All Over The Place – Page 22 – Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

I am overfilled with Love and it spills out PINK.
We are so glad you are here.
I hope you know how special you are and loved!

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For the Love of babies…Violet Dawn

For the Love of babies.

Two friends hanging out~thinkingpinkx2

Two friends hanging out~thinkingPink.

I believe Love should make you feel good about yourself

Michelle Marie, thank you…

thinkingpinkx2

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Unconquered Guilt by Jodie Lynne (1994)

UNCONQUERED GUILT
She wearily stumbles on past
Blinded as survival fogs her path.
Her broken soul aching to reach
Beyond this endless haze,
Desperate to free
What she can no longer see.
Burning with pain
Her aimless arms reaching,
Pulling together strength enough
For one last try.
Fear takes over, for at last
She has felt beyond her gaze,
Fallen into a piece of past.
Even as a small hand clings to her own
Ever so quickly fear becomes shame
As the soft little hand slips from her hold,
Letting smoke turn to roaring flame, and
Still, the shadowed room remains so cold.
As her worn body falls
With unexpected relief
She gives in to the memory
Lies down with the unconquered grief.
One last tear streaks her face
As a terrible blackness drags
Her broken soul to another time,
Another place. A woman-child,
An abusive man, three years dead
Who lives on in nightmares,
That dance through their heads
A little boy, his crying face,
Another time, another place.
Jodie Lynne, 1994

A Thousand Voices by Jodie Lynne (2008)

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

A Thousand Voices

by Jodie Lynne

I-am-alone, yet a thousand voices surround me,

ricocheting off the sounding board that is my mind.

I take a deep breath only to feel the weight of time

as if the world rests upon my shoulders.

Tall dark fences build the walls that close me in

as the sound of freedom, close enough to touch,

is really a million miles away,

a soft breeze flows through my very core, like a crisp winter wind.

I taste his kiss on my mouth, as my head hits

the hardness of a rubber pillow, just as I do when I rise.

Places and spaces blend together in the chaos of this insanity

that I alone have caused.

Pressure builds, yearning to combust amongst the ashes of my yester years.

Their faces stop the explosion, their eyes filled with the pain

I have inflicted, still, they plead for…

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Mother’s Day. Thank You For The Mother’s Day Gift

I wrote this in 2007…

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

When you were in the first grade you pressed your tiny hands into finger paint. I still have your red handprints on the faded yellow construction paper. Your teacher helped you to paste your picture beneath the handprints and you gave me the gift for Mother’s Day. The gift hung on my wall for so many years and then I tucked it away in your box.
There are mementos of each year we’ve been together in your box. Your pink cotton prairie dress which was your hippy mom’s idea of suitable attire for a christening, the crafts you made me at summer camp, the yarn rugs, the pot holders, the blue pottery teddy bear that Nana helped you make for me, the Christmas ornament with the picture of you that you hate (you were in that awkward stage) and just about every card, note and gift you’ve ever given me…

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Jodie Lynne

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

You can’t keep a fairy angel
on the ground
You can imprison her
Take away her ability to fly
Hold her down, for a while.
But as soon as the light hits her face
She will shake herself free.
She will fly
She will laugh
She will love
She will leave her addictions in the dust
Cause you can’t keep a fairy angel on the ground.

by Jeanne Marie

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Middle Child (Jodie Lynne)

Middle child, where do you fit in?
You fought for my attention
but did you ever win?
You surely have it now
although painfully gained.
You capture me with crisis
then, I shake loose again.
Middle child, I know you well,
you speak to me of your dreams
your fears and your babies lost.
People judge you harshly
but once you lived beneath
my heartbeat…
so, together we pay the cost.
I can’t catch you when you fall
but I’ll bandage up your knees
just like when you were five
and asphalt tore through your jeans.
“Don’t run,” I’d holler out the door
as off to play you’d tear.
You never heeded my warnings
took on the world without a fear.
Twenty-two this month and still…
my warnings fly into the wind
blowing every which way
following you aimlessly around.
Perhaps you’d stop to listen
if you knew that my heart bleeds
each time your knees hit the ground.
My daughter, my middle child
I loved you when you didn’t know
when my hands were full with others
or when my feelings didn’t show.
We’ve had our ups and downs
but I’ll never let you go.
Middle child, where do you fit in?
My quintessence has a
special niche for you
tucked beneath my ribs
right where you’ve always been.
by Jeanne Marie, 1997