wash shin ton talk

That keeps me away from painful blood love

It's the people that build the place and the place is empty without the building that the love people create

It's the people that are the place

Places are empty without the ones that fill in the memories with shared laughter, tears, and love.

And the love in the people that draws the prodigal back to dusty dirty, cramped highways

and the love that pains in loss of love in the blood bound people

and the fear of seeing the blood bound faces in goodbyes

wraps around this not being home

and preference is a choice in a big open space

but love is a coagulating agent in the get-out-of-Dodge highway calling

and my eyes may open to the space to improve that thick dreary heat blanket

that thick black out curtain hung up to keep out

and

And your black out curtains are me screening my calls

and your heat aversion is my blocking out social media

and your desire for mild weather is me sweating out the heat

and getting lost in wondering what is out there is forgetting that the place is nothing without the people

and the people put meaning into the place and all of the exploring is meaningless without the quality of life breathed into it among the acceptance of those that are in the inner circle

because what is an adventure worth if the wisdom and experience gained from it is never shared at all?

Just don't leave out the coagulating love.
that nuisance of a thing holding onto in the blooming of the bluebonnets and the thick humid heat blanket

with the windows open

and there was all of that time and it was all used up
and there were all of those beautiful beating hearts added to the we
and then there was the shock of the great sad loss
and then there were us we
and the quiet
and sitting in the quiet
and leaning into the quiet
because the crazy noise of to dos and shoulds had gone
all gone
far away gone
like two states away gone
and then just like that the crazy noise was three doors down
and there was the crazy half dozen we
and we were standing
and we were thriving
and we are still
 and we are still

Highest hill calling

now what do you look like, perfect faith?
now what do you sound like?
Do You know what we're walking into?
Could you please let me know, give me a hint
that every little thing is gonna be okay.

and I was embraced and made a part of
A creator of
A partaker of
A new thing that hadn't existed before the effect of poor planning
That thing that collectively has twelve stepping feet
Sixty fingers to discover
And it's mine
And I'm accepted in this one thing that before me ne'er existed
And the tall one
The musical one
The quiet one
The he was mister right one
And magic was wrought when to him I clung
And I made him mature
And he made me calm
And all that is wrapped up in these things before unthinkable
Unimaginable
Small minds wonderful
And now searching for belonging stops because it's filled
That dull ache to be parented and rest in being taken care of
    Is eclipsed by deep belly laughs and walking around in bare feet
Passing out hydrocortisone cream
Taking orders for ice cream
How a one could abandon their tinies?
Curse their babies?
Blame their babies?
Created small hearts place me at home
Make me at home
Make my home a home
Tiny big voices make the unparented parent satisfied in home

And faith wraps it shut

thump say speak. I speak, says the one. mini-mex muse revealing tex-mex itty bitty one.

making the change
breaking away
friend, my fear
so near
push away all hope of smiles
all the promise of the not yet known
and what we don't know
don't know what the repercussions will be
just we'll wait and see
and the yelling and they get so mad
wonder where they get that from
and the love that's so deep they weep and weep
their joy overflows into crinkled eyes
the joy of the ice cream man's jingle
the mad rush for the money hard earned
just a vacation
just a vacation
for the rest of their childhood


dear friend eclipsed by sweet smiling eyes



never going back to the semi-cultish house of worship contained in the sacrifice of the few for themselves
-careful not to offend the little
but their thing is offensive to me
offensive to that thick book I still thickly read
and all of those platitudes
those commandments we all sometimes dread
and read
and read
and read
magic thick book spoke life once upon a time
spoke direction in the truth it yelled at me
the message it taught to me
then the shifting of the meaning and the shadow of the one man's vision and his calling
and breaking away
though years have past
is still thickly stuck to the small hairs
is still twisted captor seeking to please that one man's vision
vision
singing be thou my vision
and raising ebenezer
and the last of the last and the fallen in the past
and then there is all of the sentimentality of the teenage youth group hanging on to me and pulling me deeper into the man's vision and the truth wrapped up in the warped and the managing of all of the hurt and the pain and the hurt and the fighting with the mom-child and the wanting to be better
to be better at the thick book reading
the thick book studying
and the long simple prayers admired-er
off to the oasis in the desert to sit and reflect and dig deeper and deeper
and there was refuge there
and there was calm there
and there was camaraderie there
and mission there
and understanding there

