Happy Anniversary Harry

20 years ago today, a book was published. At the time, I was a happy six-year-old, enjoying the summer between kindergarten and first grade. A year and a half later, Ms Zoellner of Commonwealth Elementary, would read a book to her class, published June 27, 1997, a book about The Boy Who Lived. At the time, I was reading books like The Magic Tree house, The Unicorn Chronicles, The Dragon Chronicles, American Girl, and The Royal Diaries, but still, I was fascinated by the story of this little outcast, going on adventures, facing dangers, making friends, and becoming immersed in this wonderful, magical world which was so much stranger and so much better than the one he did not fit into. The next year, Ms Cash would encourage me to dive into that world which I was sure would be a better fit for me than this one. In 4th grade my Grampa would bring the first 3 books in the series to my house, especially for me... and that was it, I was hooked. With the approval and encouragement of both my favorite teacher and my beloved grandfather, my Sir Lancelot, I dive headfirst into the magical world of JK Rowling and Harry Potter.

2 years later I began to deal with what I would eventually discover to be Major Depressive Disorder. This world, this reality, became all but unbearable. Emotionally I completely shut down to try to stop the ache only to find numbness somehow even more painful and empty. Having just moved to Riverside and finding I wasn't quite as well liked as I had been at my old school, for the first time having to deal with bullies with not a friend to defend me, I retreated into my room. I would stare at the popcorn ceiling for hours in the dim light that came through my curtains... until eventually... I discovered that I could completely disappear whenever I wanted... by simply opening a Harry Potter book.

In my darkest of times, JK Rowling turned on the light.

Hogwarts became my home when I felt lost.

Harry, Ron, Hermoine, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Sirius, they became my friends when I felt utterly alone.

I laughed when they laughed, cried when they cried, bled when they bled.

These books are the reason I never gave up. They were my solace, they were my joy, they were my world.

Thank you, JK Rowling, Ms Zoellner, Ms Cash, and Grampa. Thank you for giving me this world. Because of you, all was well.

Always One More

Just one more

one more battle to fight

one more moment to survive

one more doubt to disprove 

one more fear to breathe through
one more nightmare to dream through 

one more voice in my head

to force back into the recesses

where she has no power

at least

where I think she has

less power...

Just one more

step to take

paragraph to write

tear to wipe

impulse to resist

unharmed wrist

way to convince myself

that this is stupid

and will only make things worse

despite thinking nothing

could feel worse

than nothing...

Just one more

surely I can make it

through 

just one more...

Layers

there are layers to loneliness

one layer can be taken care of

by simply going to work

a layer could be satisfied 

by an afternoon at a dog park

yet another can be fixed by texting a friend

and the next by going out with one

the next layer requires a mother

and other family type interaction 

the next requires my mother

and the rest of my family

and my childhood home

beyond that is a layer of holding

someone to cuddle after a long day

and ask no questions

and give love through simple touch

beyond that... 

a human needs all those layers satisfied at once

to feel truly human

and whole.

The Tortoise

My mother says I'm slow

well

my mother

my employers

my lovers

have all complained about the length of time

I require

and I am slow

every thought

every action

every task

is carried out with as much

caution, efficiency, and grace 

as possible

and with as little

noise, damage, wrong 

as possible 

and then analyzed upon completion

so that I may improve upon my method 

upon my madness

so yes

I have missed

buses

deadlines

opportunities

but nobody does anything quite as well as I do

To my mother, who worries;

You know

the universe gives me these people

these damaged

prickly

hard-to-love people

on purpose

because everyone

everyone

deserves to be loved

and you gave me your bleeding heart

and there are few

very few

who could love them like I do

Preventative Care

I have this ability,

this habit,

of talking myself down

from the brink of feeling,

of making any guy unworthy 

until I'm only interested

in the ones who aren't 

today

on the drive to work

as a Taylor Swift song

leeched tears from my eyes

while I sang 

I figured out why

When I love someone

it never fades

but remains bright and sharp and deep

and always lodged exactly where they left it

the only way I can move on

is when the pain it causes becomes just as deep

or deeper,

is when the wounds we inflicted on each other

become so rotten

the whole area goes numb

maybe I'm afraid to love so deeply

and open myself up

to yet another infection

maybe this ability 

this habit

is my own preventative care.

bones

It's in my bones 

they are worn,

and sore,

heavy,

and

exhausted

Decay

All the flowers in my room
are dead

I still find them beautiful
they remain on display

I am comforted by decay

Just Do It

Trying to get up the nerve
to go inside
and start working towards being
"the best me I can be"

it's scary,
I mean...

