Category: Women Who Think to Much

Loved Me Young

wq
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's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

20130706_200347

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.

View original post 962 more words

Light

b.jpg
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

 

rtyu

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

Go Ahead

go-ahead

Wrinkles and such…

20160812_124718

My hands grow old
my legs do not
between a girl and
old woman I am caught.
My antique mirror is kind
The selfie pics a fright
My wrinkles will haunt
my dreamscapes tonight.
Just last year, wrinkles?
None. Lost thirty pounds
and crap, the damn
wrinkles, they did come.
Let this be a lesson
to all you over 60 ladies,
no extreme weight loss or
your face will fall to hades.

The Writer’s Husband

My very first post on WordPress…
3-9-2013

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

The Writer’s Husband
“I got it! I got the P.O. Box, so we’re in business now! Let’s go out to eat. I’m starving! Let’s celebrate!” she said, as she exploded into the bedroom.
“I almost didn’t go to the post office, cause I couldn’t find my keys right away, and I said, ‘oh oh, it must be a sign’ and then I found my keys, but when I got to the post office I couldn’t find my checkbook, and I stood outside the post office for a minute, thinking, if I don’t have my checkbook, then it’s not meant to be, cause it’s almost four-thirty!”
“I kept telling myself that I’m stupid to try to start a business, based on my writing. It all seemed so right last night after you read my newsletter, but when I woke up this afternoon I was afraid that I really didn’t have anything to…

View original post 475 more words

Cracks

 

WALKICE

Standing on ice
watching the cracks
spread beneath her feet.
Swan dancing on ice
slipping and sliding.
A million more
cracks appear.
She keeps moving
until she stands in the
center of the frozen lake.
Fractured ice under her feet
no matter which step
she chooses to take.
She walks carefully.
She walks slow.
It’s so lonely.
It’s so cold.
Standing on ice…
watching the cracks
spread beneath her feet.

Dream Weaver 2

adreamweaver

Creating An Effective Resume

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

IMAG1700_1[1]

The easiest way to teach you to elaborate on your skills and talents, is to show you my own resume as an example. After you read this, if you need still need help, please email me and I’ll be glad to read over your resume. I’ll even add my own touches to help you enhance it.

Women Who Think Too Much Publications
Publisher, Editor: Jeanne Marie

OBJECTIVE
To obtain a challenging position within your company’s structure while earning above average pay, working part time hours and securing a position with potential for advancement. This will be a second job, so don’t expect too much of me and I hope your objective isn’t to harass me if I’m late for work. Problems that arise at home do have priority.

QUALIFICATIONS
Hands On–I can change dirty diapers, wash baby bottles, wipe the green snot off the face of a runaway child, wash hair that doesn’t want to…

View original post 1,528 more words

Notes From A Picture Taker

pretty-sunflower

I’m not so young, I’m not so old
I am at the age where the laundry I don’t fold.
I don’t own an iron…I am proud to say
Even if I did, I wouldn’t use it anyway.
I used to clean from the moment I woke
Now I drink coffee and have me a smoke.
After a few hours, when my bones decide to perform
I take hundreds of pictures of the flowers, wondering
when is somebody going to mow the lawn?

Jeanne Marie, 2016

Shamed Puppy

 

Like a shamed puppy

I crawl into bed

when he is sound asleep,

hoping for a covert cuddle

from my owner’s hand.

Longing to feel his fingers

run through my messy hair.

Timid, I snuggle and wiggle

under the soft, heavy quilt

until I am against his warm body.

A body I once knew as well as my own.

Stupid. Hoping that even in his sleep

he’ll notice that I’m there.

Beside him, seeking comfort

from a closed, cold heart,

aching to be wanted.

Something?

Anything?

Desperate, aching for intimacy

he cannot give, hoping,

despite hopes shattered in the past

wanting him to love me

the way that he once did,

more than I want air to breathe

more than I want food,

clothes or a roof over my head.

As tears soak my pillow

I remember why

I moved into the bedroom down the hall,

a million miles away, moving away

from the nightly reminder…

He doesn’t want me and

though he says he loves me and he

protects me, tries to take care of me,

even in his sleep he pushes me away.

He used to draw me closer

and wrap his body around mine

even as he slept, he wanted me close.

So here in this home, I stay where I belong

just a shamed puppy who has done no wrong.

The passion is gone and it will never return

That much I guarantee, of this I’m sure

that in this house the fire will not burn.

