I must go on
Wake up
Drink coffee
Smoke a cigarette
Say words
Take a shower
Curl my hair
Do the dishes
Mop the floors
Fold the laundry
Weed the garden
Remember to breathe
Remember to eat
Fake a smile
Crush the memories
I must go on
Without you
Right?
2015
She Was
The grief encompassed her soul until the elements of her former self were nothing.
Nothing.
Destiny squeezed her guts until she splattered all over the floor.
She was, she was, but now she isn’t, not anymore.
Wait.
Amidst the wreckage of her shattered, twisted dreams perchance a gem remains?
A shred of what was, a stair to climb on, a hand to reach beyond her agony,
clutching what still could be?
Carefully, small slivers extracted of what value they weren’t sure
held up to the light by white coats who thought they knew the cure,
the cure for secrets that had hammered her to her knees
events which paralyzed the frightened child she was before.
Men and women who only added their putrid slime to the illness
then when her hour was up they shoved her through the door.
That of course was just good business, nothing’s free,
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Now that you’re 1200 miles away
everything I think about
when I picture you and me
none of it is real, it’s just a fading fantasy.
When I miss your arms around me
I’m not thinking about the fights
when I miss your kisses and I miss your smile
I’m not thinking about all the lonely nights.
I’m not thinking about when you laid beside me
in this very same bed, and I cried myself to sleep
and wished that I was dead.
I’m thinking about the good times
the times you held my hand,
the rare times when it all felt so right.
I’m dancing with you under the stars
a story living only inside my head.
Why does distance make the love
feel sweeter than it ever tasted?
Why does lonely recolor the pictures?
Why does absence rewrite the memories
hidden under this very same bed?
Please love, let me go easy
I’m already broken.
Already said all the mean words
A to Z, they’ve all been spoken.
No need to repeat
no need to fight.
I’m down for the count
I admit I’ve been beat.
Open your hands
with memories of love
and just let me go.
I’d stay if I could love you
or if you could love me
just as we are.
But, we can’t and we both know.
So, please open the door and
with gentleness, let me go.
I can’t do the anger and I can’t do the pain
I can’t stand still while we throw curses
slapping each other’s face with blame.
I can’t watch us die
as we stomp on each other’s heart.
Please love, let me go easy
I’m already broken.
I’m not sure what love is.
I tried to write what I knew about love and I didn’t come up with a very long list.
So, I’m going to tell you what I do know.
I know what love isn’t and what love doesn’t.
Love is not the flush you get from your head to your toes when you meet someone who sparks your pheromones. Walk away or get burned. That’s lust.
Love is not the tingle you get between your legs when you see Sam Elliott in white briefs. Again, lust.
Love is not orgasm after orgasm. You could get that from a stranger who triggered your pheromones. Lust, again.
Love doesn’t manipulate, control and lie.
Love doesn’t run away emotionally and physically when times are hard.
Love doesn’t throw family or friends away if they screw up.
Love doesn’t hold you down by convincing you that you can’t do anything…
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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
I collapsed on my bed the other night
After a long and difficult day.
I cried out to my heavenly Father
Why does it have to hurt this way?
My children rebel, scream and fight
As I try to lead the way.
As I sat there, worn and weary
Suddenly, I saw my Father’s pain
For I am his little child
And often slow to obey.
I thought of all the times
I was a rebellious child.
I ran away from you, my Father
Tried to do it my own way.
I felt your burden and then I knew
How small a cross I bear,
I only have three children, Lord
While your’s are everywhere.
January 29, 1987
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.
For Jodie Lynne
Tangled in bonds forged by
Genetic matter blended
Knitted in the womb
Knots that cannot be untied
Ropes that were braided
On our creator’s loom
Lines that are unclear
Boundaries do not exist
Pain ultimately is shared
Young woman becomes
Woman with child
Child turned teen mother
Grandmother with babies
In her arms once more
Two women now
On opposite sides of
An open door
Her little girl only exists
In the mother’s mind
Bound by knotted love
Tangled in her
Daughter’s addictions
Living her own lies
The truth
Worse than fiction
Hearts ripped apart
By love that destroys
Always with the
Best intention.
The mother steps back
From the tornado
Of wrath and pain
Gut wrenching past
Today can’t restrain
Accused of coldness
As she slams the door
While in reality
She is burning with
Her daughter’s pain
Trying to
Avoid the disaster
Detangle shredded ties
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She walks
Along the cliff’s edge
Looking down.
