I’m the girl who loved you

The girl who ruined your life

I’m the girl who took your world

And flipped it on it’s side

I’m the girl who said those things

The girl who cheats and steals

I’m the girl who said I’d die

The girl who never feels

I’m the girl who left you

I said I never would

I’m the girl who loves the rush

Carefree spirits bottled up inside

Trapped by emotions that tame

Hearts led around on a leash by its captor

Confused by the rules of the game

A forfeit of control for each fantasy ride

Obscuring the thief in the night

Mindful of the figure in the shadows

Intoxicated by the beacon of light

Consumed by the torture absence creates

A child-like adoration abounds

Hidden wonders desperate to explore

Each destructive hold astounds

The mystery and grace of nature move them

Token resistance to the iniquity

A wolf cries boy in a repetitive chord

Unleashing the clarity of their destiny

She looks down upon me

As the universe weighs down on me

Within her peace I am set free

Show me how to live

My angel, your guidance your sun, is the only light I see

My twin soul I live for two on this earth

Every road I turn

To make you proud

Every decision I make only to see you

Walk this path with me

“Yes,” she sighed, “it’s my real name.” Mary Meaux dejectedly signed her name to the ticket that the server offered before setting it back down on the table amidst the remains of their Mexican dinner. Her husband, Beau – “Yes, that’s really his name, too,” she all too often had to say – was working late, and so she had the entire brood to herself. Shuttling five children to and from the nursery/daycare, then getting them all fed, then back home to begin the ordeal of getting them showered, homework done (in theory, at least), and then finally to bed… it wasn’t exactly easy. Doing this with a husband who claimed to be working late far too often and bringing home far too little money for doing so made life a living hell.

“…in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Mary sighed as she put her ornately worked rosary back into its velvet bag. Each of its beads were beautifully polished to a shine – as much from their constant use as from their original quality craftsmanship. Truthfully, it was her most prized possession, the only thing of any kind of quality that she owned in her small, entirely overcrowded house. Her faith, really, was the only thing that kept her going. It was a product of her troubled first pregnancy

My little angel bug
Like a shimmering summer hug
Her laughter from the bubbles in the ocean
Wanting her to have the beauty of the world
Wanting only peace and adventure for this girl
Those summery lakes in her eyes full of wonder
That space in my soul made only to love her
The day will come
When she’s tall and strong
But her sweetness will still shine from her skin
And when she’s off on her own
When her wisdom has grown
She’ll follow her guts and gentleness within

A sick strange thirst for something more
An insatiable beautiful craving
For everything I’ve never had before
They’re of another world
The feelings of my dreams
And they’re clever, quick and taunting it seems
Content with your fingertips bleeding magic into my skin
Wondering about happiness
And what’s so wrong with it again
It’s the vulnerability and the need on my part
That puts the storm in my gut and the screaming in my heart
So I keep it just like this
The heat from your hands and salt from your kiss
Your rough sublime body enough to fill mine
Something for my soul will come in time

These stepping stones have become a part of me.
They have seen me through my story….
…As a little girl playing with the frogs…
…As a lass reading to escape the mediocrity of my world…
…As a young woman falling in love…
…And as an elderly lady leaving this world to spend eternity with him, the one she loved…

I found them at age three.
Daddy took me to see the frogs.
We played there for hours and we laughed.
But as I got older, daddy and I didn’t have time together.
…We grew apart…
…Away from each other…
…Away from being father and daughter…
But the steps stayed for me.

At 13, I was a lost young girl. Home wasn’t a place I wanted to be, so I took a book and ran to the steps…

Here’s the road but where’s my path
Here’s the sign but what does it point to
This part here is strewn with stones
That, a little further away, looks smooth
Or is it empty?
How is it that the smooth stretch seems rocky
While the stones arouse an animal instinct
To test strength and taste blood

It’s maddening to decide which is mine
How do you decide
when your eyes are shown rocks
And your dream is shown reality
Your heart hopes
And your brain struggles
to see what is unrelentingly clouded to you

Tuggler the Juggler loved to bowl

He’d strike those pins, and– what do you know!

Right down the lane, into the pit,

that ball would roll– and it would hit!

But Tuggler was a funny clown:

He’d put those pins upside-down

And–what do you know! He’d bowl again

He’d knock them over: even then!

But that’s not all! He’d get a thought:

he’d stack ‘em up: hey, why not??

then he’d wind up his lucky arm

’til Jesus comes

We’ll love

We’ll wait

I’ll cry.

’til Jesus comes

the grass will grow

my friends will go

And I’ll cry.

’til Jesus comes

People will hurt us

churches will break down