The Journey's Result

We all get jealous.
Do we envy the journey,
or the end result?

Love Makes No Sense

Love is a blind man seeing with perfect sight,
a day full of moon and a night full of sun.
It's every month of every second,
every year of every minute.

Love is a frown full of joy
and a tear full of speachless emotions
begging to be let out.

Love is up being down,
the sunrise at sunset,
and the cow that jumped over the moon.

Love is raceless,
but full of color.

Love is the grand finale fireworks
on the fourth of july.

Love makes no sense,
But love
is love
and love it,
we will.

Cookie Jar

Delicate, unfed fingers reach weakly
toward the bedroom door.

Maybe mommy left a snack.
Maybe not.

Her mom is "out taking care of things"
again,
and her dad is a thousand miles away
with the woman and kids he actually cares about.
She's alone,
again.

Her door creaks open to reveal the hallway mirror,
the cruel reminder of who she's become on the outside.

Maybe it would show someone different this time.
Maybe not.

She's only eight and
already her ribs can be counted
one by one.
Her shoulder bones jut out,
only because her skin
hugs her so tightly.
It's the only thing that does.

She moves on along down the narrow,
dirt-filled hallway
to the grimy kitchen waiting at the other end.
That twenty-foot stroll tired her out.

Maybe there would be something edible in the fridge.
Maybe not.

Her dull eyes show the briefest glimmer,
a cookie jar is spotted far back on the counter.
Her stomach growls in desperate desire,
but she can't reach it.

She grabs the broom from the
dusty corner of the kitchen
and slowly pushes the cookie jar with it
to the edge of the counter,
just a little too far.

Ceramic pieces clatter and shatter
and ricochet across the room.
One piece is lodged in her bony leg.

Maybe mommy will care.
Maybe not.

She lets out a shriek
of pain and disappointment.
The only items on the floor of the kitchen
are the broken pieces of the cookie jar,
not a single cookie left.
It was pushed
and pushed
right to the edge
until it came clattering down,
breaking every piece inside
and out.

And then she knew
she and that cookie jar
are too much alike.

I Would Be Nobody

I am from the spiral staircase;
the piggy-back rides to my familiar room
at the end of the hallway.

I am from autumn afternoons
spent learning how to jump rope:
Turn the rope;
step over.
Turn the rope;
step over.

I am from "running shoes" instead of "sneakers" and
"pop" instead of "soda" and
the "eh" after so many sentences,
who would have though that one day those words
would be so strange to another?

I am from the fuzzy memory of the long, packed,
and irritable
drive from Ontario to New Jersey,
the place I now call my home.

I am from losing all hope,
only to find a reason to hope some more;
from losing my dad to the battle of cancer
and realizing he will
always be with me,
some way or another.

I am from hours spent with Scotch-
not the tape,
or the drink,
but my first horse that showed me that
sometimes
all you really need is a friend,
even if all they can do
is listen.

I am from up in the saddle,
where happiness is the gentle
"thud" of my horse's rhythmic steps.

I am from finding the good in the day,
even when it seems like there is none at all.

I am from under a rock;
I never quite keep up with
what's going on around me.

I am from the forgotten memories,
buried long ago
of times that now seem like another life;
memories that are slowly dug up,
every now and then.

I am from learning from the mistakes;
healing from the hurt;

I am from living my life as me;
I can't be sculpted into
a "typical High School girl".

I am from realizing that if I weren't myself,
I would be nobody.