Refer back to my message about lies. I can't get angry about what I don't know.
7. Open my door for me. If you jump ahead of me and barge through the door and slam it in my face, I promise you, you'll probably be standing around for 10 minutes thinking I'm peeing again and will be back at any moment before you realize, I'm not :) Instead, I'm probably at the cool bar next door where the bouncer winked at me as we passed by (You would've seen this if you hadn't been staring at my cleavage). I promise you, bouncers open doors for ladies ;)
8. Do not take me to Wal-mart on the first date. I do not care that you ran out of toilet paper at home. Grab some napkins from the restaurant. If you don't want me to see you do this, you can grab them and stuff them in your pants while I'm on one of my many bathroom trips. On the first date, I do not want to know that you prefer Angel Soft over Charmin. In fact, I do not even want to imagine that you use toilet paper . . . or why. But with my mind being the way it is, I will start thinking of that and suddenly, you'll look more like a friend than a "I'll kiss him on the first date" prospect.
9. Do not tell me about a fabulous trip you want to take me on in 5 months. It's the FIRST date. Save big plans like that for at least the 5th date. That's the perfect amount of time to start making future plans. And since I like to think people mean what they say, I don't want to be the dumbass who starts looking forward to the trip, ask for that week off work, post about it all over Facebook and tell my friends only to realize you couldn't think of anything else to say once you weren't given the option of staring at my boobs and/or hitting on the bartender/waitress/car hop and have no intention of taking me anywhere.
10. Please, don't get me drunk on the first date. I start saying things I truly believe I mean when in reality, I wish I had never said them. I promise you now, if I mention wanting you to meet my family, kids, or love at first site, it wasn't me, it was the Vodka/Tequila/Jager. And if you wake up the next day with a flight confirmation to Florida, I tried to warn you beforehand, so it's your fault ;)
11. And FINALLY: Please, for all that is good and right in this world, DO NOT tell me about nor show me a picture of you in ladies panties. And when I laugh and ask how your Halloween was, do not be shocked when I suddenly have to run away when you tell me you wear them daily. Honestly, I'm not uptight, I just do not want to use the brain power to figure out how you keep everything tucked in or wonder if your ass looks better in red boyshorts than mine does.
He never looked at me . . . .
I spent the day with my
ex-husband and his new girlfriend. I am observant, so I watched them,
curious. It was as if I was watching two strangers. Because how could
the way he is with her be anything but unfamiliar to me?
He never looked at me the way he was looking at her.
Respectfully, gently, joyfully . . . .lovingly.
It took three years of marriage counseling to discover what I had known for years, had always known: He never loved me.
Marriage counselor: Do you love your wife.
Him: (Pondering) No, I can honestly say that I don't.
Marriage counselor: Then why are you with her?
Him: She turns me on.
The reason I left my marriage in case anyone is wondering. It should put the rumors to rest.
We've been apart long enough for me to not have regrets. I initiated the leaving, after all. But I'd lie if I said it doesn't hurt to see him love someone new in a way he could never, would never, love me.
I asked him how he could move so fast with someone he had just met. He was blunt . . . .
"You could never understand, Michelle, you've never been loved."
I would've fallen to my knees and doubled over in pain if I wasnt so prideful, so strong. I turned away before he saw the tears.
At least that part is still familiar: how well he knows me, how well he knows how to hurt me the most.
It would be easier if I didn't recognize his looks so much. The looks of gloating.
"Look what I have and you don't. I am capable of loving after all. I just wasn't capable of loving you."
He knows my humanity too well . . . and how to bring it to surface in the most familiar ways.
But today, as he looked at her with that look of love, he was a stranger to me.
And that is not fair.
He never looked at me the way he was looking at her.
Respectfully, gently, joyfully . . . .lovingly.
It took three years of marriage counseling to discover what I had known for years, had always known: He never loved me.
Marriage counselor: Do you love your wife.
Him: (Pondering) No, I can honestly say that I don't.
Marriage counselor: Then why are you with her?
Him: She turns me on.
The reason I left my marriage in case anyone is wondering. It should put the rumors to rest.
We've been apart long enough for me to not have regrets. I initiated the leaving, after all. But I'd lie if I said it doesn't hurt to see him love someone new in a way he could never, would never, love me.
I asked him how he could move so fast with someone he had just met. He was blunt . . . .
"You could never understand, Michelle, you've never been loved."
I would've fallen to my knees and doubled over in pain if I wasnt so prideful, so strong. I turned away before he saw the tears.
At least that part is still familiar: how well he knows me, how well he knows how to hurt me the most.
It would be easier if I didn't recognize his looks so much. The looks of gloating.
"Look what I have and you don't. I am capable of loving after all. I just wasn't capable of loving you."
He knows my humanity too well . . . and how to bring it to surface in the most familiar ways.
But today, as he looked at her with that look of love, he was a stranger to me.
And that is not fair.
More Beautiful
I was so excited. A rare night for us to go out, with no kids. With four babies at home, this is a feat in and of itself. But we managed it. I had went shopping with my mom a few days before to buy a new outfit. I felt beautiful in my charcoal gray pants and pink and gray sweater. The mom shoes were put away and I slipped on heels.
