Sorrow-weight

Feeling the weight of my heart again

It's crushing against my lungs

Until my sorrow is in my breath, my tongue

Words spoken only for you--I feel the weight of them too

Foolish girl, to believe in dreaming

Dreaming of a life, a love, that fits

Fits like a glove

Wishing for a way to stop the sorrow,

I pray and argue

Why am I here, God, enduring?

Wanting you, because I want a way out,

I sit and type in the wee hours of the morning

Because sleep loves me not

I want you to understand,

To mean what you said when you said everything,

To be the boy I want you to be--

The one I see glimpses of when you make me smile

But my smiles are coming less often of late

And this sorrow-weight, it has a shape

A tear drop, a broken heart

It has a sound, the beat of my heart, a sob--

I know not

In the silence of gasping breath

And the in between beats,

I live-still before the Lord

The Darkest Part of Love

Meet me where the sun comes up

And cry your tears no more

Tonight is a new moon

The shadows flit around you

Your legs strong, your palms up

You've given up the fight

You jump into broad daylight

The drowning water drags you down

And one last gasp for air won't save you now

So meet me where the sun comes up

And cry your tears no more

Tonight is a new moon

The darkest part of love

Will cease on this new day

And you'll find yourself

Or find yourself no more

There's no love to light the night

No path to follow on this eternal new moon

So meet me where the sun comes up

And cry your tears no more

Tonight is a new moon

Love loss

Love loss thins my blood until you are a crime best forgotten.
I can't think past these memories that crowd my mind,
Crowd out the voice of reason, the reasons I'm left behind.

There's never enough time to be the you you thought you'd be,
But, love, you've always known me.

Know me now, when the voice has been stolen from my lips.
Know that I count you as a loss that I feel like a knife upon my skin.

I'm not your firefly princess, and I'm not a bitter, lost girl with wild flowers in my hair.
I've shorn that life, cut it free so I could fly away.

But now and again, I return.

Return to lost nights curled in an empty bed.
To lies that I only tell myself.
To crimes best forgotten.

Tree

written in 2006

Do you know those times in life when you take a deep breath and realize that you are breathing in the whole world? Those times when you feel a connection with everything else around you, your living and non-living environment, when you feel a pull toward it and it pulls you back? One night a few years ago I was leaving my evening class. I felt the pull of the class on my mind still as I gathered my things to leave. I felt the continuation of the thoughts inspired in that class; it was British Literature III, so we had probably been discussing something tragic and beautiful, as only the Victorians can truly express it. And as with anything I find to be beautiful, there was a sadness throughout. Sadness permeates my skin like a mist, even in my happiness. And at that time of my life, I was allowing more sadness into my soul, becoming a shroud to my own willful discontent. But as with all things, the balance returns. And this night, this night I felt the beauty overwhelm me.

I walked down the old, crooked wooden stairs of the Ad building, the ones I always used, that curved down in the middle from the years of academia pounding up and down, up and down. The ones that creaked like the springs of your lover’s bed. A sound that endears and embraces at the same time. I stept down, trailing my fingertips along the posting as I turned the corner to the door, passing the vent and down the last two steps that make sense to no one, but fit so well. I love the feel of this spot, this building. Love the color and the tone of the wood, the odd curves and high ceilinged walls. Lots of memories here, and I’m a part of some of them. But on this night, I sighed as I pushed on the heavy glass door that led to the back concrete steps, hefting my bag with its heavy Norton weight further upon the bracing of my shoulder. I get red marks upon the skin of my shoulder from those books, but I’d carry a thousand if it meant they’d mark me as I have marked them.

