poetry

THE CURSE

EMOTE YOU MOTHER FUCKER!

I’m a believer and I believe, oh

I do believe, I do. Nonetheless, it seems

I can’t stop the

overflow from this guttural heart,

the incessant CURSING, it is like

a curse, it really is.

OH GOD, that’s what I say all day,

all night, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD

PLEASE.

HELP.

ME.

And then, I sit down, alone and quiet for the first time

in 24 solid gold hours on

a  cheap stained couch, yearning and I mean YEARNING for

some sort of literary release, that profound moment

that I am we are always searching for, and all

I can think, on repeat, is

this

one

line:

EMOTE YOU MOTHER FUCKER!

It figures, it really does.

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poetry

I got a glimpse

I went to sleep last night cold and under covers, thinking

about the love of god, feeling it

tangible, present, soft breath on my face

air thick, terry cloth,

molecules dance in front of me, I

try to grab them.

I woke up late this morning, all the babies

awake in the other room, living, squirming and

keeping alive

soft air, not thick anymore — but oh —

that radiant sunlight– the aching,

the longing.

“its light get up its day time”

they said.

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new poems, poetry, questioning

the hardest part

Sometimes I’m asked

“What’s the hardest part?”.

A funny question,

with a typical answer I suppose.

Here goes:

It’s not that he left.

It’s not that I’m alone.

It’s not that he’s having sex.

It’s not that I’m not.

It’s the house they’re compiling

(the decorations, the table, the bed).

It’s the discussions they’re having / the memories they’re unveiling / the plans they’re making.

It’s the cleanliness of childlessness… the seemingly easiness of it all.

(Although nothing is as sharp a sting as the potential for life they have at their finger tips. Amen?)

AND YET

when i really think about it, when i really s-t-r-e-t-c-h my grumpy mind around the empty space,

i twist open my clenched fists and raise my starfish-pink palms up to heaven,

and I find myself free and unwanting,

satisfied and satiated,

at the edge of a great vast blue nothing

ready to burst,

thankful for what I was able to leave behind

In tact, whole and new.

 

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questioning

night

Why are you downcast, oh my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

I have a deep maddening desire to be creative again. It seems like I can barely get those words out of my mouth though; I have to pull each letter out one by one and they get stuck in my teeth.

Why does it hurt so much more some days? God?

Do you hear me God? It’s me, Liz.

 

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