Jeanne Marie, 2015

 

Once Upon A Time

onceupon2

Here To Stay…

roars

Gone

20151110_082248

How long can her love last without being fed, without being nurtured or returned? A cold shoulder, an angry face.
When a woman’s love is set aside, rejected, it will starve itself to death, after breaking her heart from the inside out.
All that will be left is the casing that once covered her most precious asset, her heart.
As her heart shreds, she needs to find new ways to get her oxygen. She needs her heart to pump blood so that she can breathe. Each gaping, gasping wound demands to be filled…she can’t breathe…she can’t breathe…what will ease the excruciating pain in her heart, her lungs, her soul?
What will soothe the hurting?
Grandbabies, puppies, flowers and ice cream? Rain drops, snowflakes, chocolate and sunshine? Rainbows and Pink Angels? Cigarettes and her antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds? Worst scenario…Southern Comfort and razor blades? Janis Joplin rising from the ashes?
Round and round, up to down, sideways, backwards, seldom standing straight, respite always temporary, pain pushing her into the ground.
Wait.
The door to her self-inflicted hell is open.
Will she walk out?
YES.
A feather in the wind kinda woman…
she’s slipping and swirling
her way to freedom.
The angels will inspire
the happy will beckon
and away she will float.
Door gently closes behind her
as she drifts all the way
oh, so high
all the way done
all the way gone.

I See You

iiii

When I look in my mirror, I remind me of you.

I see the pain you couldn’t hide.

I see the weariness in your soft brown eyes.

I see your careworn face beneath my disguise.

I see your strength as you faced each day.

I see the sadness that colored your ways.

I see the exact same streaks of greying hair.

I see your courage even though I’m aware

of times when your load was so heavy,

it was far to much for you to bear.

I see your wrinkles, I see your lines.

I see your shadow behind my eyes.

When I look in my mirror I remind me of you.

 

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

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 peace? Will her neighbor buy ice for her black eye?
The abusers and the victims are all too aware of what domestic violence is and the people who don’t acknowledge it all year long because it’s easier to look away, well they don’t give a flying fig that this month is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month either.
The women who go to shelters expecting to find a way out, expecting someone to teach them how to stand on their own two feet, hoping for training so that they can get a job that will support them and their kids in the future, what do they think about National Domestic Violence Awareness Month?
How about asking the ones who returned home because the shelter was lacking in anything but a whole new set of rules, a bed and some used clothes.
The shelters where women in my family have gone provided a time out, nothing more. If you run a shelter that provides therapy, job training, education, legal representation and daycare, I apologize and I’d also like your hot line phone number.
I will post articles about abuse in October anyway, hoping that even one woman might find the courage to grab her babies and run for safety.
I have read the survivor’s stories and I have read the  “he killed her” stories.
I have a “he killed her” story. I had a cousin who was murdered in front of her young son, while living in a shelter.
I cry and I hold every victim’s and every survivor’s story that I have ever read or witnessed in my heart. Including my own.
Victims and abusers, survivors and inflictors, well, to them every month is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. They just don’t talk about it.
So as this official National Domestic Violence Awareness Month begins, I feel helpless. I have no answers, no help for the millions who will go to bed hungry, crying and/or bruised tonight. For those who will sleep in their cars because it is safer than their home or because they have no home and friends and family are sick of helping them only to see them go back to the abuser.
I have tears, but Lord knows, they already have enough tears of their own.
Maybe we could make everyday Domestic Violence Awareness Day.

WWTTMFinalFinalcover copy

Cry until you laugh…Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie
A No Help At All Handbook

The Past…Someday

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

20131208_064109
Old low burning flames
memories under the bed
like pieces of an old game
at night, fast asleep
they blister in your head.
Upon waking, you weep.
pictures of a love lost
broken glass
beneath your feet.
Regrets flash by
on your mind screen
you still pay the cost
but you’re stuck in now
lost…forever it seems.
How can that old love
still make you cry?
Was it a nightmare
or was it a dream?
Is the past ever gone
is it ever wiped clean?
Wake up, clear your mind
push old passions away
get on with your life
because today will be
the past…someday.
by Jeanne Marie

View original post

Tasting Free…

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

1b

Like a caterpillar,
I shed my skin.
Peek out at freedom
flutter my wings
then try to crawl
back inside again.
The light’s too bright.
It’s gonna rain.
Will it hurt?
Where will I sleep?
I am afraid.
Will there be pain?
My wings I test.
Oh yes, they work!
I crash into myself
flying away from
a life that hurts.
My sister has flown solo
touching stars all night.
She helps me up
she dries my tears.
“You ARE a butterfly.
You have strong wings
and just like me,
you’ll be alright.”
Still, I bury the torn larva
under a weeping willow tree
just in case…I hate free.
My sister is glowing
as she whispers to me,
“You can’t climb back
inside your cocoon
once you have tasted free.
Spread your silly wings
my precious sister
and come touch
the stars with me.”

