I
Get over it. He’s dead.

II
And when the morning comes, I breathe deep the crisp air
I am awake. I am alive. I am eager for the new day.
I am restless, on the cusp of something gloriously unidentifiable.

III
I want to be acknowledged, and you do that for me. Thanks.

IV
"Two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year..."
We could have had each other, but we didn't.
Stupid fucking angry youths.
We grew up lost and lonely in a crowd, unprepared.

I
Unconditional love.
Not expecting anything in return.
There is no judging or presumption,
No control.
Only the longing and restlessness,
And acceptance of reality.

II
There’s something looming in the shadows.
Changing and growing and seeking meaning.
Who am I if not the essence of my change?
And how do I identify that exactly?

III
I realize, now,
In this time and place,
That it is my heart breaking,
Breaking over me. It always has been
And I could never stop it.
I long to matter
In the grand scope of things,
And I am afraid.

IV
In the flesh
And an ache so deep.
I would break my own heart to save yours.

V
All cataclysmic years end in 3...when I molt and emerge, ten years later and the last seems almost...bearable.

This was one of the best fucking wednesdays in my life. Sad. All it took was a hug. And now I have a headache.

He's a fucking free spirit and she's mired deep in the earth. There's no grounding him, not that she would want to...

Do you think analyzing my behavior or modifying it changes me? Intrinsically? I wonder if it will simply give me the insight to appreciate the differences. I surround myself with those unlike me. I find them a joy.

Sh, oh, honey...if only momma could hold you and kiss it and make it all better...you know momma would...

I think I'm gonna cry...your words...touched me...made me feel...beautiful...made me want...to be them...always.
And nothing could have touched me deeper than your seeing my soul.

I'm learnin'.
I'm gonna let me loose on the world
and they not gonna know what hit 'em.
and when they get that glimpse of me and know
it's not for them? They gonna weep.
'cause I'm glorious, and when I shine, I shine
bright and deep and burn to they very depths.
I leave my mark. You will recall me.

I
You put my hand to your heart.
It was beating fast and you were breathing rapidly.
I swallowed deeply, almost choking.
"Faster, pussycat, kill, kill."
And I pulled my hand away.

II
And what of my love hate with Tuesday? That was a Friday.

III
And I stepped lightly out of my depths
and out of my mind...
and not nearly twice as beautiful as the nearest rainbow.
Oh, god, the touch of flesh, the smell of skin.
The taste of the morning dew as I breathe deep, nostrils flaring.
And in my palm, lightly cupped, giving,
I lean closely into a brave new world.

IV
Sleek and lean, she prowls
and the prey fights back - only sometimes.
She cleans her paws and basks in the sun,
sated, fat and full.

Look, Mom, I'm laughing. Me, the all too quiet girl with glasses and spagetti blonde hair. Still skinny as hell, Mom, but I'm laughing. Who'd a thought it?

I
Ah, you boys, your flattery delights me,
thrills me to no end.
I'm glad you look deeper, and see me,
and like me anyway.
(I share myself rarely with few.)
Like me even for my love of lust
and destruction and
absolution. Even for my imperfections.
Today, I am acknowledged.

II
Thank you, I like you for you too.

I
If you seek
The depth of her
You will find
A cold steel ball.
Where the stillness calls
And the darkness flows
And blood drips into pools below.
She, the keeper, and
She, the guardian, and
She, the mistress of the ball.

II
I danced today,
In lightness of step
Feeling absolutely,
One-hundred percent
Gloriously beautiful.

I
You don't ever mind
Garlic, onions or sweat.
You kiss me anyway
And I let you.

II
You thrill me to no end.

III
The shadows ebb and flow,
Gently crawling, through
Twilight as the dreamscape fades
And I am restless

IV
Hovering
Almost, but not quite
Yet discernable.
Then a spark;
An idea, a thought, a dream
And it was there all along
Inside me, waiting
Simply to be acknowledged.

What do I want to write? Something different. Something fresh. Something real. Something entertaining. Something Peach...and I'm gonna do it. I just started and I'm apprehensive about putting these things on paper...it'll be called, "Raising Myself from Scratch; Memoirs of a Texas Peach." or something like that. And it scares the shit out of me to write it. Here’s a brief excerpt of the very rough draft...

"First let me say that this is fiction. Oh, it’s a true story alright, some of it. It’s just that memory and perception, well, aren’t always accurate. I knew this, have always known this, but the first time I truly realized it was in speaking with my mother one time. As I recall, she wondered when we stopped being such good friends. My non-committal replies obviously didn’t satisfy her on this one. And yes, I heard her, but didn’t want to bring up my sixteenth birthday when I didn’t get jack-shit, but we went shopping and spent a cool few grand on her, running up the credit cards just before the divorce. It was 1986 for Christ’s sake, mom, the clothes sucked! Needing time to chill out, I asked her to repeat the questions, but she became terse. Of course I bit back with sarcasm and replied that it was probably around the time I turned three years old, mom. That led to a blissful quiet that lasted several years."