As we were driving to his company Christmas party, I looked at him to ask what was wrong.
I am ashamed to be seen with you.
I had gained weight after the birth of Erin. Caring for four babies under the age of four left little time for me. But I had went to great lengths to pick out my outfit, do my hair, apply my makeup just right.
But in that one moment, I realized one thing . . . .
Nothing I did to myself would make me pretty enough for him. There was always another woman who was prettier. Slimmer. More desirable.
He had quit calling me beautiful years before that night.
I had been single for a while. I wasn't even looking for someone. I felt I needed more time to rebuild what my ex-husband had destroyed. But I couldn't forget his smile.
Why is someone as beautiful as you talking to me?
I was shocked.
It didn't last long, however . . . and he never said those words to me again.
He did let me know, however, that he found other women more beautiful. He would point them out to me. Telling me to try to get my hair like one girl. Wear an outfit like another. On and on until I felt as if he was settling.
Why do you need me to tell you that you are beautiful? If you think you are, why does my opinion matter?
Because if it is so easy for you to say it about women you do not even know, why is it so hard for you to say it to me?
I was out to dinner with friends. She got up to order a drink. Her boyfriend couldn't take his eyes off of her. He was speaking to no one in particular when he said . . .
She is the most beautiful women I have ever seen. How am I so lucky?
I could have easily pointed out a number of women in the bar that night who were more beautiful. But I didn't because I realized what he meant.
When he was with her, he saw no one else. His love for her caused him to see her so clearly, there was nothing more beautiful to him.
I excused myself so he wouldn't see the tears.
Because I have never experienced that. Being the most beautiful women to someone who cared about me. My whole life has been a process of critique and veiled compliments . . .
You are pretty but . . . .
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen . . . .
You would be prettier if . . . .
And it seems so hard to explain to men why it hurts when they don't see us as the most beautiful. Because to a woman, beauty isn't the way our hair is styled, the clothes we wear, the shoes on our feet. NO!!! Its inside of us. its who we are.
And when someone cares about you and gets to know you but still doesn't see us as the most beautiful . . . .
Its a complete rejection of who we are, behind the lipstick, the perfume and the little black dress. Its us allowing them to see us from the inside out and them still finding someone else more desirable.
I may have ruined a relationship because of this belief. Because when I saw him, I saw no one else. No one else could even begin to compare.
And I just wanted him to feel the same way when he looked at me . . . .
And I couldn't stop myself from feeling the same rejection as before when I heard him utter these words . . . .
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
And he wasn't talking about me . . . . .
As we were driving to his company Christmas party, I looked at him to ask what was wrong.
I am ashamed to be seen with you.
I had gained weight after the birth of Erin. Caring for four babies under the age of four left little time for me. But I had went to great lengths to pick out my outfit, do my hair, apply my makeup just right.
But in that one moment, I realized one thing . . . .
Nothing I did to myself would make me pretty enough for him. There was always another woman who was prettier. Slimmer. More desirable.
He had quit calling me beautiful years before that night.
I had been single for a while. I wasn't even looking for someone. I felt I needed more time to rebuild what my ex-husband had destroyed. But I couldn't forget his smile.
Why is someone as beautiful as you talking to me?
I was shocked.
It didn't last long, however . . . and he never said those words to me again.
He did let me know, however, that he found other women more beautiful. He would point them out to me. Telling me to try to get my hair like one girl. Wear an outfit like another. On and on until I felt as if he was settling.
Why do you need me to tell you that you are beautiful? If you think you are, why does my opinion matter?
Because if it is so easy for you to say it about women you do not even know, why is it so hard for you to say it to me?
I was out to dinner with friends. She got up to order a drink. Her boyfriend couldn't take his eyes off of her. He was speaking to no one in particular when he said . . .
She is the most beautiful women I have ever seen. How am I so lucky?
I could have easily pointed out a number of women in the bar that night who were more beautiful. But I didn't because I realized what he meant.
When he was with her, he saw no one else. His love for her caused him to see her so clearly, there was nothing more beautiful to him.
I excused myself so he wouldn't see the tears.
Because I have never experienced that. Being the most beautiful women to someone who cared about me. My whole life has been a process of critique and veiled compliments . . .
You are pretty but . . . .
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen . . . .
You would be prettier if . . . .
And it seems so hard to explain to men why it hurts when they don't see us as the most beautiful. Because to a woman, beauty isn't the way our hair is styled, the clothes we wear, the shoes on our feet. NO!!! Its inside of us. its who we are.
And when someone cares about you and gets to know you but still doesn't see us as the most beautiful . . . .
Its a complete rejection of who we are, behind the lipstick, the perfume and the little black dress. Its us allowing them to see us from the inside out and them still finding someone else more desirable.
I may have ruined a relationship because of this belief. Because when I saw him, I saw no one else. No one else could even begin to compare.
And I just wanted him to feel the same way when he looked at me . . . .
And I couldn't stop myself from feeling the same rejection as before when I heard him utter these words . . . .
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
And he wasn't talking about me . . . . .
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