What if someone makes fun of me
for dropping weights
or making squeaks of effort
as I obviously struggle to do
things that should be easy?

and then...

What if I get fit
and thin
and I still don't like what I see in the mirror?

Sitting in the parking lot
between the gym and McD's...
just gathering strength to walk in...
this could take a while.

Poking

Poking
the bite marks...
awakening
the bruises
(physical impressions of memory,
of passion)
is more effective
than any
erotica

I wish I had more of them
an endless supply

but I must savor these
until a more
reliable source
can be found.

The Negative

The negative;
it is so hot in my room
I'm doing laundry in a sports bra
and shorts
and I'm still sweating

The positive;
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror,
I did not cringe and look away,
I stopped,
I stared,
and though it is not tight
or thin, or toned, or tanned
for the first time in...
I honestly don't know,
I realized

my body
is a nice body
it is soft,
smooth
silky and fair
and it curves so beautifully
in all the right places

I think
I like my body

The negative;
it still requires clothing,
and thus
I am doing laundry
in heat that is too much
for even as little as
a sports bra and shorts.

Looking in the Mirror

Looking in the mirror

she doesn't see her eyes,

like almonds, but with color

as deep and as rich hazelnut coffee,

but the shadows of exhaustion

that underline the windows to her soul

so symbolically.

She doesn't see the perfect lips,

small, innocent, soft,

and crowned with a perfect Cupid's bow,

she sees the inherited double-chin

which was not the first thing 

she hated about herself, but was 

the first thing that made her afraid

of becoming "The Fat Girl."

She doesn't see soft, porcelain skin

alive and electric

eager and adept at translating

and amplifying sensation,

she sees the dark little hairs

that marr the silk, 

making her want to tear at it

destroy it.

She doesn't see soft, delicate curves,

the perfect hourglass 

that made Marilyn an icon of womanhood,

she is distracted by the dimples in the skin

that disgust her.

She cannot see all the gorgeous that she is
she is blinded by all the ugly they pointed out.

Unfold

I feel
cramped
trapped within myself
waiting for someone to come along
with whom I can unfurl the chaos inside
and who will adore all my obnoxious impulses

and violent, harmless displays of affection
so that I can truly release all that I am

all that I've been before,
and be free,

be me.

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera

I want him to catch me

singing and dancing

while doing dishes

and immediately lift me up onto the counter 

so his lips can touch mine,

etcetera 

I want to see him

under the hood of my car

all dirty, with a furrowed brow,

and become immediately filled with a need 

to press my lips to his

etcetera

I want to use his belly as a pillow

as I read

and he plays video games,

and live in that peace

I want to roughhouse
when I get bored and restless
and tease each other, laugh together

and drive each other crazy, but only in the best way

I want to hold his head to my heart

when he is not okay,

I want him to hold me silently

when I am not okay

I want to find him beautiful,

from the angles of his face

to the way he walks 

to the way he thinks

I want him to love me

more than anything,

and I want him to love our kids even more

I've tried

accepting less than this kind of

comfortable passion

but I can't live without it

I can't love without it

etcetera

Unclaimed Property

The things she used to love

(She loved people,
beautiful, strange, fascinating,
loving, and hateful,
unpredictable,
people.

She loved the day,
and the way the sunlight
filtered through the leaves
of the hibiscus tree as she sat
watching the birds.

She loved learning
new theories, new ideas
new stories, true stories;
understanding this gorgeous world
a little better.

She loved books,
fantasy, history, mystery,
and all the nooks and crannies,
hills and valleys
of the imagination.

She loved
herself,
all joy and courage and love,
brains, and heart,
and the only one of her kind.)

were taken from us,

it's time we reclaimed them.

Jaybird Lane

How dare they
rip up the carpet we stained
with our tears,
and our blood,
and our cigarette butts.
How dare they paint over
the black marks upon the walls
our outcries of angst,
our declarations of rebellion,
our memories.
How dare they reshoot
the faded film in our minds
and attempt to sell the foundation
of us
...to someone...
with tears to shed
tobacco to burn
outcries and declarations
and home movies to make...
The house will get a new life,
but forever, once, it was mine.

Flying is Hard

I am a baby bird
who spent so much time
and energy
on getting airborne
that she fell from the sky
because she was too tired
to flap her wings