women who think too much

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I have the beginning stages of Fuhgedia or as its also called on the street, Fuhgeddaboudit.
It’s a very peculiar illness and quite common in codependent women.
We go through life blocking out our daily experiences and feelings so well that we start to fuhged who we are and what we are doing, who you are and if you are related to us.
We don’t remember who we were before someone told us who we needed to be, what the desires of our heart really are and how we would like to wear our hair.
So you might have to tell me things more than once…things like the day my newest great-grand baby is due, your birthday, my birthday, what day of the week it is…stuff like that.
Otherwise, I’ll just fuhged about it.

Jeanne Marie, 2016

December Rose

Sweetly played the soft repose The November day December rose Awakened from her slumber life She looked upon that man of strife She kindly bid him thinking If that man would just stop thinking Then…

Source: December Rose

No Longer The Girl…

I am no longer the girl you first touched, held, caressed and loved.

I am much older now. I know too much to play Cinderella to your Prince Charming, although I still love you.

I am no longer a girl at all.

The girl grew weary of childish games and a woman stands in her place.

I can’t play Tinkerbell to your Peter Pan, not anymore.

I am woman who knows what she wants most of the time and I definitely know what I don’t want, all of the time.

I have grown-up. Changed.

In some ways for the better and I’ll admit this, in some ways maybe not so better.

As I fight to make my own choices and live my life inside the confines of this codependent relationship, I am often frustrated and angry.

Sometimes, I feel as if I’m walking on floors of Jello surrounded by walls of melting wax.

The rules change as soon as I learn them.

Your truths are flexible and my reality rebels.

I don’t want to be you. I want to be me.

I want to relax and I want to enjoy my life.

I want you to love me, not direct me.

I want my flowers, my gardens, my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, my sisters, my pink friend, the Sun, the Stars, the Moon, the Sky, the Rain, the Snow, the Ocean, the cool breeze that gently blows as I sit on my porch and write…and you…

I simply want to get lost in my blessings.

I am no longer the girl you first touched, held, caressed and loved.

Loved Me Young

I took your love and absorbed it into my skin

then when you left, I was lost…so

I leaned on memories and I was OK again.

I’m going to save your love till the day I die

When I miss you, I’ll take a little out

dust myself and remember not to cry.

A little pink dust coming straight from my heart

the love that you gave will always be a part.

Your caresses all over my skin will forever shine

you can’t take back those moments, they are mine.

Like icy snowflakes that melt

when they hit my tongue,

I’ll hold on to the dance that was us

remembering when you loved me young.

Jeanne Marie, 2016

Careers And Stuff

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

First, who I am not.
I am not an actress or a model. I don’t have big boobs or a tiny waist. I do not have enough hair to make a pony-tail. I do not have a book on the NY Times bestseller’s list. (Yet.)

I will never win the Nobel Peace Prize or invent a cure for alcoholism or mental illness, although my family would benefit and it would be a fine start toward world peace.

I do write women’s humor, which doesn’t pay, and I spent five years covering drag racing events, a job that did pay. I also took pictures at the racetracks, had a picture make the magazine cover and I sold my action shots to racers, so I suppose that makes me a professional photographer, although I still claim amateur status. I’ve won literary awards for my essays and my checking account is usually empty.

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Light

In the very midst of my black despair

God’s hope and love shines through.

Peeking around the corner

poking through the trees

the light calls to me…

come out, come out…

we want to play with you.

Black despair tells me…

You stay put. This is where you belong!

Yet the light’s beacons are stronger.

I stumble back to the lights.

Black despair is full of lies

and I am seeking truth.

I won’t give up.

I won’t give in.

I will continue to fight.

October Blues

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October blues appear out of sync amidst the brilliant reds and golds
watching the leaves change as this heart remains heavy and cold.
Fiery burning colors, so bright they make my head spin
while my eyes smile at the show, my heart refuses to join in.
This time last year, snapping pictures with childlike abandon
dashing from tree to tree from river to mountain to canyon.
That child has been banished, her spirit broken and blue
running from memories that whisper; girl, it was never true.

Jeanne Marie, 2016

And wishes for all…

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Moments…

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Go Ahead

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A Poem From My Sister Cherie

What’s Your Heaven?

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Mine would be working in the nursery with the babies and the little ones, rocking them all night until the sun came up…
Having my morning coffee with my children and my grandchildren, hoping that they would know by the breeze that ruffled their hair that I was close by.
Visiting my sisters, dropping in on my friends, blessing them with rain drops and rainbows. Checking in on my honey at bedtime, to tuck him in and make sure that he is doing okay.
Wandering through fields and fields and fields of flowers, while the sun played
peek-a-boo with the clouds.
Standing underneath a summer rain, dancing and swaying to the rhythm of the raindrops.
Taking naps on the clouds, sculpturing them into beautiful sights to behold. Angels and puppies and babies, oh my!
And one thing you can be sure of, there would always be music in my ears.
I would sing and my voice would be that of an Angel. I would sing all day and nobody would tell me to be quiet.
I would be dancing in the sky whenever my loved ones looked up and I would be beside them giving spirit hugs whenever they fell down.
I would surround my loved ones with a pink bubble of love and a yellow bubble of happy.
I would cheer for their wins and comfort their pain.
I would be the butterfly that kissed their cheeks.
I would be the spring dandelion that catches their eyes.
I would just be. Me.
What’s your heaven?