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[chrysanthemumlove]

An Unplanned Process

There are things you prepare for. 

You prepare for the chapel picking,

and the casket shopping.

You prepare to see a body,  

you prepare for his hands that are no longer warm 

And then there are the surprises. 

The things you don’t prepare for. 

How many times you have to recount a story 

you’re still in denial about 

The different smells you notice people have when they hug you. 

How many different casseroles people can make 

and how they smell in your fridge when they go bad,

cause you refuse to eat anything but frosted flakes. 

That the kids who bullied you will call to give their condolences. 

That people will treat the word “dead” like a curse word,

too scandalous to say out loud. 

For the realization to hit, 

that all you’ll ever have with him 

has already happened.

You don’t prepare, 

for everything to be over. 

For mom to go back to work.

For the flowers to rot,

for the meals to stop coming. 

For the school work to pile up. 

And now you’re left with a smelly flowers, 

feelings you don’t know how to deal with. 

And a couple of shirts that smell like him

But not for long.

~not my art!~

[chrysanthemumlove]

i am not worthy

I just want my mom to hold me.

To cradle my head,

and scratch my scalp,

while I softy sob.

For her to tell me that everything is okay,

and that I'm perfect just the way I am.

But I don't know how to ask for that,

I wasn't taught.

So instead I pick a fight,

and then go to cry alone.

~not my photo! taken from wiki~

[chrysanthemumlove]

Sea foam

I like to think about the bubbles that come on top of the ocean.

With each wave, its different foam,

but it stays in the same place.

I think about my mother,

and my mothers mother,

and me.

Different foam,

same place.

~not my art!~

[chrysanthemumlove]

Rocky Riverbeds

To the girls who wear expired face masks,

and always have anti-acids on hand.

Who's thighs chafe,

and stretchmarks sparkle in the sun.

Who's cars have duct tape,

and who 'laugh too loud.'

Who's breasts aren't perky,

and waists not thin.

Who is technically overweight, but not obese,

so no need to worry?

Who see's a therapist once a week,

and sometimes cries herself to sleep.

Who know that it happened,

and chose not to report it.

I see you,

you are loved,

you are heard,

you are valued.

Aphrodite herself molded you with her bare hands.

The men of ancient Greece crawled on their knee's,

begging for your glance in their direction.

My angel for the love of God,

trust in yourself,

you will achieve,

and you will find peace.

~not my art!~