Monday, June 25, 2012

Country Roads

The sun was so warm. The heat was pressing against my body as if I were in a pressure cooker. Instead of feeling exhausted and gross I just shed clothes and got in the water. My skin darkened, my senses awakened to the sounds of millions of cicadas, the smell of fresh cut grass and bbq, and the taste of fresh picked peaches and sweet icetea. Sweaty, sumptuous and free I soaked up the flavors and sounds of my hometown. Day trips to childhood places that I thought would shred my soul turned out to be journeys to enlightenment, strength and whole truths. The nights were drenched in laughter, furtive glances, healing music and sneaky missions. Whiskey trickled and tequila flowed down our thirsty throats. Our glasses full, stories on the table and the corridors of our hearts open wide as we reconnected. Like a wound that took a decade to bridge and grow anew we reached out to each other to form a sexy scar that no longer hurt, just made a story.  We came together with careful tentacles reaching pensively in search of love, patience, honesty and mind blowing excitement. We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams.  The hardest task on my journey home was to face the most horrific relic of my childhood. My dads house and the surrounding land has only offered miserable pain in my adult life. Shame, fear, resentment and great loss are soaked into the walls, yard and garage.  On the way my friend asks me "Why do you want to see it?", "Are you sure you need to go there?" ... I had no solid answer other than I must go. To my absolute astonishment I found the house had been rebuilt and the land cleared of all signs of what used to be. The wildflowers were ten feet high and the Texas grapes still littered the dirt road. My heart was filled with light. I was spared the hell that I was willingly walking into.   As if I couldn't have felt more healed, a dove lighted near us in the yard and was obviously very comfortable to be close. It was like a layer of emotional sludge had been lifted. It reminded me of the bath house in "Spirited Away" when she finds the bicycle and pulls it out of the side of the massive pile of sewage and all the garbage is released in a great expulsion. Then the river god was free of the poisons that had not spoiled it's beauty, just buried it. 

Friday, June 15, 2012


They want to eat me alive. That's how they look at me. I feel like a curvaceous, wanton woman on the outside. Inside I am magma, razor wire and poison smoke. He infected me with his disease. I am now numb. No one can touch me. I used to throw my arms out to embrace and love. Now I turn away, cold and angry. I feel this rumbling storm inside me. I just have to paint, dance and write it out. An old friend came calling with crackling fire stories. I am indifferent, aloof, unimpressed. What a pity. This gipsy cowgirl craves release, revolution, seduction and to seduce. I am empty, hurt and dangerous. I don't know what to do with this power, this horrible, cold blade in my mouth. I'm afraid I will shred all suitors who dare to take my hand. Best keep to myself during this time. I'm sure I learned how to be more guarded after what happened.  At least there's that. However I never thought in a million years I'd have to fight myself this way. I am strong. I am a survivor, but it's going to take a lot of self discipline to forge a new path to hope.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Go it alone

I have had to tough out, cower, fight and run. There's never been someone to run to. I have no mother, no father. I feel like an abandoned project from space. Like I was being built to last somewhere far away by highly skilled creatures who were interrupted by some kind of cataclysm. Like I was sent in a pod to Earth so that I could live, but always to be alone. When I am at my most sad, which is rare, there's no one to call for comfort. Ever. My mother left me and I still hurt so much. I remember the last time I laid on her chest and listened to her heart. I remember the last time her voice and arms brought comfort. I don't know why this is hitting me so damn hard lately. This Texas trip has got me shaking in my boots. I'm so tired of being the black sheep. I want to go home and feel the support from all of those loved ones that used to be my family. I know everything is going to be ok, but I also know I'll be making sure of that on my own.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Stinging eyes

Ragamuffin Singing on the swingset
 Tired eyes
Slowly burning
Worn edges
 Rough cut
She can't be tethered
Nor tied
Always a Rosalyn
 This precious gem
  Cleavage planes
glinting in the moonlight
  Singing into the wind
Barefoot soldier
 A rainstorm in her soul
 Lighting in her veins
Thunder from her heart