He came to her windowsill
Come play! Come fly!
She tiptoed to the edge
Brave, with one jump
Into his arms she dived.
Peter, I am old.
It doesn’t matter
He whispered,
You’re the only woman
I’ll ever hold.
Straight on till morning,
And then she woke.
Peter was her past
Old age, nature’s joke.
The Princess was sitting in her castle and she swore no man would she let woo.
She turned them all away as she said, no, not you, not you, not you, to myself I will be true.
She danced with her butterflies, she twirled in her flower gardens like when she was two.
She whispered to her flowers, confessing, I love you and you and you.
So happy was this woman that she vowed never to wed and then a Knight in dazzling armor appeared at the castle gates, the sun shining on his head.
She was blinded by his beauty, aura like spun gold and this one Knight she invited to her bed, visions of together growing old.
Prince Charming was his name and wow, that man tickled her fancy with his soft kiss and even if he just walked by, she would stumble and a step she would miss.
Well…
View original post 138 more words
She used to climb apple trees
with fearless abandon
never worried how she’d get down.
She used to run in fields of grass
without a care in the world.
She used to hide in the flowers
inhaling the nectar
never fearing a sting.
I’d like to invite that girl
to come out to play.
I’d like to reclaim her
travel the path back
to that courageous girl
she who once lived free.
Love me like this…
I still want him.
I want the first night when we slept in each other’s arms,
legs wrapped around each other.
I want the first kiss, the slow dances, the first time.
I want it all.
I want the weeks before we made love, the anticipation.
I want his soft words and his rough hands.
I want to feel his wrists on mine, holding my arms down, as he makes love to me through my clothes.
I want his cocky smile that promises me that we will always feel this rawness, this intensity, even though it’s a lie.
I want to sit on his lap while he rocks us to sleep.
I want to see me through his eyes again, to feel young and sexy and wild.
I want his cutoff tee shirts thrown on my bed, his dirty work boots by my door.
I still want him.
I go through my days and nights, making mistake after mistake, wondering what am I doing wrong and how I can change it, how can I do it right?
I want to know, why I am here and what I am supposed to be learning?
What are these challenges I’m facing supposed to be teaching me?
I have an icky feeling that I’ve been here before.
I feel that I have done this before, and this is the last chance to get it right.
I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation, but obviously something in my subconscious does.
Why else would I feel that this is my last go-round?
I took a silly test that was supposed to tell me how old my soul is, and the answer said mine was 1,016 years old.
I believe it.
Because that’s how weary I am of my challenges and trying to figure out the right road, the correct path, whatever you want to call it.
The worst thing is that I can go from one extreme to another while making a choice or decision and then stay stuck smack in the middle of both choices. Seriously.
Often, I’m running around trying to undo damage from an earlier error. I also make no choice and that is of course, a choice. It can also require cleanup.
Anyway, today I was thinking about my challenges and the way I wrestle with them at times.
Mostly, I’ve avoided them or run away, but lately I have been trying to fight them and hit them head on.
Not always a good method with a large margin for error.
I think the Ghost of Error is what stops me in my tracks.
I want to make the right choice and my instincts tell me the right choice, but I don’t always trust myself; although, sometimes a glimmer of confidence dances through my head.
Getting back to the original thought. What am I here for and what did I not learn all the other times?
I need to know, what are the challenges I have not licked?
The words love and loyalty flash card me.
Two big ones, huh?
And I don’t want to come back to learn it again and again.
I’m soul tired…and the subconscious says not just from this life, but from many others before.
To love without conditions…to give loyalty under all pressures.
To the people who love me and to the causes my heart believes in, not to those who demand my love and loyalty, but to those whom it rightfully belongs.
To not fear errors, but to embrace and to learn from each disaster.
To be loyal to myself and to let the turds fall where they may.
To risk everything because of something I believe in whether I’m right or wrong, to be true to myself, to stand behind myself when I create a plan and to say, “Go for it!” instead of, “Oh my, I’m scared to make decisions.”
I want to throw away the opinions that trap me and cripple me. Throw them to the wind. I want to do what I believe is right even when I can’t be sure I’m right. I have been told that I am wrong for so many years that I have lost trust in myself.
Now, I need to overcome the years of doubt and to learn to trust me and to pay my own price if I am wrong.
To me…that is the loyalty that I am lacking. The ability to trust myself and my loyalty to me is missing.
I really don’t want to keep coming back just to repeat my mistakes.
Lessons to learn, miles to run.
1996
Women Who Think Too Much
If Love Hurts
So yesterday, I put on a sun-dress and all I could see was my skinny, saggy arms and my skinny, stick legs and no boobs, so I changed. I put on stretch pants because they look good on skinny legs and a big t-shirt which hid the no boob situation.