Jeanne Marie, 2014

pinkish
Learn more about butterflies!  http://www.enchantedlearning.com/subjects/butterfly/allabout/

View original post

The First Time

belindaseyes

The first time your lips met mine my spirit knew

just who you were you were…

The Marlboro man I was waiting for all my life

Oh yes, of that I was sure.

I opened my arms and I opened my soul…

I drew you beneath the covers on my four-poster bed

where I found more treasures then my heart could hold.

We giggled and we loved and we snuggled until dawn

beneath the antique chenille bedspread.

The very next morning, I asked you to marry,

“Sure I could see that,” is what you replied.

When you left to go home to get your clothes

for just those few short hours, I felt like I died.

You moved in the next day, maybe too fast

but our passion was burning so high

it was beyond my imagination to think

that such an inferno could ever pass.

Thirty-five years later and still, for you,

my body responds exactly the same

but now I cry myself to sleep.

We are playing on a different field today

anger has driven us to play a different game.

A game I can’t win no matter how hard I strive

each time you make an excuse to pull away

I feel like that first day when you left and

I die and I die and I die…

Blue

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

IMAG4642

Blue you seduced me with your

False promise of love and peace

Buried my face in your blossoms

Wiped my tears dry on your leaves

Saw past your dark corners

Focused on petals hinting of white

While you painted my soul bruised

Poisoned me with your blue seeds

Blue secrets you are so cruel.

View original post

Sometimes

 

20150813_160005 

Like the clouds in the sky, we travel through life, sometimes with a purpose and sometimes just drifting. Sometimes we are storm clouds and sometimes we are happy clouds. Sometimes our lives connect and we hold onto each other, until life pulls us apart again. Those moments of connection are the moments worth waiting for…

 

 

Butterflies kissed my face today…

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

2b

Butterflies kissed my face today
They flittered and they fluttered
all through my hair.
They whispered do not give up
you are loved, you are loved
we are here
to tell you, you are loved.
So many butterflies
surrounded my shoulders
I laughed and I smiled
as I danced
through the grass
with butterflies around my feet.
I felt like a child
no longer older
my spirit so light.
I stayed outside and played
watching my sweet
butterflies in flight.
Butterflies kissed my face today.

View original post

I Am She…

SAMSUNG DIGITAL CAMERA

I AM SHE
There was a time when my mother was middle-aged and me?
I was young and naïve, not a care in the world
the arrogance of youth was on my side.
I was a footloose hippie girl and I thought love was free.
Her skin was firm and tanned, black waves of hair fell to her shoulders
softly surrounding her fair face, bosom quite generous,
legs as fine as any model, she was my mother,
but with flower child simplicity, I used to call her Grace.
She was spirited back then, although she seemed quite old to me,
and how did I become imprisoned while she has learned to fly–a butterfly set free?
Tonight, as I glance into the mirror, my middle-aged face stares back.
Have I become her, and she, the child I used to be?
At seventy-three she’s still a beauty, but time’s fire has burned its’ trail
and when she had a stroke last year,
I realized how deeply she had aged; yet, become so childlike, so frail.
My firm skin, my shapely legs, will soon bow down to time,
much as my bell-bottoms and tie-up tops gave way
to blue jeans and then on to stretch pants and a baggy tee.
I will lose this interval named youth and as I look into her face,
I see my future and
I am she.

by Jeanne Marie
My mom went to play with the angels in 2009.

Hi Mom, This Is Me

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

Image (2) (507x1280), klnjl

I recently published my book, Women Who Think Too Much. I held onto this manuscript for almost 20 years, afraid to be judged, because I bared my soul in those pages. I waited so long that someone else published a book with the same name.
My writer’s group encouraged me to edit and finish this book and they believed that my words had value. My editor and friend poured her heart and soul into this book, she fell in love with this book. Read every draft, every word, over and over and over.
My writing group believed that my words could touch and maybe help another person, and to my surprise, releasing my book released so many of my own pent up fears, that it helped me. After growing up with my promise/threat to publish WWTTM, my son just kept saying, “Publish the damn thing.”
I am out there now. ME, THE REAL…

View original post 226 more words