I might have said goodbye to someone headed off in the other direction, or I might have been ignored, or been ignoring, I can’t remember. But I do remember that as I started walking back to East, I felt the chill in the air, and a stillness and fragrance in it that was like an invisible fog. A fog that connects and separates and clings. I hugged my arms as I shivered. It had been raining; the sidewalk had that mottled shade of nearly muddied brown that it gets when wet, and there were small tendrils of steam rising up, like little unfurled ribbons, upside down. I noticed how wet everything smelled, how wet and new and fresh. And I saw the drops of rain, looking like dew, on the branches of the three trees clustered just behind the chapel, and I noticed the grass bent and glorious beneath the wet. The stained glass in the chapel seemed to glow and shift shapes beneath the moon, as only colors melted together can do. And the angles of the chapel roof were suggesting that I look deeper, that I feel. And I took a deep breath in, and kept walking, feeling deeper. I walked along, past Oakwood and the tiny buds of flowers, just starting to show color, other than that glorious green of spring that I always love and never remember how much I’ve missed until I see it again after a long winter. I passed the old tree, carved and shorn, and cherished. The paths of the sidewalk skewed and traced the lines of other days and moments, of pasts and futures and the resonance of feet. I came upon the street, ready to cross and go home, but going home wasn’t where I wanted to be. The sky was a blanket laid out for feast and I felt tears in my eyes as I realized how integral I was to this experience, and this experience to me.

And then I saw the tree. I wish I had the words to describe what only eyes can see. East loomed tall in front of me, and the flood light spread its influence over the area, over the tree. You know those times when you can’t help but feel that the world has hidden something magical from you that is there, just beneath the surface, at the surface, right above your head? This night the magic was in me. This tree…it sparkled and shone, the drops of rain caught in its arms and the light making them transcendent and crystalline and so pure, so held firm, that it stole my breath. I gave it willing, adding my own fog to the still of the air, and I stood not knowing I was still and memorized that light and the way it hit the tree’s essence of being, the way it hit the water and froze it, like a fairy dance that no one mortal is supposed to see. I felt something inside of me tear open, like a sudden gushing wind, or a violent gash along the skin. Like icy fingers reached into my center and pulled out what was me, making it a part of what was it. The sky was misting, and I was misting because of the love I had for this tree. I walked around it, looking at the rounded lines and the nodules of pride. And between the strikes of crystalline-watered brown and brick, I saw the window of my room. The light was there as well, but it was not a welcome light. Through the panes of civilized glass I saw people in my room, as alien to me as this stifling society feels today. And I knew they could not understand. I looked again at the beauty of this tree, at the beauty of it saying gently, you are a part of me. And I looked back to the window, my walled prison and confessional, and mourned the loss of the beauty of that tree. It was still there, but now the sadness was too. But more, the anger that came welling up within me with the understanding that no one would understand me. Me or this tree. But then I thought of a boy I once knew, one that held my heart without my knowing how, and I felt him there, in that tree, too. And because he was in the tree, he was in me. Because I loved him as I loved this tree, I found the strength to go inside again, stealing one last look at the tree from my towered window. I ignored the people in my room; they were not part of me and they did not belong there. And with the futility of a child trying to build a castle in the sand that won’t wash away with the evening tide, I went back outside to try to capture what the tree meant to me.

It has been a few years since that night, but only now do I realize that I never needed to capture something that was already me.

Turkish Coffee

I'm lying in bed,

Wishing for a sleep

That will not come.

The writer in me takes advantage

While the sane part worries that I'm going manic--

Too many racing thoughts

But then I remember

The Turkish coffee

And again, wish for sleep.

Remembrance

I remember feeling cold.

I remember being kissed by a boy I loved and being disappointed.

I remember a three hour phone conversation with a man I once loved.

He loved me too.

I remember writing in the white hallway of a psych ward, in red ink.

I remember that I never remember how low I can sink until I read about it on the page.

I remember being diagnosed Bipolar and having to take a leave of absence from work.

I remember cotton candy, pink, melting on my tongue.

I remember kissing the forehead of child while he slept.

I remember writing about my body, and later, writing about how I wrote about my body.

I remember playing fort in my backyard.

I remember when I was innocent.

Doubt

My scar marks have yet to fade

And I'm already getting in over my head

These lines on my skin remind me

Of how easy it is to lose control

And here I am, piling on more life

I am full of doubt

And these scars, they tell me I can't do this,

I can't live

I wish there was a way to know--any way--to know

Will you love me?

