that's mrs. mediocrity to you

frozen

when i want to dance

rooted

when i want to fly

stiff

when i want to bend

smiling

when i want to cry

watching

when i want to close

my eyes

.

.

Linking in today over at dVersePoets for Open Link Night, join us!

your mark has left me wandering for days
solid stare and frozen poultice
broken skin and grey bone bruises

you refuse to reveal what you clock
and i refuse to ask questions

even so, you block my vision
hem me in
and i resent
your cut glass cloak

watching waiting listening

you’ve never been so temporary

my heat fills the room with black fire
because you refuse to hold color

and i have never been seen

.

.

(.p.s. jack frost really did paint this picture on my window)

.

when you’re finally done being silent

when the night is two hours too long

when open is all you can be

racing gently towards the lost sun

.

you think you need a beacon to guide you
when all you have to do is listen

your heart is always beating
bleating
making time

silence is a concept invented by the dead
and music is the door to eternity

everything you see is a story
told by the voice of your mind

whisper marry
murmur song

refusing to be censored

fairy tale potentate
in the dark
in the dark
in the dark

lifeblood’s memory

melody

refrain

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

.

.

spaces close up and voices grow louder
the din of existence an ever-present echo

i see you
i hear you
i approve of you

or not

there is no off button
no way to unplug
(though we all pretend, often)

we are slicing hearts open
and living out loud

from a distance
cacophony bleeds music

.

.

standing on the line
between years
looking back at one
toward another

this path has no end
circling the earth
in one bold stroke
drawn freehand

today i walk it
like a tightrope
arms outstretched
knees wobbly

tomorrow i bring out
my pen
begin again
word by word

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 7: Please post your favorite picture of yourself from 2013, self-portrait or otherwise!

::

I looked. I really did. But I am good at avoiding the camera, both when it’s in my own hand and when it’s in the hands of others. And perhaps someday I’ll get over my camera-shyness, (probably in the same year that I stop dying my hair and let it all go to white). But, I am not there yet, and today is not the time to start, I’ve been sick forever and I look like hell. (Though I laughed at this photo of this queen, because in truth, that’s how I have felt and probably looked for much of the last two months, flat out on my back with a miserable look on my face.)

And I realized, as I was searching, that in truth, my poetry reveals more of me than any photo ever could. Each one contains at least a tiny piece of me, and many others are full-blown portraits. So I offer to you a favorite from April, a word-selfie, and hope that this will do:

 .

sixpence and jabberwocky

i want to pull an alice and dive into a mirror
surely life looks different from the other side

backwards and cockeyed and filtered through
lint left on the surface or smudges stamped
by florid fingerprints and the brittle bones
of everyone who’s ever touched you

always lit like a window in an opulent dream
this place where everyone wears dresses
and no one ever thinks to ask your name
loneliness is a hamper and heartache
is eternally for breakfast, served over easy

with tea, of course

i want to talk to prepubescent butterflies
smoking peace and posturing philosophy
aces and spades kings and queens grinning cats
roses that bloom and bleed and bloom again
always late all this hate always late

shadows are made from silence turned sideways
and music is the way your mouth moves
time is a harness on the horse of hardship
dragging hard on the carriage of comfort

and i am the queen who wants to be whole
but no one hears me in here, knocking

.

don’t be afraid of the cracks and wrinkles
the pockmarks and pitfalls
the threadbare and worn spots

this is where you learn

no wait, that’s not right:

this is where you shine

bring your heart out
at least once a year
polish it up
plaster the wounds
give it some air

don’t be afraid

it’s not as fragile as you think

nor as bitter as the taste in your mouth

there is glitter on your tongue
baker’s sugar, marzipan molds

reshape the breaks

repurpose the shards

reuse the molten memories

don’t just lie there
in your mess of sharp edges

bleed a little

.

.
.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 3: What does your heart have to tell you?

Also joining in today over at dVersePoets for Open Link Night.

::

you cannot deny the light

the way it colors everything
with the existence of shadow

i see hope in the mirror
of cracked faces

something deeper than darkness

some glimmer of innocence and
arbitrary renewal

random patterns weaving evidence
of participation

the glow of reverence

your compass leads the way
with no reflection

crazed crackled map
of delicate edges

leading to your last deliverance

with your heart
with your mind
with your soul

refuse
to listen
to ask permission
to be defined

your music
is your legacy
your song
your essence

refuse to be silenced

slice through the dark
with the call
of your hunger

unleash your fury

keen
in the presence
of light