Category: Women Who Think to Much

I want to catch a snowflake
and send it straight to you
wrapped in icy sleet.
I want to shake the stars
scattering fiery sparks
until you remember our heat.
I want to chase the moon
following its midnight map
until the beams lead me to you.
I want to ease this heartbreak
returning my soul to a time
when my color wasn’t blue.

 

What if I’m wasting today
wishing for yesterday
and then tomorrow comes
and all I accomplished
was wasting another yesterday?

I thought my love was true…so why do I always fantasize

about leaving us behind, running away from me loving you?

Your love is raw, it is bloody, it is deep.

Your warm, obsessive blanket covers my eyes, my empty girly head,

shielding me, protecting me at night, yet not heavy enough to let me sleep.

Lying wide-eyed in our king-size bed, the buried fights numb my head.

Your love, my shroud, my bad, my dead.

You call me to your side each night, honey, come to sleep.

Not unlike a small child, I run to you and snuggle under my pink blanket

on my corner of the mattress awake in the dark long after you snore.

Into the dawn I weep, tears leaving their dirty marks.

The weight of your need to possess me and my need for you cements my life.

It this all I’ll ever feel, is…

Their Song

She came home today

lipstick on her lips

suitcase in her hand

knowing it went

against everything

she had planned.

She’d left for good

then that song

hurt her so bad

smashed her to pieces

pierced her with sad.

And so she went home

back to a place where

she no longer belonged

led astray by her memories

betrayed by her heart

manipulated by their song.

by Jeanne Marie

Bird In The Cage

The bird in the cage can’t fly

She can’t spread her wings

and soar through the sky.

There’s always somebody

who lusts after her beauty

someone who captures

her bright feathered booty.

With a few dirty pennies

and cruel lies she is bought.

She does not dream

never free, she is caught.

She doesn’t live

she just grows older.

Cripple winged bird

crying on your shoulder.

The bird in the cage can’t fly

she’s bound her own wings

but if he puckers his lips

to make a kiss, she will sing.

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…

What do I say now, when there’s nothing left?
When I’m gone what will you remember about me?
Will you remember all of my mistakes?
Or will you remember the things I tried to be?
Will you remember the times I held you close?
Or just the times I failed to make the grade?
Will you remember the times our world turned upside down
Allowing black clouds to fog my brain?
Oh God, for love, the price I’ve paid.
Will you remember when I danced in the rain
My arms spread wide up to the clouds or
Will you be left with the times
our love brought you pain?
Looking back across the years
I recall the smiles, but I taste the tears.
So many wrong choices, how could I know
That the pain would go on forever
And that the dying would be so slow?
I see loved ones…

She has no legs, arms or hands
yet, she communicates from her stand.
Her head was never found
just her body on the ground.
She has no voice to speak
but still I feel her tear drops leak.
She is me and she is you.
She is every woman ever broken in two.
No eyes to see, no voice to shout
no one to speak her words
to hear her screams that can’t come out.
She remains still, she has no choice
she is crippled and she has no voice.
She stands for you…she stands for me…
I hear her thoughts so clear.
You are where you chose to be.
You have legs and you have arms
you even have your eyes to see
don’t be fooled by his sweet lies
if you are tempted, remember me.
Get moving woman
don’t you fret.
For me too late.
For you? Not…

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…

Wounded child
Can you hear the
Gentle flap
Of angel’s wings?
Lost in your closet
Of endless memories
Come out of the dark
Don’t be afraid.
The screaming has stopped.
The voices you hear
Exist only in your mind
The storage trunk of the past.
Come, open the present.
He will protect you, this
Angel of the Wounded Child.
You want to die
Lost in your pain
Yet, you have not lived.
Open the door
Take down the walls
Let the healing begin.
Angel of the Wounded Child
A light peering into your closet.
He wants you to
Come out and play
The nightmare is over.
Wake up! Wake up!
Sleep is not a cure.
Come out of the darkness
The light does heal
The secrets, the fears, the past.

by Jeanne Marie

Enjoy the waves of peace and happiness while you are riding high.
Soak up the sun and the sweetness so you will be strong when the waves crash down, because they will crash down.
Always have faith and believe that although the waves cannot last, they will rise again…
Waves will lift you up above your brokenness over and over.
That is what waves do.

The angry feelings
shove at the door
that I want closed.
Let us out!
Let us out!
Go to sleep
is my sorry answer.
Go to sleep.
They wait
for me to fall asleep,
they wait.
I hear a woman crying.
“No!” she cries out,
“No, I don’t love you!”
As she sobs
I reach out
to comfort her.
I touch a face
wet with tears.
It is my own.

by Jeanne Marie

I had no action in my body today
Just tears
I couldn’t stay.
I had no desire to get dressed
Just tears
I couldn’t repress.
I had no blood left in my veins
Just tears
That I know will stain.
I had no action in my body today
I could not leave
I could not stay.

by Jeanne Marie

From the newsletter, Women who Think Too Much, 2000

DAUGHTER, MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER. ALL WROTE ABOUT AGING, WITHOUT DISCUSSING IT WITH EACH OTHER.
A COINCIDENCE OR THE TWILIGHT ZONE?

THINGS I LEARNED THE HARD WAY
1. Johnson’s Stretch Mark Cream doesn’t really prevent or remove the one million stretch marks motherhood is bound to deliver, although it does keep each and every stretch mark incredibly soft!
2. When the man in your young life tells you that you’re much too pretty to wear make up, he’s really saying, “Go scrub your face or someone may actually take a second look at you!”
3. Never call your mother for a ride home, from the 24 hour Wal-Mart, because you locked your keys in the car. Not unless you want a lecture about shopping alone after midnight!
4. Don’t call your mother when she’s writing in Computerville; she won’t even remember the…

A shadow of herself
is all that remains
just a glimmer
of the woman
who she
coulda
woulda
shoulda
been.
A shadow of herself
walks on the shore
collecting seashells
seashells
she doesn’t
want
to collect
to touch
to hold
anymore.