He is a loss I have counted,
As am I for him
To be his loss feels so bittersweet,
But mostly sweet.
He has been counted.

There's not enough time in the world
To go back to what might have been
But it's a lesson that I've learned--
To take opportunities as they come
To be alive
Because then you don't regret

I don't want to count you as a loss
Or think of you in terms of
What might have been
I want a chance

A chance to find a man
Who draws out my passions
Both good and bad.
A chance to find a man
Who understands
The good and the bad.

But I don't know--
Maybe you aren't that man.
Maybe there's only that moon.

Red Evidence

The marks, jagged and red, evidence.

I need a way to make you see
that life is hard for me.
It isn't a matter of being in a bad mood,
and putting on a happy face.

It's a sickness, a disease.
I already feel chemically engineered,
like I'm not a child of God.

And I give my best, and I give it every day
What more can I give?

I have nothing left to give to you.

Don't you think?

The tick of the clock is
lulling me to peace
and the hospital bracelets
I wear, belie that peace.

If there were a way for me
to make life work in a way
that didn't require so much
crying and turmoil,
don't you think I'd do it?

If I had a choice between happy
and sad, what would I pick?
Depends on my mood....

When I'm happy, I'm on top of the world,
I'm on, I'm it
But when I'm sad, there's nothing to be done.

And it saddens me that I can't control it.

If I could, don't you think I'd do it?

Again (with time)

She was not fine--time to tell the truth,
I'm tired of lying.

No, I'm not fine.
I was in the psych ward again.
Feeling overwhelmed and out of control.
Wishing for the happy.

Then playing cards with new friends,
All with their own problems.

Release after three days,
But I am not fine.

Better equipped to cry.
My emotions are so close to the surface.
Don't break me please,
I'm trying to hold it together.

I'm tired.
Tired of lying.

The Act of Touch

written April 15, 2009

waiting for you
to commit the act of touch
i hold still in
anticipation.

if only life were as
easy as this,
this natural feeling
of desire.

your hand lightly holds
mine, and how sweet!
this ache in my chest!

Time (and again)

written May 15, 2009

Fantasizing about a love that doesn't exist,
I recline on the cold floor
And reminisce

A hospital, a safe place
A hallway, and my ever present pen
It's so much easier to make sense of life
When I write it down

Twenty-five years of marriage
And he wants a divorce--
Is there such a thing as love?

There will be time
There's never enough time
Ringing in my ears
Waging war in my mind

Contradictions, both

Feeling like a to term baby
With poison injected into its head,
I am engineered, and trite.

Am I meant for more than this?

This 9 to 5 travesty of a life?
Isn't there more to life than wishful thinking?

So many questions, and never enough time

But there will be time.

Is it a lie?

Toxic

Feeling like I can't connect
The dots between you and me,
I close in on myself and shut down.

Mental beration is a state of mind
And all I wanted was to feel--
So beautifully!

Now, what was so carefree,
Has lost hope and courage
Until finding you seems impossible

And I wouldn't wish myself on
My worst enemy,
Let alone you, my love.

If only there was a way to
Hold all this damage together
To make believe that everything
Is fine

Then maybe I could trust myself to you
Maybe I wouldn't feel like poison,
Full of toxicity.

I want to feel, in ways I never have before,
In ways I never could have before,
But it's hard without the buffer of mania
So I drink coffee so I can create the
Delusion of mania--made by me

Is it enough to trust that somene won't walk away?
I think I'd have trouble with that level of trust.
I know I would test you--even when I wouldn't want to
I'd have to see if you're walking away.

I need to know what you're made of.

I worry that I'm unfit
To be a wife, a lover, a mother
It's so much easier to hide--
Hide until I don't have the energy
To fake it anymore.

And then?
Then we'll see what you're made of

One

My life is feeling full again.
Feeling manic and out of control,
Where do you go with a head this full?
So full it makes a girl dream.