Behind her
A ravine of lies,
And the man
She loves.
Shattered dreams
Are all she wears,
They are her only cover
From the icy rain.
He walks
Behind her,
Listening with her to
The waves, crashing below.
The thunder booms!
The lightning strikes!
The ground quakes!
She is afraid.
How could she dare to love?
He waits.
He cannot save her
His love sent her to the edge,
He cannot touch her
Or she will jump,
So he stays behind her.
She weighs the choices
While she plays with her life,
Balance a thing of the past
She walks along the cliff’s edge.
1989
darkness
fits me
like a glove
vast waves of pain
and sorrow
searching, aching
for a sign
from up above
searching
for a reason
to face tomorrow
true disciple
straying from
the flock
no reason
to wake up
damn that
alarm clock.
1990
I didn’t realize that the last box would be the heaviest
not until I stumbled with it down what is now your drive.
Tears flowing unchecked were blocking my common sense.
Crying, remembering when our desire was alive.
Shoved the box in the van, slammed my door closed
then I checked the garage for things forgotten.
Taped to your toolbox, I saw your favorite picture of me
the one you promoted from your wallet
to the dashboard of your race car, a Vega, 1973.
My image inspired you as you raced
or so you used to say.
I guess the week you yanked me from the car
was the week you drove your Vega to first place.
The house looks deserted, the grounds unkempt and unloved.
Summer heat has burned the lilac bush and turned my roses brown.
Flowers struggle among the weeds, most have died, died to set me free.
The angel trumpets and morning glories alone proclaim
that once I touched the earth around your home with love.
I bend over to rescue the flowers setting dead in plastic pots,
and then I set them back down.
I can’t save what’s been killed with neglect, I know. I know. I’ve tried.
I knew what would happen when I stopped the watering that kept them alive.
I carried out the last box, tonight as the sun was going down
it was so much heavier than the first and
the weight really caught me by surprise.
I patted the morning glories goodbye, watered them with tears.
I climbed into my van, remembering your words the day you bought it.
As you handed me the keys, you softly said,
“There, now you can take all your stuff the next time that you decide to leave.”
I shifted into reverse, held down the brake and laid my head on the steering wheel to cry.
Crying because; still, I love you, crying for all that we lost.
The last box was the heaviest, so much heavier than the first
how could I have known that the last box
would weigh me down the worst?
1999
He flung the cage door open and shouted at the bird, fly away…
She shivered, and she shook and she fluttered her wings
when nothing happened she just called it a day.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be free, is what she sings.
He covers the cage for the night with a smirk on his face,
Never even bothers to close the cage door.
He knows she will stay in place because he clipped her wings,
of that he is sure.
Thousands of slips
of paper
fall to the floor.
They’re just random
thoughts
she was thinking,
and they don’t mean
anything anymore.
An old woman
Sits by herself,
Staring at her past
Arranged on a shelf.
Time is money
Or so they say,
Time stands still
Then slips away.
A baby is born
His first sound
An angry cry.
A rose in bloom
is ready to die.
Time waits for no one
Then it just marches on,
It goes by too fast
Then it takes too long.
Am I holding on or am I letting go?
I can’t tell anymore.
There is no roadmap back to
where I used to know.
Now that you’re gone, it seems…
I’m mostly missing the woman
love erased, she, who used to be.
I feel shards of her remaining
I just can’t seem to find the glue,
did it perhaps slip into your suitcase
and fly out of my reach with you?
A young girl picks up a drink
Her fear and pain melts away,
She found a magic cure
She found a best friend today.
She takes that friend with her
Where ever she has to be,
The friend gets her through,
But she’s no longer free.
Hiding her new friend from the rest
It’s true, somehow she always knows,
That this friend is dangerous
But caution, to the wind it goes.
Years slip by, and some begin to see
That she prefers this friend,
People criticize her drinking
And other friendships end.
The bottle becomes her center
It directs her every move,
But what once brought her relief
No longer seems to soothe.
The friend who helped her through
Now cripples, and blinds her sight,
Alone she drinks and she cries
Dreading tomorrow, hating tonight.
She gave up all her friends
To keep the brown liquid close,
Now she has lost them all
Betrayed by what she trusted most.
She reaches out to God
During a desperately lonely hour,
He sends her back His love
He fills her with His power.
She ends the deadly friendship
Stands strong and free again,
The black fog begins to lift, and
Sobriety is one fight, she does win.
Jeanne Marie, 1979
1989
1989
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
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