Can't Stand the Rain: against your window

That painting you painted is starting to bleed-
Right from her fingers,
Right from her knees.

Her eyes shed red tears filled with sorrow and pain-
As though it's her fault,
As though she's to blame.

You get angry and frantic, trying hard to work it out.
You panic and worry,
You scream and you shout.

She's ruined your life, she's off the beaten trail.
Her colors are blurry,
Her skin has turned pale.

You refuse to accept it, this is not what you planned.
She was designed to be special,
She was supposed to be grand.

Now the paint is running, after years of abuse.
She's rebelling, she's defiant
She's stepped out of your shoes.

She has made herself something you do not understand.
No matter that she's beautiful;
She's not what you planned.

This image, this portrait that you spent so long painting,
It's ruined, it's tarnished,
It's not yours, it's tainted.

[She screams]
“How could you do this?
How could this be?
How could you not care
That the painting is ME.”

I'm changing-
I'm human-

Go figure.

I'm flawed, but you can call me Meg

She wears her hair in curly pigtails
And doesn’t mind the sloppiness.
She goes days without washing it,
Embracing the accumulated grit from a hard slogged week.

She refills her favorite mug as many times as possible
With the coffee that fuels her overall stamina.
As a result of this tragic caffeine dependency,
Her teeth are permanently stained in certain spots.

She bites her fingernails compulsively
When life’s stresses get particularly unpleasant.
She leaves them natural- unpolished-
Because it chips off anyway,
So why bother?

Her eyebrows slowly but surely merge
After months of letting them go.
Plucking and grooming takes too much time-
Time that she would rather not sacrifice
For superficial desires.

When she’s at home, she’s in scrubs-
The same outfit every night.
It’s a source of comfort that she anticipates
After the effort to primp for a job
She feels indifferent about.

She knows she’s odd;
Totally aware of her quirks.
They used to bother her.
But not anymore.
They used to haunt her.
Until she chose to think otherwise.

She knows she’s odd,
And she doesn’t much mind.
Being imperfect
Is perfectly fine.

Detroit Annie, Hitchhiking- Judy Grahn

Her words pour out as if her throat were a broken artery

and her mind were cut-glass, carelessly handled.

You imagine her in a huge velvet hat with great

dangling black feathers,but she shaves her head instead

and goes for three-day midnight walks.

Sometimes she goes down to the dock and dances

off the end of it,

simply to prove her belief

that people who cannot walk on water are phonies,

or dead.

When she is cruel, she is very, very cool

and when she is kind she is lavish.

Fisherman think perhaps she’s a fish,

but they’re all fools.

She figured out that the only way

to keep from being frozen was to

stay in motion, and long ago converted

most of her flesh into liquid.

Now when she smells danger,

she spills herself all over,

like gasoline, and lights it.

She leaves the taste of salt and iron

under your tongue, but you don't mind.

The common woman is as common as the reddest wine.

A Favorite Song: Extraordinary Machine

Lyrics and talent: Fiona Apple

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes,
AND
I certainly haven't been spreading myself around.
I still only travel by foot,
And by foot it's a slow climb,
But I'm good at being uncomfortable
So I can't stop changing all the time.

I notice that my opponent is always on the go,
AND
Won't go slow, so's not to focus
And I notice,
He'll hitch a ride with any guide
As long as they go fast from whence he came,
But he's no good at being uncomfortable
So he can't stop being exactly the same.

If there was a better way to go, then it would find me.
I can't help that the road just rose up behind me.
Be kind to me
Or treat me mean.
I'll make the most of it;
I'm an Extraordinary Machine.

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...buoyancy...

I want to live in a tee-pee.
With no bells, no whistles,
no pressure to upgrade my blinds, or to buy with extravagance.

I'll wash my clothes by hand,
and I'll hunt and gather.
I want to get back to basics and avoid excessiveness;
cherish nature and purity rather than gadgets and fluff.


I want realness and simplicity.
With no strings attached, no catches involved,
no judgment on the type of cell phone I have, or how often I use it.

I'll drive a golf cart, or maybe a bumper car-
I'm sure I could build one myself.
I want to be my own insurance, my own doctor;
heal problems with answers rather than silly run around's.


I want to smell the freshness of breezes.
No chemicals, no artificial fragrances,
no need for $7.00 bottles of Fe-breeze, or glade plug-in's that only last a week.

I'll light my beach estate with a bonfire;
I'll start making it at dusk.
And lanterns too.
And I'll crochet blankets to snuggle up
with my son, as we tell our own stories, and talk about goodness.


I want to sleep under the stars,
with the waves crashing 30 feet away from my homemade pillow.
No sirens blaring, no endless car alarms sounding,
nothing to wake me but the suns morning return.

I'll grow my own tomatoes and corn.
And herbs of every variety.
A full garden.
I'll use kitchen utensils made from scratch,
including a Molcajete for guacamole and salsa.
Who needs a food processor, anyway?


I want to deliberately step back-
away from wastefulness.
Redo the idea of an "essential element."
Get back to basics,
appreciate authenticity and independence,
and find myself wanting a treat,
as opposed to needing a trick.


I just want to be full.
I just want to be.

Just a Dream

Last night, I dreamt that I saw you
In a car-window's reflection,
But you did not see me.
...
Your hair was at its best
-curly and wild-
As it shone in the morning light.
...
Your lips were slathered in their typical tone,
Just as glossy as I’d remembered.
-I smiled-
I couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked.
...
You wore your favorite sunglasses,
The ones you no longer have
-but oh well-
Easily replaced.
...
You just stood at your car,
Calculating your next move,
Wracking the endless check-list in your brain.
...
It was as if you had no idea how gorgeous you were
-Like no one had ever told you-
We both know that’s not the case.
It was as if you had no concept of yourself,
Or the space you stood in.
...
When I saw you, it nearly took my breath away
-A reaction I was not expecting-
You just looked so, different,
So, changed,
So, poised.
...
When I saw you, it nearly took my breath away
-Until I woke up and I realized-
You were me.
I was you.

Oh Well.

Tunnel Vision

The light at the end of the tunnel is alive and breathing.
It shines, forever unaware of its influence,
Totally oblivious to its grandeur.
Its brightness is fueled by modesty and consideration,
For everyone besides itself.

For some, it is the support upon which they stand,
And the hope upon which they fall.
As it gleams, day in and day out,
Occasionally flickering with exhaustion,
It provides a solemn sense of reassurance to those that look its way.

For some, it is the gratification of victory,
And the sweet relief of success.
As it glows, every day without fail,
Blinking only to shed a tear,
It says goodbye to one dream fulfilled, and hello to the next aspiration.

For some, it is the worship of idols, and the inspiration drawn from heroes.
As it glistens, reliably from day to day,
Wavering just for a moment,
It drives a fanatical passion,
And cheers for its onlookers with unparalleled fervor.

For me, it is the love of two men,
And the continual joy that they lay on my heart.
As they twinkle, relentlessly, oblivious to their significance,
They congest my soul with gratitude,
And dam my spirit with value.

The lights at the end of the tunnel are alive and breathing.
One is my soul mate,
The other is teething.
Fortune has never blinded me so deeply,
As these two bright lights that will never stop beaming.