I feel as though I'm being torn
Like silly putty being molded by hands without faces
Stretched, but not accomodated.

I feel full, all the time.
Overwhelmed by the beauty, the tragedy of life.
So full. So solidly full.

And I'd give anything to be anything else.
Because this is too much.

I'm making stupid choices again...
Impulsivity at its finest.
I wish I were empty
I wish I could once again
Be a vessel for the emptiness that burns

If I were empty, there'd be no dreams
I've done without them for four years,
I don't want them now.

I don't want to feel
Feel so alive, so alone. So full.

I've been practicing at living for so long
That I don't know how to do the real thing.

It's raining now, crying in the skies,
And I want to join the chorus,
Belt it out, knowing I'm only one.

There are two shades of blue:
When you're depressed, you're the night
When you're manic, you're turquoise

And me...I'm only one.

What Might Have Been

Black lace shadows my skin as we lay next to each other--
Two strangers who missed the other before we were known
Your hands find their way to the curve of my hip
You stroke and slide your warm fingers
I rock my hips, an unconscious movement
And though I loved you as you once loved me,
I fall asleep until I am one of a twin shadow curled in bed
Today, clothed in black lace again,
I remember the rock of my hips
And wonder what might have been

Because

Because I love you, the world is round
Like a bright pink ball
Because I love you, the world is flat
Like bread that never had a chance to rise

Because I love you, I write this poem
A poem telling of my love
Because I love you, I write this poem
A poem telling of your indifference

Because I love you, I love you anyway

Leaving

It's Saturday, 6 a.m., and I creep out of bed, trying not to disturb you
I can't wait to leave
I have nowhere else to be, and a two hour drive ahead of me

I'm still warm from your body heat though it's fading in the dawning light
And my clothes smell of the spiciness of your skin

But if I leave now, before you wake,
I won't have o say good-bye
And know it is forever.

Slowly Drowning

The baby's in the bathtub
And the water is rising
Where is Daddy?

Daddy, come back
Aren't I worth your attention?
Aren't I more important than the voices in your head?

Fighting, always fighting,
Until there's no light behind the eyes.

Real Love

I feel like I haven't seen you in several years even though the letters I write to you keep you in my thoughts
My sprawling language caresses the page as I can not caress you, yet my tongue shapes words meant for you
South Center Street is a state of mind when thoughts digress to images of your cat eyes, sleepy and wanting--but maybe that's just me
I will grow old and wrinkle without you, like the spin of a blender--going in aimless circles until the plug is pulled
But you, you do not spin your wheels, creating only mud--joyful but dirty
The sari she wears speaks of your devotion to a love that never existed for me
And Washington D.C. is too full of potential for a small town girl like me
But I'll write you my letters because it's the only way I can keep you--in a house down the lane from real love

Elusive, Love

That moon, so bright, so far
Do you exist, love?
Have I created you from clay,
A half smile, crooked in my naked arms?

Is there a point to hope,
A hope to point to, or only
A moon to gaze upon?
Debating on a face...
Yours is elusive,

So elusive, you, love...
Yours, it's the face of the moon.

The World

When I was a little girl
The world was a little place
Filled with forts and Popsicles,
Worms and ghosts,
Boats on dry land and
A tree to shake in Morse code.

My life was naked in the arms of my mother
Yet the world turned out to be bigger than my backyard--
Filled with diversity and sorrow and anger and love.

But there was no place for me in this big world.
I couldn't cope.

Soon after an ecstatic climb to happiness
I fell apart--
It's always easy to fall when you climb high

But it was easy to love you. To hate you.
To hate me.
Alternately and simultaneously.

It's never the same, the world,
After that first great fall.

Contemporary Muses

When I write, it always seems to be for you
I can't help but keep you in the back of my mind as I write
Would you like this?, I ask myself.

It's ridiculous.

I used to love you to distraction.
I suppose it was a distraction I needed.
I needed something to stop from thinking so much.

Someday, when we're both famous, they'll write a book about how
we inspired each other.