but past the busted hopes of being a part of magical all-is-virtuous-of-this-vision-most-magical
flat topper wasn't key to living out thick book
thick book
and churchy organism took
and took
and took

and readjusted sad smiles fell swiftly through the cracks
and meetings turned to meaning
and holding onto sacred life
when talking and listening was of the utmost importance
and though it always felt like the faith was out of reach, same struggled smiles held my smallness close in
and it grew
and it grew
and the laughter healed the misunderstood mismanaged healing mexi-mini me
and they held me up and I helped them up
then I left
I left
to alone and aloof and the pretty blooming trees
to box house living and just the one red friend

and I thrived
and thrived
and guiltily thrived
what of when questions breed more questions
and searching into that mini-mex proves unending
and the secular bad'man institution was a refuge to breathe
sanity in smiling faces
normalcy to pour into semi-cultish slash wounds
and of the three little ones who are thriving
and smiling
and smiling
and smiling
and of the tiny one born in the away place
the alone place
the lone red hand to hold in forceful agony
that victorious calm
to see tiny face held in swollen arms
mexi-tiny strength displayed
that questions unanswered and pains inexplicable
could maybe
not be the keeping to be tiny
the odd fitting could possibly be that perfect fitting smallish one to smile crinkle eyes alight
and tapping keys on cheap keyboard could be key to tapping small tex-mex perspective
that perplexive
long time in coming
tapped out voice
in conclusion of
those years in mom-child's care
those years in semi-cultish incompatibility
those years with the lone red sounding board
confusing one sided long thought out perspective
voiced perspective

old friend fear of rejection
push the publish
push the publish

quiet palpitating beat of the heart

quiet

for to listen to the rejection and the criticism of those thoughts and the things that they will question when to me they seem so plain and the talk of the past and the pressure that it breeds
that the satisfaction of this fallen one will be clean
and clean
and clean
and clean

because you were always mean
because you were always different
you were always just a little bit off
but that little one
that quiet face
you don't have a quiet voice, now do you

share the thing
share the thing

still your self
settle in
and the open
and the vulnerable
begets being heard
that in fear

that those impressions that wrecked small frame could soothe those stinging
in a smallish way

share and no

scared for the sympathy
sad empathy

so I hung all the diapers and there are minutes to kill

banana bread filled stuffing
matronly tight now puffing
tactical matrix debating debacle
tackle this hustle
to bustle
to bust
get fixed on the things above
where hope and calm and faith commonly shove
perfect love
perfect love
perfect love
from above
above love
above love
above´s love

fixed gaze to praise
most highest of deities
most highest of purities
the duty to stay
stay fixed on this highest of callings
this following of this calling
to the place
the place next
where there will be trials I bet
trials to fix those weary eyes on above
above´s love
and the calling to be in all that there is in the perfect simplicity of the beauty of above
above´s love
push to shove
and shove
and shove

to the single college kids causing me to doubt the value of my large family so young:

now 31
racing past the prime



and who taught and modeled the right way to be adult?
and who taught and modeled the drive to be more than you were?




And now these prizes
people past able to be value placed
these people fill cramped living spaces with their coughs and laughs and boogers and jokes

with their smiles with snaggle teeth and hearts full to burst with ability
to love
to grow
to develop all genetics passed down to them


now too big to be so small
too tall to crawl into lap
too heavy to tackle

associates
bachelors
masters
doctorate


tiny broken full heart
your full mexican american heart to love
to heal now that lost simplicity of childhood
sensitive to small
too quick to figure out
not willing to conform to now any mold
now too bold
these to comfort
not papers to type
not goals to achieve
loans to pay
dorms in which to stay
now piles of bills to pay
every day
my treasure now hidden in four small beating hearts

and that is enough
yes
that is enough

Try it, you'll like it

Ballet princess
New experience
Trying out the exotic in the safety of the ghetto
Community center

Paper thin, transparent even, tiny frizzy haired damaged goods

Take a spot to line up, dear ones.

