Thursday, August 6, 2015

.Not Too Young To Care.

We're old enough to know better. 

And I've written these words a thousand times before in different incarnations, always erased if not from the printing, then from my mind. My dear, I have always adored you.

You, though; not that show you put on for the little wild things. I was wild once and maybe it suited you. But I was never so wild that I forgot where my heart damn sure wasn't some cowboy bar at last call, despite what you've heard.

Maybe I've got it all wrong but either way I just don't have a good feeling anymore. It's like never having enough quarters for the pay phone; you always run out of time.

We never did belong to each other.

If you don't know where you stand then it's time to start walking. I don't know how far I'll get but I'll give it a try. I think that sorrel horse of yours is fast enough to catch me. And if you can get a loop settled on, you better pull your slack and never fucking let it loose.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

.The Greatest Love.

Of all the things I don't believe in anymore, romance was the easiest to let go. God knows I've probably never been in love and now I realize it too. Infatuation is an illusion, a distraction, a crutch for a broken soul. But Loving and being In Love are two different things...I've loved enough for a thousand hearts, because what is love but caring about someone and caring about what happens to them? I've wished them well on their journeys and thought of them on mine, but no one has ever been Home. They remember me a pretty face, legs for days, dangerous curves. I remember me using parts of myself to patch up their old wounds. There's more of me now than there was before both in the flesh and in the spirit and it's finally enough to fill the gaps and empty spaces, gild the cracks with gold and wear them like jewelry. You may think me a fool to turn you away but, my darling, you're the fool. You weren't the feather in my cap or the jewel in my crown...I'm the jewel, goddamnit. I'm the sparkle and the shine and the glittering symbol of my own queendom. I'll leave you with my perfume on your shirt on your own empty bedpost and I'll curl up with myself tonight, because I'm the greatest love I'll ever know.

Saturday, January 31, 2015

.Postcards From Paris.

I want a postcard from Paris
and fingers perpetually stained with ink.
I want to wear my hair wild every day
with horse's hair braided in
and lipstick on bare skin.
I want peaty black tea every morning
and pink toenails hidden
in hand-knitted socks
and to make oatmeal and milk messes
with a blue-eyed little boy.
I want to believe in second chances.
I want to believe in romance.
I want your calloused hands and quiet soul
because I'm loud enough for the whole
I want to ride bareback on a big sorrel horse.
I want an old claw-foot bathtub.
I want a Navajo rug.
I want a postcard from Paris.

Friday, January 2, 2015

.Baptized in the Bathwater.

Can this water get any hotter?

No, really. 

I think the only way I'd be satisfied is if it were hot enough to boil the flesh off my bones. Still, every inch of my skin is already pink and stinging. I imagine myself like an old wool sweater: worn and tired, stretched and stained, fragile and frayed. I submerge myself, let the water do its work. Soak into my fibers, clean them, shrink them. Rinse away the days past. Wring me out, reshape me. When I'm dry, I'm good as new. There isn't much that can't be swept down the drain at the end of the day. My darling, that is a blessing. 

The fight has not gone out of me, no...but it saves its strength for that which is truly worth fighting for. I sleep soundly under heavy blankets stitched with truth and love and real dedication. My dreams are sweeter than ever before. If you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything...dear, I am done falling. 

But when I'm too tired to stand, I'll rest my aching bones and brain in the steamy water, and say a tiny prayer for each lavender-scented bubble that tickles my heated skin. I'm baptized anew each night in the bathwater, and I rise up with a clean heart, in better shape than when I started.

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

.Until Next Year.

I don't do resolutions...I can only do right here and right now. So here's a little snapshot of how I'm heading into 2015. Catch ya on the flipside, loves!

Friday, December 26, 2014

.Morning Chores.

It's been a while since I went out and did chores. With the little man running around, most of the time I stay in and baby-wrangle. So this morning, since he's with his daddy, I pulled on somebody else's coveralls (mine are way too small now) and went out to toss some hay at the critters.

I felt like a little kid again, shuffling through the snowdrifts in my new Christmas packs. Despite the cold and the wind, the sun was shining and every thing was sparkling...goshdamn it, I love this place. 

I gave smooches to horse noses with whiskers covered in icicles. I busted ice in water tanks. I puked behind the squeeze chute, because apparently icy wind does not help a cough. But hey, that's not the first time I've done that. And grandma and I had a little too much fun on the tractor, because she drives that thing like it's a dune buggy no matter what's on the ground.

So now my face is red and my lips are numb, and it's time to get ready for my town job. I do miss spending all my time outside and with my animals, but babies have to eat and free-spiriting doesn't pay too well. Pretty quick, Sam will be old enough to bundle up and bust through snowdrifts in his new Christmas packs, and he'll be able to go out with his momma to throw hay at the critters. I really hope he'll appreciate snowy mornings and what it means to care for his animals. 

Then I'll have done my job.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

.Now and Then.

Now and then, I kick myself for being such an open book. Times like now, when I feel like a crumpled up piece of paper that somebody threw at the trash can. When the mad is gone and nothing but the raw hurt is left, I wish I was better at putting up a tougher shield.

But I am not. So I'll take the hurt. I'll let it throb in my guts and rise up like bile in my throat. I'll put it down into words like I always do, little as they may mean to anyone else. I'll let myself feel lost. I'll pull the blankets around me tight as if they could stop the cold that comes from the inside. I'll thank God for the fucking flu that means pretty soon I'll be knocked out on NyQuil instead of awake and praying for the phone to ring.

And maybe it's the fever talking, but I'll hold out the tiniest of tiny hopes that this isn't really another ending. The hopeful heart gets broken more than it gets held, but also gets another chance now and then.