One Day

Is it possible to love so completely that another person can make you love yourself?
So many questions.
I love you.
I know not who you are, but I love you.
Can you make me love myself?
Can you hide from me?
Perhaps behind that big Cambodian tree with all the roots exposed, you could.
Or maybe in the garden of Eden, in the tree of good and evil,
Sitting on a low branch, your barefeet swinging in the air?
One day I'll find you, and we can hide together.

A New Day

Lying in bed again
In a state of half repair
And I find I can't care
I take a long blink
And stare at the ceiling anew

Maybe it will have different answers
To the questions that plague me now

The biggest questions cause the most fears
Regrets

Deepest regrets, forever forged, behind closed eyes
"By the light of dawn, things will look better"
But they don't
And I still regret you

Regret you like a sunrise when you have nothing
To look forward to in your day
There's never enough momentum to get me through my day

There are never enough ways to hide who I am
Even from those that love me.
Never enough words to hide behind
Or ways to make those words work.

So here I lay, emotionally exhausted, hurt,
Waiting for a new day to wage.

Bending Reality

(written in February 2009)

I sit cross-legged on the floor
Writing about my toes, my ankles, my legs
While children sleep around me.

I get to the innocence between my legs
And suddenly feel uncomfortable.
I crumple under uncertainty,
Close my journal, and grow small.

Soon I am young enough to be a peer
Of the sleeping children.
But still I am too unsure of myself to call out,
to wake them up so we can play.

So I grow smaller still,
Until I am too little to know
What it feels like to not fit in.

A wish

(written February 1, 2009)

Like a rock in my stomach I feel
the love you felt for me
And my love turns to ashes
on my tongue.

We were happy once, weren't we?
Once upon a dream...
Was that all it was?

A wish.
Wishful thinking.
Wishing for a you that never existed.
Wishing for a me that could love you.
But that rock in my stomach is too hard to digest
And the ashes on my tongue make it hard
to voice a plea, let alone a song.

A song of love.
A dream.
A wish.
Is that all you were?

The Lovers Kiss

(written in January 2009)

A spiderweb glistening between two lover's faces
They blink and still do not see each other
A ring adorns her finger, with the floating orb
of a candle flame sparking from the center.

The flame burns blue, and the moon hangs low,
Catching its breath as it envies that blue.
Then it watches the lovers illuminated by the glow.

The drops of dew on the spiderweb match
the drops falling like ice
from the couples eyelashes.
They do not feel the crash of the ice on their pale cheeks--

And soon, the man turns away,
Breaking the spiderweb in two
The woman blinks, and finally sees--

He was waiting for a flame that could burn even him.

And as her flame turns cold,
The moon falls slowly through the sky,
To watch the lovers no more.

MeganJoBrown

(written in January 2009)

My life remains
Empty of all meaning.
Gaining no understanding, I
Always try to strive.
Nobody can say I didn't try.
Joking aside,
(Or maybe not), I
Borrow life from
Random friends
Or perfect strangers.
"We always try"
Nic said.

Time

(written January 22, 2009)

There's never enough time
To do everything you want to do
Never enough stolen moments
With other people's children,
Pretending they're yours, then
Imagining them grown.

When you're young, It feels like you'll have time
Time to get married and have kids
Time to bungee jump off a bridge
Or time to finish that degree--later
Always later.

But there isn't always a later

And those stolen moments
With other people's children
Become bittersweet memories

And those dreams of them grown
Will never be realized
By you.

There's never enough time
To do the things you want to.

Against You

(written January 9, 2009)

My warm breath
Caresses the window pane,
Quickly creating fog.
And then there's you,

A sleeping figure in the dawn.
I bring my coffee mug
To my parted lips
And blow gently

And you move restlessly
As though you feel my breath

I lean against the window,
Shoulder to wall,
And tug the thick blanket
Closer

Sometimes you need to
Feel the cold
But other times you must
Guard against it.

I am well-guarded
So I pour my coffee
Down the drain and
Pad over to bed.