Timid teeny tiny steps to the line
Amid teeny tiny dancers more experienced by time

Not there! This is my spot. Move!

Now crumble
Now cry the ugly cry
The walls have been breeched, and tiny one begs escape
To the false maternal arms
Those weapons in disguise
Run away tiny broken
Put ballet away
Don't look back

See sea essay core bin

would that the confusion be reconciled
the harsh sad waste not a waste
the years pining not a loss

free school

you used me

amazing and fresh and nondenominational
you neglected me
alienated me
faith giant failed to fill me in
then left to grow up alone

on my own
to learn to care for woman´s body

on my own
to care for infant´s needs

on my own
to navigate bureaucracy of welfare
the failure of the oneness
the weight of mental illness

the aftershocks of neglect

handouts

to fill needs faith giant failed to meet
faith failed to fill
fake faith failed to fill

In a van down by the river

Just like that petty wonder

Singularly soaring feathered fleeting flight

Captivated curiosity to hope 

To rest

Snatched too soon 

From too tight grip

Was it tiny guitar broken beyond repair

Was it waking in night's middle to trauma alone

To wake to insecurity

Security gone

Malicious mechanisms biologically imbedded in process

Process disappointment to hope

Hope

Dream

Optimistic optimist open anew

Quench quick pulse 

Soothe sickening sinking 

Calm calamity's creeping

Toward hope in purity 

Realistically 

Hope's reliability 

Step one

Step two

Now foot in front of other 

Now right arm sways to balance another

Now walk 

Now run

In quiet fun

Adventageous adventurer venture to there

Venture to where

Still pace to care

Carefully hope blind

Hope bind

Once more this time

This time to walk 

Step beat

Step beat

Faith rest inside hope box sealed 

Sealed 

It is done

Done 

Done

Menos three months

Bigger skies
Familiar flora
Bonnets blowing blue
Heat to breathe, to chew, to wear
Chanclas on dirty feet
Bigger population
Familiar highways
Love smiling brown
Spanglish to immerse into
Remain into
Conform into
Roses remain
Solitary to maturity

Just for me

If I just wanted to write
And I wrote what I wanted
Would the readers want what I wrote?

If the pen penned the verse
And the screen mirrored terse
Would it free us indebted serfs?

Would words stir the fallout
And the hearts voice curt curses
If voice was given to mind?

If sweaty palms and palpitating
Beat not fingers to retreat
But fought to shape taboo to display
And give voice to shaky beliefs
Would conscience sigh relief
However brief
If writing were just for me?

McPuggle's Step Daughter

What do you use to scrub your table with?

I don't. I just use a paper towel.

Oh. Ew.


scoff cuts deep thin red into thin skin.

chaos                           turmoil                         outbursts

             immaturity                    spontaneity      

          
                              drunkenness                      selfishness
             violence
                        profanity              
                                       
                     rage                                

                                                                              escapism

                                         
                                          dependence

 blaming                                                        
                                                           

                    unhealthy eating habits            
                                                         unfaithfulness



                                                    irresponsibility



should    
      have    
          been    
         saturated          
                                 
                                          in                                                                                  
                                                        mother-child's                                                                                                                                         likeness.

because

a non robot normal feeling productive living life human being

in circling conversations 

and the small talk abounded

in the small talk in the whatevers where you don't care about what I say and I don't care about what you say, really.

and then the climax of the theatrical goodbye and the deep embrace and the exhalation of relief. of climbing back into cluttered van where little voices beg for more audio Harry Potter and there's breath there and there's life there and there is freedom there. there in the just being of being. in the place of knowing the Others are gone and the destitute and the sarcasm and the silly and immature and the life returns where there are no tears and there is no pressure to conform to the norms and there is no pressure to be a smarty talky and there is no pressure to protect from the other imperfect parenting and the perfect small talk, so skilled and slick and smooth as silk and the answers and the ability to worm into the essays of the why i do what i do.