But it was too late.
I had already seen myself in that sun-dress and as I’d I removed it I’d thought; this may be the last time I put on a little sun-dress because I look like a crazy cat lady wearing little girl clothes.
Which is why I’m advising you to think carefully before you lose weight when you are over sixty…
I lost twenty-five pounds and the first thing to go was my boobs. It wasn’t long before my unlined face bloomed with wrinkles from hell. Then the neck caught up to the face. I’m not kidding. I…
View original post 258 more words
Have I ever thanked you for all the nights
you sat on your cold bathroom floor
talking me into staying alive,
for praying me sober when I was lost in the swamp,
for holding me close when my heart was broken,
for standing by my side when everyone else
walked away because I was wrong?
Have I ever thanked you for never judging me,
for never giving up on me,
for seeing my beauty
when all I could see was my ugly,
for being my sister, my best friend,
my go-to person for every pain and every joy?
Have I ever thanked you for introducing me to Jesus,
for your powerful prayers
when my daughter was dead in the water,
for your face that she saw as she came up, alive?
God places angels in our lives, and you are mine.
I am me because you loved me through.
For…
View original post 16 more words
Twenty-five years she has spent waiting.
Will he love her tonight?
Waiting for him to shut off the TV,
Put the football to bed.
Dance her around the kitchen,
Arms around her so tight.
But it’s late when the game is over,
and all she gets is a quick kiss with his,
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
Twenty-five years she can’t erase.
In the mirror she sees old pain in her eyes
Remnants of twenty-five years of fights.
Wrinkles dust her once smooth face.
Wrinkles she did not see yesterday
The wrinkles a present of time
Now permanently in place.
Her dreams will never
One magical day come true
Because she wasted her youth
Longing for love from you.
Wrinkles tell her that one day at a time
She threw twenty-five years away
She has waited far too long
To find her happy ever-after someday.
No strong arms will hold her,
No lover will whisper in her ear
No lover’s voice gentle in the night.
She’s old, she’s tired and hair is fast turning gray
Her kids are all gone, even her baby has his own
And another baby on the way.
It finally hits her. Yes. She is alone.
Because she chose to continue to fight
Change her life, stand on her own.
When she was blooming she never knew
The sweet soft skin, the silky auburn hair
It would not, it could not last.
The ending has been written and
The characters have all been cast.
tortured soul
crying
weeping
lie down
to sleep.
bruised
purple
bleeding
seeping
from
my soul
no keeping.
white light
blinding
in the
empty rooms.
the wind
screams
your name
screaming
shrieking
beneath
a full moon.
can’t stop
brain
from
leaking
until
I go
insane.
Barefoot at a bus stop in Delaware
smoking a cigarette even though I quit
if there’s a good week to quit
I just decided…this isn’t it.
Watching the cars on the highway zoom by
wondering if this was a smart choice
now that my back is hurting, I want to cry
and on my face is the showing
if you saw me, you’d agree I think
no, I’m knowing.
The day is birthing and
I am surrounded by pink
my man is gone…
went to get coffee
I hope, I pray, I think…
cause I’d hate to be left
barefoot at a bus stop in Delaware.
The other day I sat on the side of my bathtub re-grouting the tile and I had plenty of time to daydream. As my mind wandered, I think I found the solution to overcrowded jails and repeat offenders.
Grouting is an exhausting, tedious process. While smearing a sponge full of grout into the numerous cracks in the tile, I began to regret that I had ever begun this foul task.
I hadn’t the faintest clue that the worst was yet to come. I let the grout dry for fifteen minutes as suggested and then took a dry cloth to wipe off the excess, just as the directions instructed me.
Ha! The excess grout did not wipe off and I had to scrape it off, inch by inch. I spent a total of eight hours getting the grout on and then off the tiles in my tiny bathroom.
To pass the…
View original post 959 more words
I grew up in New England and if we were lucky, the summer lasted for two months.
In my more abundant winter memories, I see an African Violet on each mother’s kitchen windowsill.
I don’t know the reason for the flower’s popularity; maybe the women were trying to hold onto the illusion of warm weather, but African Violets were not easy to grow. They had to be nurtured, babied, misted and watered.
These women all had their secret tricks with this plant and only best friends shared their intimate knowledge of the mysterious African Violet. I remember playing under the table and listening to the coffee klatches’ swap advice. I remember hearing many different tips when Mom and her best friend were alone.
