Rendition

I never meant it to be like this:
this regret
this remorse
for what?
For love...
No, for something
only faintly resembling it;
a facade.
No, not love,
something else...
twisted and thorny,
coming on so slowly.
The first touch like fingertips.
Until its too late.
You only notice
how trapped you are
when skin is broken
teeth are gnashed
pain seers from every part.
Yes, you can escape
pull out your own dagger
and cut yourself free.
Yes, you're free,
but it's when you turn
to catch a glimpse
over your shoulder
that you realize
your heart is caught
back in the thorns,
trapped in this
Redition

Linden Trees

My name isn't beautiful.
It doesn't roll off your tongue.
It is who I am,
or perhaps rather
who I am not.

It does not mean
"gentleness is in her soul"
It means lime tree.
Not delicate, graceful
but strong, sturdy, unmoving.
Producing limes:
sour, acidic fruit
that make your face cringe.
Only good for preventing scurvy,
for cleansing things
for stinging wounds.

Two girls

I look in the mirror somedays
and wonder if
the person starring back
is a still a little girl
an innocent child
who is lost in the big world
and needs someone
to bring her home and
look after her
or
if the person starring back
once was a girl who
 grew up so long ago
that she doesn't know
how to be innocent
or let anyone else
take care of her.

If I could

If I could hold on to
what I never had
I am sure everything
would be so different

If I could clutch
the memories of
a sweet, happy family
and spread them over all the
burnt broken parts
like butter on bread

If I could grasp
a photo with a real smile
from so many years ago
one that wasn't forced
but delighted with life
I'd tape it over today

If I could fill
all the empty times
with something...
some feeling or sense
to know that
even when I never felt it
or knew it
or wanted it
or cared.

He loved me.

Beauty

Some find beauty
in the clothing upon
their back.

What would
happen if beauty
was found

not in the fine,
delicate items of life
but in

the oil floating
on the dirty puddle in
the gutter.

Does Anything Change?

Walking by the fence
of a cemetery today
I saw the cars streaming in,
the tear-streaked faces
the minister
and I wondered
would it be any different
if I knew who died,
or would I just keep going?
Either way, I’m certain
the earth would still turn;
my heart still beat steady.
The dandilions would still
be as bright yellow