i do 

i do too

i say little for the pleasure of seeing the awkward. no, for the solace in rising above. of not being a slick small talker, just an observer and judge and audience. just a one to sit and sweat and breathe and wait impatiently for the waiting to be over and to run to the solace of the cluttered van. our cluttered van. that not loved perfectly but still running van. 

the freedom to bask in my freedoms, please. 

the freedom to love what is lovely about me, please.

the freedom to just be in the being, please.

cold creeping

cold creeping
stopping feeling
desolate demanding destructive manipulation
manipulating
my me
my tiny
my bitter held holdings
transferred deferred detriment
determining
the destination
definitely
defiantly now to leap
no man's land in the deep
left out brilliance
crying hard to be let in
to resolute destitute manifestation
living in the now
to the future
in the outcome
quietly

and the na...cy and the ch....ea and the me....an and the me and the then and the now

And married at twenty.
And baby at twenty one.
And another in twenty one months.
And another two years later.
Maybe that's when her oneness was completed.
Six, maybe seven years after vows.



After hours.
In the irrelevant darkness spread between bedroom walls
Cockeyed passers by disregarding voiced pain
voiced agony
voiced loneliness
Meddlesome naysayers and bandage quips
overachieving in laws and unattainable standards
whose standards?
Mediocre marriage between mediocre bedsheets
sagging now unrecognizable milk producing nurturer

spread open wide, dear submissive
open to act and do and be and act until quality feeling fills the sheets
Fills the void
the lie of the better
the lie of the soapbox

irrelevant naysayer held reverently above impractical practicality
now gray
now white
now gray
now white

boxed in
in boxed house
manufactured to house life and smiles and cooking and eating and love making

seclusion breeds opportunity

opportunity to question
opportunity to run
run far
run far
to the backwards had been
revolting not now been
dear submissive tempted now to run
run from the faith
run from the gray now white now gray now white

now disqualified with quips of knowing better than thou
better than the brokenness
better than the now
why ask how
dear submissive
dear seclusive
elusive reclusive diabolical questioner of the faith
questioner of the emphatic

realistically seeing the reality of the being in the madness never seeing

but the brow and the beating
and the meeting of the quipping and whipping mental furor into mad fury
fury at self
fury at self
at elusive submissive
elusive submissive at high cost of life

snatched away laughter
hope of respectability
hope of in-loving kindness
in love-ability
ability
utility

utilitarian though you seem to not be the backhanded equalizer suppressing madness temper

Tempted to cope
tempted to flee backwards to inexplicable ridiculous radical

hold me down longer
loving sad view
hold me down harder

run from the now white now gray
make fun with the freedom of the boxed in box maker
laughter taker
for small money maker

eunuch drone worker
enabling free for frees sake
for sayings sake
for others knowing sake

high calling to poverty ignoring true need unfulfilling unequally maker
marriage breaker
oneness breaker
promise breaker
fail
fail
fail

when o was high

what of safe when safety fails

     frail smallish kin

awake in haze of night matters

almost time

for their unapologetic shouts
    accompanied by unapologetic bouts
of raucous loosly goosely questions
for tired hangy wangy ears
lord too old to feel this bold
quiet bubbly troubly musty thoughts

think fast tiny mommy for the three plus the one
and the door stuck to shun
shun your fun
shun your fun
shun your fun

Bad sick bed laying instead of church going with a headache and nausea

What the head pounding

Light sinking thorn in flesh

Sound bitter bile in throat

For joy

For the joy 

New Girl

Don't strive for the attention, reconciliation with or approval of someone who has rejected and insulted you.
Why for the stress?
Why for the striving?
Why for the approval?
The madness of the seeking?
What you avoiding?
What you not seeing?
Commence deep thought thinking in the labrynth of mind seeking.
You put away deep soul searching; for approval of deity's path leading.
Put away empty promises.
Saying yes to what should be said no to.
Stopped it. Stopped it all.
Now go.
Go to the place that keeps heart palpitating.
Soul gravitating toward the easy.
Toward the palatable.
The palpable.
The good enough of the quiet sharp inhalation of not saying what's on mind.
Unthinking of the effects.
Of the consequences of the now.
Of the process to become my person.
Growing up when already an adult.
Already an entity; an independant full blown adult.
Now mature.
Now do the thing that makes so afraid.
Ties you to rumpled sheets in stale bed.
Ties you, binds you, behind unthinking screens.
Others' dreams.
Helping all but the me.
Catering to all but the me.
Driving all but the me.
Dare to risk egg on facing.
No thank you.
Just perfect tiny craft to win a bit of the green.
Who says the tiny craft can't open to the tangible?
The talent.
The gifted.
The little bit of shine that the little one was denied.