I sink into the mattress softly
Trying not to disturb you
But when I breathe
You know it and
Turn to me

But it's okay--
I am more than well-guarded
Against you.

Hope

*a cut out poem from a letter from InTouch Ministries*

"Life seemed empty and bleak," she wrote,
"I didn't see much hope."

Then God spoke to me:
Sanctuary could have a new beginning

But I wonder, is there hope for me?
Mistakes, heartbreaking trials, great loss
--Are you still with me, Lord?

Yes
There is hope and triumph
When you trust Him
Think of that, every step of the way,
No matter what happens...
Forgive yourself

You have the surpassing greatness of His power
Power enables you to triumph
Even in the worst of times
He draws you closer

You never need to lose your joy and peace
Your friends or family may walk away,
But God never abandons you

You are never alone.

Have the assurance:
The Lord knows your limits and weaknesses

We all need encouragement
A fresh beginning is possible
The key?
Your total reliance on God

There is hope.

Losing an Argument

I stubbed my toe against your head
And off it fell, like how an argument loses
Steam when there is no more air

The ricochet movement rattled me so
That my ankle began to wobble
And then toppled down, like a
Carefully staged deck of cards
Littering the ground

And then you wouldn't let it go
You always had to be right
So there goes my leg, falling loose-limbed
To the floor like a snake that lost its slither

You've left me with no rebuff
No place to stand
No ground to build on
And all because my toe was clumsy
Enough to hit your head

That Confident Smile

I lie awake
Watching with watchful eyes
As you smile as a snake would smile with a set of full teeth
You twist the scarf around my wrists,
Twist it to tie the scarf to the bed frame.

I say nothing--just watch that smile

You run your hand down my body
And wrap another scarf around my ankle, tying it tightly to the bedpost.
You repeat the process with my other ankle
Until it's all I can do to flex my foot.

I say nothing--just watch that confident smile

"Are you sure?" he asks.
I look at his eyes for the first time and
Cannot find my voice.

Sometimes, when he smiles, there are no words that will deny him.

So I lie awake with my eyes closed,
So that I won't have to see what I've become.

A Fable

Once upon a time long long ago,
A cunning, sly fox wanted a little doe;
Had kept his eyes on her for years.

The shy, beautiful doe eventually fell in love with the fox,
After realizing he'd always been there for her.
Their family and friends had reservations about the relationship--
A fox and a doe?

But the fox, sly one that he is, won them all over.

Before long, the fox and doe decided to get married
Things were happy for a time

But the fox, that sly fox, began flirting with another fox
And the doe became miserable
While the fox felt the doe was dragging him down
So the fox left the doe

The doe cried for lost dreams
While the fox married that other fox

And the circle of life went on,
Time ravaging the once beautiful doe.

Haikus (japanese and american)

I
The cat's back arches
But I see no way to stop
Fall silent sweet one.

II
The sun shimmers down
The wind rustles through the trees
I watch leaves shatter.

III
The beaver longs to see the northern side of shore because he never leaves.

IV
The wind spirals out of control,
Slamming into you and me--
Stand still

Glamorous Gold

The iridescent bulb shines like a lightning bug.
Undulating back and forth, a mirage is what I see.
It is a glowing lamp, guiding me to the Christmas tree
The bulb, like dew on a blade of grass,
Looks slippery as it hangs precariously.
A shiny husk, dipped in glittery, glamorous gold--
It could be a fairy house,
Or Cinderella's round carriage
But to me, it is Christmas love
Wrapped in glitter paint and glass.
Impossible to me.

Carrots

The blade cut through the carrots
As though through air
I never could cut as confidently as you.

I remember you skimming the tip of your finger once
And I watched the red wash the orange carrots

You ran cold water over your finger,
Finished chopping, Cooked them.

We ate them that night--
They were the best carrots I've ever had.

My Own

I am my own depression
I am skies of gray
I am a cold winter night
I am the tears you cried
I am lying by your side, listening
As you weep.