Making a Comeback

I’m done and out,
feeling this way.
I’m gaining sensations back in my legs,
Finally learning to stand again,
I’m remembering what it is like
to be able to stretch my limbs,
Without being afraid,
That I might offend somebody
With my reaching of the stars.
Words seemed small,
Like ‘confident’,
Now I braid them into my hair,
So everyone knows that I
Give my vocabulary meaning,
No longer allowing society
To hide the brightest parts of me
In a never ending eclipse,
No longer feeling ashamed
To let my heart lead the way.
I want to shine until the darkness
pushes past the horizon,
Merely a speck of dirt on my rear view mirror,
Until it just adds character to the vehicle,
No longer deserving a second glance.

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Don’t Assume

I don’t attend church regularly.
If you asked me to pick up a sign and protest pro-choice on the streets, I’d say you were crazy.
I don’t believe in sex after marriage and I believe that whom you love is whom you love.
I believe that my priest is human.
I don’t believe that I will be struck down in the streets if I eat meat on Friday during Lent.

I do believe in God.

When the pain was not going to stop her,
I prayed that this would be a good trip for her,
Something that would be worth the effort of getting out of bed everyday,
He didn’t take the pain away but
He did bring out the sunshine, blue skies and green fields for miles,
He had the birds singing in the trees, the leaves changing ever so slightly to hues of red,
He pulled bodies out of bed ‪at 5 AM to greet her at the airport,
He got her three shout outs in the wedding speeches
He blessed her with more blessings than the Bride and groom.
He gave her the strength to walk into the church even though the wheelchair was sitting in the trunk of the car.
He gave her security to smile when behind closed doors she could do all but move.

When she returned home to emergency surgery,
It should have been no surprise when the all clear came from the doctor,
Outside was a sunset that can only be describe as a poet’s cliché, heavenly,

I believe that he listens, sometimes like he is just listening to me.
That what I say in my head is like my own personal radio to an all-powerful being.
I don’t have a ritual of getting down on my knees and pressing the palm of my hands together,
The second grader within me urges to fulfill the catholic school rhetoric,
But the adult in me has learned through life,
When I say my thoughts to who is listening, I know that I’m being heard.
I see his answers everyday in opportunities and circumstances that change.
Things happen for a reason because there is a plan,
You are given opportunities when you open your heart to the possibilities.
I believe in God because when my prayers about someone who is that important are answered means I have to be talking to someone pretty special.

I can’t tell you every holy holiday,
I believe that his light shines through my student’s faces,
My bible is an app that exists in a cloud,
I believe he gives me my voice,
I curse at cars on Monday mornings,
In the darkest of times, he will provide clarity,
I don’t declare my faith on my sleeve,
But I do believe in him.

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Underneath

At ten years old
she should tuck her braids
behind her ears so the
sun can reach her face.

Her worries should be
keeping her balance
to keep her record
of perfect hop scotch.

She should feel the grass
inbetween her toes as
she collects dandelions
along the stream.

She should be asking
how she can reach
the sweetest berries
on the highest tree.

But quietly in her room
she is burdened with
asking the questions
beginning with why.

Every morning she wakes
reminded quickly of
the weight she feels
on her shoulders.

She has a perfect
record of balancing
conversations with
her younger sister.

At ten years old
she tucks the strap
of her mother’s bra
underneath her sleeve.

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Thought

Change
its a funny thing

almost invisible when its happens to you
but if you can witness it blossom

see it take root
grow and form

it can manifest into
a wonder of the world

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Honest Poem (In Progress)

If you put your arms
Around my waist, beware
You might get them back
Covered in bobby pins
I save to secure
All of my imperfections.
Someone will come,
Their hands in my hair,
Pulling each unruly strand free.

I’m told I’m kind,
But I’m confused,
I choose human decency
Over thoughts in my head.
Kindness is an obligation
Not rose colored glasses,
Not to be praised.
So when you say I’m kind,
I’m not humble,
I wonder if it just says
More about you
Then me.

I forget to speak,
Sometimes on purpose
I would rather
Not deal with disbelief
When I sprout intellect,
And I,
Could not
Possibly
Have
A voice,
Love does not fix that.

Being alone?
Probably too content,
I like my thoughts,
Yours drown them out.
It’s not your fault,
My heart, though
Craves another rhythm.
It will dance
Long into the night,
Forgetting the world,
Beats echoing loud,
No care for anything else.

(This is totally unfinished, just kinda hit a wall. Just wanted to get a feel of the poem so far out in the world in its very, very premature state. Any feedback is appreciated:)

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Whose fault is it?

I think you know me

Until

You read my poetry

And then I realize 

That you don’t know me at all 

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Heart to my Head

Hey you,

Up there,

Yea you, 

Don’t look away,

It won’t work.

I see everything

That’s right, 

You think about it 

Up there,

But you feel it

Down here.

I control if a thought

Lingers with ache 

Or washes over you

With joy.

I’m the key to your

Moral compass,

Always a pulse away 

From empathy

Or dissociation.

I don’t always get 

Things right,

But I’m usually on beat.

You can argue 

Any case,

I am always

The jury, 

But I know 

What you can live with. 

I’m a diary that

Doesn’t need to be written,

But I’m what puts the soul

In your poetry.

It’s not a contest, 

Your cinematic imagery 

Works in harmony

With my vibes, 

Elevating their weight. 

So don’t forget

I’m here, 

When it’s hard,

I’m not being cruel, 

But I know what 

You need

To be you. 

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