Category: Women Who Think to Much

A Note From Grace (My Mom)

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

grace garden sit

A NOTE FROM GRACE (My Mom)
When my children were growing up and got into their “teenage problem” years, I’d become exasperated with them. I’d think, “They’re just like their father!”
Then, one day the light dawned on me, (Marblehead) because after taking a hard, honest look at myself, I realized; they were just like me. The me I had suppressed and hidden deep inside, where no one else could see. I was as wild and rebellious as they, but I had put up a shield of adult perfection, striving to become the perfect mother that everyone expected me to be.
I have now learned that I need to let this child in me come out to play, or the adult becomes a cold hard shell. I must confess, now that I’m older, I have to do this through my books, and old TV movies.
My mind wants to run…

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Lost To Sleep

blackrose
Sleep eats my hours
Devours my moments
I awaken to find 
Years and years 
Were sacrificed
Lost to sleep.
Lost in a fog
Of numbness
I hide myself 
Inside each day
Veiled by darkness
I embrace each night.

October Blues

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

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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

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October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Does It End October 31?

My book, Women Who Think Too Much

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

My first question was, why not everyday? Several women (angrily) asked me that same question when I posted or re-blogged articles related to domestic violence, emotional, verbal or sexual abuse. Well, I told them that I wondered that too, and that I didn’t name the dedication, I was just trying to honor the victims and the survivors because I come from that country and I am fluent in that language.
The question I have asked myself repeatedly this month is this: What does national awareness do for the victims? Does it change the abuser’s mind? Does he (or she) say, “Damn it! I’m not going to swear and scream at you until National Domestic Violence Awareness Month is over, you lucky bitch!”
Does he pay the bills, buy some food, keep his hands off his daughter because it’s National Domestic Violence Awareness Month?
Will the family have a month of…

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Yellows, Reds and Golds


In the midst of my autumn
watching my colors turn
yellows, reds and golds.
When the last leaf dies
storms will throw their icy
weight upon this body old.
Snowflakes will drift and pile
the tree limbs will come down
when boughs fail to hold.
Gifted with four seasons and
it seemed a time so long,
yet quickly, my leaves turned gold.
I pray you remember me as autumn
dancing in the wind, swirling and
bursting with colors so vivid and bold.

we were…

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

we were young
we were wild
we were free.
We were hippies
we were kids
who didn’t know
our love
would not always be.
We loved
and we fought
then….
we went separate ways
but we had three children
who got lost in our maze.
People can judge
and guess who’s to blame
but it was me and it was you
who held our love in the flames.
Pushing the line
until it was erased.
I stopped running
you no longer chased.
We burnt our love
like a steak forgotton
on a hot charcoal grill.
We said goodbye
but we also said
I love you
I always will.
The last time
I saw you
Our lips touched
with sadness
not passion.
One last time
I held your familiar
body close.
You said,
you’ll always be mine.
I shook my head no
but my tears said yes.
Tears fell from our eyes

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My Wolf

I have howled mournfully at the Wolf’s moon

knee deep in the snow of a frozen winter’s night.

Grieving the loss of my lover, the fantasy

of he and I tangled in white, cotton sheets

touching for the last time his rough face

happy, content, in love, just an illusion.

It’s complicated, he growled

as he changed into the Wolf and fled.

I have howled, screamed and cried

wept tears that froze on my cold cheeks.

I have walked across a barely frozen lake

stood at the edge of a rocky cliff

searching for my Wolf in the darkness.

Offering up the bloody remains

of my heart to tease his hunger.

Surely, he didn’t forget the taste

of me.

Inspired by The Wolf Moon By Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet
The Wolf Moon

Picture Credit: Pics Art

Where Are My Words?

Where are my words?
I haven’t heard a sound.
They sometimes
Pour from my fingers
Dripping all over
Flowery notepaper
Napkins and notebooks
Anything that makes a sound.
Then the words, the damn
Ugly, beautiful, painfully real
Words, they just go away.
Up to the sky like a balloon
Floating just out of reach.
My mind goes blank
My heart goes numb
My fingers heartless as steel.