quiet in the friday

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of a lot of things. I'm afraid of freedom.
car accidents
rapists
dogs
sharks
men
women
talking
being open
being alone
I don't like typing on this computer
this laptop
this is not mine
it is his
all that I have is borrowed from him
all that I want to have I have to have the desire to get up and earn
but I never will
I already have


Her shadow hasn't hung over me in a long time now.
Since the sick stalking has ceased
and I hated myself and it never made me feel better
and now she has no power over me
maybe
maybe there is power in what I can accomplish
maybe there is validity in me
in the me
in the dreams of me
in the abilities
those gifts closeted away
hiding from the others from the them from the outsiders
dumbing down to fulfill the role
I'm over it
I'm over that and now ready, partly at least, to be a little more daring
to go get myself ice cream
maybe I'll run
maybe I'm afraid that I'll get out too far and not want to come back
maybe I won't come back and that will be murderous
and it would be tragic
but God
remember the deal
the pact
the covenant
the transformation in the midst of the altercation
that random encounter that changed the course of fate and made it all different
better for a time
when there was a one to kiss it all away
when there was a one who made the me want
who made the me laugh
and that died
and now there is the decade old us and the me and the mine and the longing and the irritation and the selfishness
and then there are the memories and the history and the grandeur of the big
 of the history that tore me out of the pain and the crazy and the making me want
and what i want is to want the healthy the happy
the best and the reasonable and the healthy
but there is the lost and there is the lonely and there isn't release and there isn't fulfillment
just waiting for that some day when it will all get better than the now when it all gets better
like magic
like a spell
like a miracle
and the cycle goes on it continues and loses me in it and I'm at a loss
lost in the now when I'm free to think and I think too much and I think of the losses
 and I think of the past and the dad I abandoned who abandoned me first
and I wonder if I'll ever be able to explain to any of them what it all truly meant
did it mean anything?
was the cry heard if not seen?
was there a sign asking for help?
will there be grace in the acceptance of all the eccentricities that make me up
when
my mind
goes out
my
mouth
and its all heard
like I want it to be
like it was meant
to be
like I never want you to hear it

because the rivalry I've created riles up in me and I hate you and I want to do it all better and bigger and more successfully than you could ever
and I don't like you
and I like to think of your demise

but I wander
and I'm sick
and I wonder if I'm the only one who thinks like I think
but then I remember that there are the others and the ones who can't make eye contact in the crowd who
can't make the small talk like the man
who hate the loud and read the books and are
just
like
me
and that makes me feel a little more free and that someday I'll join that exclusive club that I never thought I could join because there never was a place for aspiration in the sacrifice of survival
in the myriad of prison homes that we've run through
just a place to be free
I'd like a place to be free
where the walls don't feel like they hold me in
but that they contain me wrapping me in the safety of their stability
ability
likeability
and to be
and I suppose some day I'll make peace with the beast and reconcile the docile submissive tiny one and the loud and angry creative one
the dichotomy I created for myself to have an escape from the chaos
that chaos that was real
the tragedy we narrowly avoided and all the loss
and all the tears
 and all the yelling
and the being alone and the lonely cries and then
all the boys filling the void and the diversion of getting the numbers and making them smile and being free to get the attention of others who might like to have yours
and they had mine
all
and then the ring
and then the finality
and the security and the
monogamy
and the babies
lots of the babies that led to the illness
the darkness of an illness that put into another cell
another confinement
that encompassing bigness that trapped you, tiny

maybe you'll sing
maybe it would be amazing to be free