Queen Contradictory
You are the contradictory queen,
casting shadows into sunshine
with frenzied whispered secrets.
You are a mosaic: a gorgeous collage
of a million tiny catastrophes, shimmering
into a collective masterpiece.
Smothering me with cruel kindness,
you make breathing the same air feel
like a minor miracle. Our antics fill
our footprints of delicate disasters. You are
my colorless kaleidoscope, my rainbow
and darkness. You are my contradictory queen.
What I Wanted
I. II.
Wanted, the word rolls around in my brain Wanted, the word aches in my chest
like a ball thrown into the faces like the freight train
of all those who tried to pull me back. mowing me over in my attempt
Wanted, Past tense. to be more than I am
I aimed to be the ‘good’ child. Wanted. From back when
I wanted to be when I yearned to be the ‘bad’ kid.
the apple of the bitter world’s eye, I wanted the power
but instead I stand before myself, of caution thrown to the wind.
sun kissed and life stained, Now here I am witnessing myself,
like a patch of flowers left dark embraced and life drained,
in the blistering heat. like burnt out neon
Now, here I am, at a dying convenience store.
a record filled I never stopped, was never here.
with dopamine fueled escapades I traded for a wall of useless paper
and grief driven rampages. achievements and empty picture frames
I wanted relief bought to fill with the memories
from the pressure life brings I never cultivated.
but instead I was pulled into waves I wanted protection from whirlwinds
of recklessness rained as I get washed of potential pain, but instead
away, never joined the herd
stranded between Felon Falls Left behind, I’m stuck choking on their dust and Hangover Hallows. drifting the world like a sullen breeze.
Directions for Life
Tiny palm in hand, hot sand underfoot; we walk along the water's edge admiring the sunset in that cliche way every family does. Stopping ankle deep in a briny sea, a strawberry sticky hand pulls away from mine. “Mom, why doesn’t dad come home anymore?” A pair of pigtails looked up to me. The face between them, a blur I can’t focus on.
“Well, dad got lost in his heart.” I rationalize more to myself than to my four year old. A tiny pair of eyebrows furrow in confusion at the thought
“Lost?” she asks “So he couldn’t find our house anymore? Wait, why didn’t he use the nice lady in the car to tell him how to get back?” Little hands pick at the sequins of her shirt, pulling off glittery hearts as she quizzes me, trying to understand what even I still don’t.
“Daddy’s heart told him to go somewhere new even though his brain said not to. So he went on a trip and when he got there, he decided he liked it there more and decided to stay.” The slanting sun is all the façade I need to keep that pair of big eyes from seeing mine leak. The silence is pocked with flying fish and diving pelican splashes.
“Mom,” the silence shatters like the vase that was thrown when he stormed out forever. Pink painted hands grasp mine again “Do you think if dad had followed directions, we wouldn’t be sad?” Tiny fingers flutter nervously in mine.
“Directions?” I ask.
“Like the kind Mrs. Andrews give us for our glueing art. I glued Tilly’s hair to the chair and she cried, and Mrs. Andrews said if I followed directions, Tilly wouldn’t be sad.”
“Well sweetie, life doesn’t come with directions. We need to be nice and try our best to make others happy and hope nobody gets hurt.” Big blue eyes squeeze shut in thought at the remark and a vice instead of a hand was in mine.
“That’s stupid” she whispers after a moment of consideration and crumples to the water below, soaking her fully clothed self, knees clutched against her chest.
“Why can’t there be directions? Then nobody would be sad.” She wails into the sea, her anguish over abandonment in the form of her salty tears mixing with water into a singular briny river. Pausing for a second to wipe her nose, those pigtails look straight up at me and ask in the most somber voice a kindergartener can muster.
“Why does God want us to be sad?”
Morris
Morris loved porches
and salty melons.
Never did he look
both ways when crossing
the street. He crossed it
to flirt with dear old
matted gray Francis,
who walked with a limp.
He slept with my Mother
on more occasions
than one. My dad
was jealous of it.
He was my first love.
He walked through the world
as if balanced on
staircase banisters.
Morris was having
a midlife crisis
when I saw him last.
I did not realize
it then. Constantly,
he fought with neighbors
and made dear Tripp bleed.
Morris was still sweet,
and would sit for hours
to watch my sister
color, even though
he would rather sleep.
Morris was my friend,
and like the adage goes.
I insisted on him
marrying only me.
Nobody came except
for my sis, my mom
didn’t approve of it.
Running off with him,
we eloped under
the bright silver stars
on the trampoline
because I wasn’t
supposed to leave
the yard after dark.
I Seek
Candied blazes of sunlight,
pearly dew drops dropping.
Metal trees tower over
the ant-like humanity marches.
Wish-washed fountains
and coiled cul-de-sacs
filled with pastel painted homes.
I seek what I haven’t seen;
I find joy in the unknown
in all of its gilded glory.
To search for what you have seen
is to go out into the world
and promptly turn around,
closing the door on it.
Lazy lions roam in tall golden grasses,
cawing macaws circle overhead,
and shimmering waters sparkle
like freshly washed windows.
Basket weaving maidens with rainbows
woven through waist-length strands,
sew together trembling bridges
over deep earth gashes.
The sound of children’s laughter
ring in the universal language of joy.
I seek the unknown, but instead
wander aimlessly in the labyrinth
of life, rediscovering sights
we simply lost the will to see.
Lavender scented lullabies
paired with Korean comfort food.
Free falling adrenaline junkies
dive off jagged cliffs into uncertain
swirling dolphin pools.
Subterranean shadow trickery
dances in razor sharp stalagmites.
Patch worked mosaic windows
light up crumbling ancient shrines.
Century old secrets belonging to trees
older than recorded time. Forbidden forests
thickened with clouded mystique. Foreign
phantoms faze through firm
castle walls aging in the centuries.
Nomads train hopping over wine country
and gold panning in African countries, watching
novel sunsets and sonnet sunrises.
The world is at my back, pushing me forward.
I seek the never ending trail
of Dorothy’s yellow brick optimist road.
I seek adventure and terror from the unknown.
I seek images seared into my eyelids.
I seek goosebumps from breathtaking sights. I seek
to be amazed with the majesty of life,
to never settle for adequacy
in this world of grandeur.