The Summer Is Done

The sunflowers reach for the sun
they don’t know that the summer…
the summer is done.
Still bursting with tiny, green, closed buds
and the mother plant proudly presenting
the huge yellow sunflowers that I love.
It will only take one frosty night
and then my beautiful sunflowers
you will no longer be mine.
To the ground, to the ground
sunflower petals and seeds will fall
but I know…I know you will come back
shooting up in the spring, then
once more my sunflowers
you will be mine
until the first frost of fall.

Summer Dreams

It’s so sad when summer goes away.

I thought if my love was strong enough

Maybe this time she would stay.

So, I chased the sunshine

I kissed the sunflowers

I danced with honeybees

I nurtured wildflowers.

I ran with the butterflies

I played in the sunshine

For hours and hours and hours.

I grew daisies and vegetables

And embraced the sun showers.

I woke each morning and chased the day

Then followed the sun’s departure

As daylight slowly drifted away.

I loved this summer like it was my first,

my last and everything in-between

and when the snow covers my windows

I’ll close my eyes and I’ll dream…

I’ll dream of summer.

You Don’t Let Me, 2013

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

You let me cook
You let me clean
I wash our clothes
I sweep up my dreams.

You let me shop
You let me sew
I have it all
Computers, books and clothes.

You don’t let me
See how you feel
You don’t let me near
Any part of you that’s real.

You don’t let me
Close in our
King size bed
I rebel, but only inside my head.

You don’t let me
Love you
I don’t know why
I know one day, I won’t even try.

5-8-13

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Lost In Love

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

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Lost in love
what is my name
I am you
and you are me
we are the same.
Lost in love
no one is here
to answer the phone
the banging on the door
lost in love, lost in love
but love, love doesn’t
live here anymore.

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A Dozen Old Sads

Have you ever noticed

when something triggers your sad

it seems to pull back the layers

of all the sads you buried

and a dozen old sads rise up in defiance

shouting out, What about me?

I’m still here. Look at me.

You buried me, you pushed me down,

but I’m still aching, what about me?

Shut up old sads.

You don’t belong here, not today.

I have enough to be sad about

in this present moment and

I don’t need a dozen selfish

old sads rising up in rebellion.

Go back to sleep old sads, hush.

You’ve already had your day.

My Kryptonite

I could give up cigarettes, coffee, sugar,

chocolate and probably even salt.

I could never let go of your memory

it’s locked securely in a hidden vault.

Yet, longings escape

like pink whispers

memories haunt me

old scars burn as

your caress lingers

lips tender on my skin

kissing the curve of my face

as you slow dance me

until you win my heart

just to walk away.

A fantasy fulfilled, too hot to hold

it dropped from my burnt fingers.

The way you made me feel, my kryptonite.

The dance ended, but the music lingers.

Wildflowers

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

11

The breeze in my face is sweet
and it tastes like the ocean in my lungs
although it’s not.
Then again, it really is because
that’s what it tastes like to me.
Freedom is a wildflower growing
where ever the wind blows her seeds,
in a garden or in an empty field.
Freedom tastes like the ocean
and looks like wildflowers
and freedom…she dances
with the confidence of seventeen.

Jeanne Marie, 2019

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She’s Still Alive

I looked in the mirror this morning

and the woman who once loved you

looked back at me.

I thought she died.

I tried to kill her literally, emotionally

and in every way possible because

I don’t want love that hurts.

I looked in the mirror this morning

and the woman who once loved you

looked back at me.

She’s still alive.

Full Moon Rises

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

Soul wanders
through the darkness
searching for your light.
It floats blind and lost
searching behind
the  stars each night.
Heat remembered
frustrates and
fuels the fire.
Full moon rises
sparking rebellion,
tears and desire.
I want! I want!
soul screams out
to the empty night.
Its over. It’s over.
Must be accepted
by each daylight.

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Yes, I Do

I spent half my life making rules and asking people to follow them, disappointed when they didn’t.
I spent half my life cleaning when I could have played with my children, but, I didn’t.
I let time slip away, let people drift out of my life, moments I should have treasured but, I didn’t.
I let problems weigh me down, things that  didn’t even matter the next day.
But, I thought they did.
Now, I treasure every moment, every hug, every butterfly and flower.
Yes, I do.