Enough

I've become increasingly exhausted 

by never being enough.

So today I woke,

and decided,

I am.

A Stage Full of Memories

I stood on the stage,

My stage,

The one where I have performed since I was a child. Standing in the lights that have always lit my face, looking to the dark wings where I used to whisper as I waited to go on. This wood that knows my touch, my voice, my songs, my secrets. 

This stage that will soon be torn down,

Emptied out. 

Turned into something new.

"I'm not ready,"

I said to the curtains and the seats that bang back and forth.

They only sighed in reply,

Weary with age.

How is it that I am never ready?

As if these memories would dissolve

As the building falls to the ground.

If this structure is gone,

Do all of those moments still matter?

 

All the Noise Inside My Head

I went somewhere in my head and you couldn't follow.

I tried to let you in with words and more words. But the more I said, the more it all came out wrong and small. I could feel your callousness toward me growing with every line. But the noise inside my head was too great, a cacophony, to show you what I meant. And all I really needed was for you to tell me I was not a game to you. That I still meant as much to you as I did on that Monday. That I was not foolish for trusting. 

But I could not ask for what I wanted. And you could not follow me through the noise. So instead I felt you pulling back, retreating. Away from me. Away from us.

Now the noise has settled. And I'm standing in the aftermath, shaking, unsure. Are you still here with me in the silence and serene? Or did the clanging send you running?

Keys

I gave you my keys. The ones I had kept
Untouched for years, for fear of judgement.
And you tossed them in a drawer
Almost immediately.
And forgot.

Secondhand Smoke

He tasted of cigarettes.

Not something I liked but something that permeated.
And now he is still there
In my mouth,
With every inhale of secondhand smoke.
Even after all these years.

Unknown

It rained on us
All the way to the hospital.
And she giggled,
As we went.

Giant drops splattering,
In conjunction with her laughter.

Her excitement at this adventure,
A singing bird,
Trilling away,
Unbothered.

"Please,
dear Lord,"
I prayed,
"May this always be an adventure
And not a harm."

I drove my precious,
Exclaiming,
Passenger
Through the downpour,
To the doors of the unknown.

Baby Yoda

 My daughter cried when my husband said he loved her more than Baby Yoda.

"But Baby Yoda is so cute!!!" she wailed.

Giant tears rolling down her pouting cheeks. 

Zola is like this,

The child I named after the earth,

Tranquility,

Is full of sun and storm.

Nothing is better than her joy,

Mischief and silliness,

Tiny kisses to wake you in the morning.

But her sadness is sudden,

and large.

A thunderstorm of sorrow.

The injustice of Baby Yoda,

Unkissed before bed, too much for her to handle.

Being loved by Zola is being filled to the brim,

Spilling over with her unconditional enjoyment of you.