Don't speak.

Alone in a crowd.

Disconnected from the family around me.

Closed off.

Curled up. 

Smile and they won't know something's wrong.

Afraid.

Confused. 

Self doubt.

Unsure.

Would it matter if I wasn't here?

Did they miss me?

Are my contributions enough?

Am I enough?

A war inside me.

Speak.

Don't speak.

Tell them.

You're problems aren't as big as some of theirs. Yours don't matter.

Don't share.

Don't draw attention. 

Don't speak.

Sit quietly.

Listen.

Another war begins.

A war in my mind.

In my heart.

Focus on one.

But which is more important?

Don't look. It's written on your face.

Don't speak. 

It Occurs To Me I Am The Creative/Destructive Goddess Coatlicue a poem by Sandra Cisneros

I deserve stones.

Better leave me the hell alone.

I am besieged.

I cannot feed you. 

You may not souvenir my bones,

knock on my door, camp, come in,

telephone, take my Polaroid. I'm paranoid,

I tell you. Lárguense. Scram.

Go home.

I am anomaly. Rare she who

cant stand kinds and can't stand you.

No excellent Cordelia cordiality have I.

No coffee served in tidy cups.

No groceries in the house.

I sleep to excess,

smoke cigars,

drink. Am at my best

wandering undressed,

my fingernails dirty,

my hair a mess.

Terribly

sorry, Madame isn't 

feeling well today.

Must

Greta Garbo.

Pull an Emily D.

Roil like Jean Rhys.

Abiquiu myself. 

Throw a Maria Callas. 

Shut myself like a shoe. 

Stand back. Christ

almighty. I'm warning. 

Do not. Keep

out. Beware. 

Help! Honey,

this means 

you.

3/9

I feel like I am drifting

Like nothing I do is effective

Like everything is slipping 

                                  through 

                                                 my 

                                                         fingers

through the           cracks

I feel like the rug has been pulled

out from under me

Everything is up in the air

Its all I can do to catch it all

To keep it all from smashing to the ground

Times like this

I shut down

lock down

turn down

Let it all out

Take the bolt off the emotional door

Open the flood gates

Blow the dam

[title]

The constant                brush 

of an elbow 

or a shoulder 

or a hand.

The steady              pull 

drawing together

The words of a song 

paint a picture before my eyes 

of my hearts most precious desire 

Yes

No

Yes

No

Yes...

A constant prayer on my lips

Encouraged to come clean 

         spill 

            the 

              beans

No. 

What will be           Will be

What will out

Come what may

Midwinter day dream

Just in case you were wondering,

I had a day dream today.

I was walking through a meadow of wild flowers.

They seemed to go on forever.

A vivid sea of yellow, white, red, orange, blue, and purple.

The earth soft and warm on my bare feet.

I saw a grove of oak and aspen. 

A slight breeze caused the branches to gently sway.

The sunlight dappled the ground beneath them.

A creek babbled along happily as it fed a small pool.

Sunlight glimmered on the water and my gaze fell upon a figure laying at the edge of the pool.

Precious Stranger

I don't know who you are

I want you to make the world fall away.

I want that big deep love.

I want that wild country love.

That sophisticated passionate city love.

The duality within me is present in another. 

I want the world to stand still.

I want your touch to make my heart skip a beat.

I want you to wrap me in your arms.

I want you to kiss me like I am the last drop of water on earth. 

I want all of you, precious stranger.