What do we have?

Three years of marriage, and what do we have to show for it? We have no house, little money, and no kids to show off on facebook like everyone else our age. Your job takes you far away every fifteen days, and I am alone here in this sad excuse for a city.

So, what do we have?

You have the unique gift of righting every wrong in this world; one hug fixes everything. Absolutely everything.
And you have a particular look when you take in all of my imperfections; a silly smile always followed by a kiss, as if my flaws were chocolates.
You have a laugh that tickles me in all the right places, so tickling you is my favorite game…      And though you tell me not to, somehow you have the patience not to hate me when I do anyway. That patience can get us through it all.
You have a song for everything, and we make little dances to them wherever we go. We’ll go everywhere, don’t you know?
Your heart is so big that I crawl inside it every night, cuddling each little bit of you. Even from afar, I call it home.

You are magic, my love, and I have you. And I have everything.

Savage Morning Rituals

My reflection winks at me when I’m not looking.

I swish and drop my dizzy head,

and while Colgate blue and red make purple,

my reflection does a sassy hair flip too.

I search the mirror, seeing spots and dimples and droops,

and my mind does not enjoy that at all.

Tugging, pushing, lifting, twisting, and sucking;

I do not get along with my reflection,

and my reflection could not care less.

Two becomes ten tries at tidy in no time at all,

but nothing is true.

And hiding under fabric doesn’t fool my eyes.

And my gut weighs heavy in my head.

And I can feel the jiggle of my thighs clog my arteries and slow my heart.

And all the while my reflection winks at me.

And I ache to be my reflection.

Sink into my reality

Sink into my reality,
like hungry fingers into peanut butter;
American and thick; a bit sticky like a genuine smile,
Dip in deep.
Take some of me.
There is love in every measure.
There is crunch too; rough bitter spots; fears and tears and insecurities mixed around by children playing at being adults.
I am free,
but not my reality.
Taxes and tragedies grow out in gray hairs; stubborn and stark.
Lines draw lasting emotions on my splotched skin; sun, wind and rain thoughts and feelings.
Bills and bombs and goodbyes.
Can you see me?
Willingly?
The sweat, the sigh, and the spirit?
Take a bit,
but just of me.
I will give me gladly.