The African Violet produced bright pink, white or purple blossoms most of the year and if your African Violet was plump, green, velvety and flowering, you earned…
View original post 707 more words
Buy Women Who think too Much Ebook
Review of Women Who Think Too Much By Maggie Thom, Author of Tainted Watersand Captured Lies
“Wow. I don’t know where to even start with this but I can tell you that although it is a tough read, it is a must. Women Who Think Too Much is raw and will punch you in the solar plexus. When I started reading it, no I hadn’t read the blurb about it, I thought it was going to talk about how women are so hard on themselves. Which it did, sort of but it’s really one woman’s journey through co-dependency and abuse and her wish to wake up other women who might be living this kind of life or headed for it.
Jeanne Marie shares her journey through co-dependency and abuse but she does it in a unique way, she calls it the 12…
View original post 137 more words
I dreamed of the farm-house again last night.
When I saw the numbers match the numbers on the ticket in my hand at the end of the 10:00 o’clock news, when I learned that I’d won the lottery, before I even had the money in my hand, before I took the tiny slip of paper to the Lotto office to be sure it was really the single winning ticket for the $90 million dollar jackpot, I threw my cigarettes, a tooth-brush and my Master Card into my purse. I ran out to the driveway, tore open the door of my blindingly yellow Dodge Hemi truck, turned the key, felt the thunder as the engine roared to life and I flew out of the driveway.
I sped to the Tulsa airport, disregarding the speed limit because I was rich now. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t thinking that money made me…
View original post 843 more words
From 1996
As we walked into Wal-Mart, I told my husband, “I’ll meet you up front when I’m through picking up what I need.”
He said, “Ya. Right.”
He always claims that he has to search the entire store five times before he can find me.
He thought today would be no different. Well, since it was Father’s Day, I decided to be considerate. I ran up and down the aisles (if you can run in Wal-Mart, the aisles are so narrow and the people so plentiful) throwing stuff into my little basket. I rushed up front to meet him. He wasn’t there yet! I smiled to myself, because I never did believe he spent that much time searching for me.
So, there I stood for ten minutes or so, watching people rush by. I had never paused for that long in Wal-Mart before. (Except at the register, where my eyes stay…
View original post 1,394 more words
Today I will get up out of bed and
I will tuck my pain inside a pretty box.
I will close the cover and I will leave my pain there.
Today I will thank God that I can move and that I can walk.
Today I will exercise my body and I will feed my soul.
Today I will enjoy the flowers in my delightful garden.
Today I will give thanks for all that I have gained and
I will send into the clouds the pain for all that I have lost.
Today I will give a piece of my time to someone else.
Today I will not say any negative
words to myself or to anyone else.
Today I will not acknowledge or take into my heart any
negative words that are spoken to me.
Today I will feel the earth beneath my feet, I will let the sun
View original post 95 more words
We play, we laugh, we dance and we sleep
Poised on the volcano called our life together.
Pretending the molten lava is contained
Playing, laughing, dancing and sleeping.
Walking on broken bridges
Dancing over raging, red rivers
Ignoring hot, peeling blisters,
Smelling burnt flesh and grilled soul.
I love you, goodnight, I say.
I love you, goodnight, you say.
Closed eyes, throbbing hearts
Accepting lies as our truths.
Never knowing what the dawn may deliver
Perhaps a violent interruption as we sleep
Crying, shouting, poking unhealed wounds.
Salty tears drip onto the raw eruptions
As we dream on and on and on…
Snuggled together while miles apart
Atop the volcano called our life together.
I love you, good morning, I say.
I love you, good morning, you say.
Try to stop the
Hands of time,
Hold this moment
For it is mine.
Try to stop the
Silver in my hair,
Stop time’s ravage
Silent as a tear.
The fat that rests
Upon my thighs,
The damned mirror
With reflective lies.
Why don’t I feel
As old as my face?
Of the child inside
I see not a trace.
I cannot stop the
Hands of time,
With each day
Its damage I find.
But time cannot steal
The child inside
It shall not claim
The girl I hide.
by Jeanne Marie
Once upon a time women stayed at home. They took care of the kids and the house. Men went out to work, made money and supported their families. Then things began to change. The shift in power had been gradual, until the year 2025 and then change had advanced rapidly. Women had been essential in the work place for many years and the men just hadn’t noticed what was developing. Females became the stronger sex. They became more self-assured and with their newfound confidence, they grew powerful, assertive and aggressive. Yes, aggressive, just the way men had operated for centuries.
Now, a man was lucky to find a job that paid minimum age, if his wife would even let him go to work. Jake’s father had told him stories about how it used to be, stories that his Dad’s father had told to him, old husband’s tales about the way…
View original post 1,777 more words
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
You must be logged in to post a comment.