deep down

You can run

And you can hide

But you never escape

Who you are inside

picket fence

A lawn lullaby lime yellow,

the type you'd like to lay in

and pretend your life a movie

everything the same. Still you

playing you, but on screen.

A master glitz lens capture you

stooping to pick up laundry,

shaking out the carpets, or

frying up bacon- 

eggs. Illusion of audience

and all's all right.

wear your socks in sand

Not everything has a meaning,

somethings just exist for me.

hidden hymns

To be so soft, so vulnerable,

belly exposed and feet in the air,

is treason to my upbringing, 

my childhood training, where

I wish I could go back just to

grab your hands and say,

"Let's never try to run with boys.

Let's runaway instead. 

Be marine biologists like

in Miami, Malibu, like Barbie."

If we did that it'd be all different;

I not numb and you not dead.

happy time

It's as friendly as a front door,

Holiday decorated, shiny lights,

Colorful beacon. This is a home.

It's how living in Alabama is like

living in a sitcom, personalities

bursting at the seams with a slow

drawl and vibrant monologues 

aside and to the right, we sit.

death becomes us

I am a woman of simple tastes

the dead are just too easy to love

cause they missed their chance

to disappoint or hurt you.

wishes are wasted

I want to be someone's little pidgeon,

Their tiny fairy, light and sprite.

Their Rainbows and sunshine and

Sugar and spice, their sweet angel.

I want to be held and loved. 

They would delight in my words,

cherish my ways, charmmed by my flaws.

Wanted for who I am rather than

Who I could become for them.

I mould to fit in your space,

conform to your coaching and

Suggestions and outright directives

And fail forward to tomorrow.

Never your little pidgeon, not an

angel or fairy or sprite but

a pain in your side, annoyance, a project. 

Work on me some more, Till I am no more.