Posted in Gracie's Glimmer, Poetry From A Woman Who Thinks Too Much

The Princess

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, we all know about no such thing as happy endings and soon the Princess gave up her other loves, like her writing.

She was busy twisting and turning and bending to keep the Prince happy, looking in her mirror-mirror and often sitting there silently for hours.

The Prince started kissing her less and less often and his voice for her…he no longer softened.

Many nights she cried herself to sleep, under so many full moons…she would weep and weep and weep.

Many moons later, she came to her senses, had the guards toss the Prince out and around her old gardens she built stronger fences.

This is a true story and you know it’s true, because I was the Princess and you, you were the Knight I gave my heart too.

Silly Princess, Stupid Boy, hard lessons, me and you.

Posted in Gracie's Glimmer, Poetry From A Woman Who Thinks Too Much

Choices

She started to think about what she wanted to experience before she died and it went like this…she wanted to be made love to like he had never seen her before and she was the most precious thing in the world that he could ever touch or possess.
She wanted him to say her smile made his day and lit up his world.
She wanted him to hold her as he was sleeping, wrapped all around her and never letting go all night.
She wanted to dance around the bedroom with him at midnight. Dancing slow, to a country love song, held so tight she could barely breathe, dancing with the man she loved as he whispered, “I am so sorry, I didn’t know how much I loved you,” in her ear.
She wanted to be loved like that once more before she died.
Posted in Women Who Think to Much

Excerpts from my book, Women Who Think Too Much, A No Help AT ALL Handbook

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/287988

I am a face first, front sliding, full-fledged codependent.

Stop signs mean STOP but that translates to codependents as, “Go ahead, I double-dare you.”

If your lights dim, don’t think about it too much, just light a damn candle.

…live with an active alcoholic or addict and find inner peace; without Al-Anon.

…our painful past loses its devastating effect.

…plan vacations, instead of permanent departures.

Mommy is on special medication right now because she is just a little crazy.

A helpful therapist does not pressure you to leave your man, she does confuse your issues with hers, she lies to you, but she also trusts you with her cell phone number because you have managed to cross her boundary lines. That phone number could be a life saver, especially if you’re driving cross-country after an attempted escape back home (you ran to your dysfunctional family, who you are now running away from), while taking a new anti-anxiety drug which your therapist prescribed, hydroplaning during a torrential rainstorm, which doesn’t even count because you’re crying so hard that you can’t see the through the windshield anyway. It also doesn’t help that you can’t zip the jeans that were too big when you started the journey because you have already blown up from the side effects of your new wonder drug.
It would be comforting to have her direct phone number in case you end up halfway home and forget which direction you want to go in, home or home. If you get lost or finally crack up, mentally or automobilely, it would be nice to have a caring professional to help arrange your placement. “No she’s not crazy; she just needs her meds tweaked.”

…as soon as you learn the rules, he changes them.

I gave him my fifteen-year-old virginity. That very night, I told him he had to marry me now and he said okay. The next day, he dumped me for a thirteen-year-old, blonde haired beauty.

Don’t waste the Styrofoam cups.

Gratitude will allow you to forget most of his faults…

…so when she looks into a mirror she won’t see the woman she used to be.

Read the Reviews https://womenwhothinktoomuch.com/2015/10/03/book-reviews-women-who-think-too-much-4/

Book also available at:

Barnes & Noble
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/women-who-think-too-much-jeanne-marie-jeanne-marie/1114769909?type=eBook

SCRIBD
https://www.scribd.com/book/211052933/Women-Who-Think-Too-Much

Rakuten kobo
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/women-who-think-too-much-1

and on your iphone or ipad reader

Posted in Gracie's Glimmer, Poetry From A Woman Who Thinks Too Much

Your love is raw…

 

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 this all I’ll ever be, your woman, your girl, your wife?

Your need is soft, it is strong, it is rough, it is binding, it is smothering, it is fluff.

Your need has taken over my life which doesn’t even make any sense.

Becoming nothing, wanting something, I sit and scour my mind, trying to find myself.

Can I take care of me, this woman, this girl who will not speak?

Standing on the outside, looking through the tinted glass of our storm door.

I don’t want to come inside. Oh yes, I am sure.

Am I running from us because of our today or am I running from our pain-filled past?

I don’t know anymore.

No place left to hide.

Your love surrounds me, it saves me, until it drowns me.

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

Posted in Women Who Think to Much

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie
A No Help At ALL Handbook
ON Sale $2.00 through January 1, 2018

Buy Women Who Think Too Much at smashwords

ALSO AVAILABLE AT:

Barnes & Noble
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/women-who-think-too-much-jeanne-marie-jeanne-marie/1114769909?type=eBook

SCRIBD
https://www.scribd.com/book/211052933/Women-Who-Think-Too-Much

Rakuten kobo
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/women-who-think-too-much-1

and available on ibooks

Posted in Gracie's Glimmer, Poetry From A Woman Who Thinks Too Much

Distorted Image

He shatters my self-worth
with a single sentence.
“You looked prettier before
you went back to work.”
Oh God, I’m nothing.
Wait. I go to the mirror
just to see for myself.
A familiar woman
sadly stares back.
I give her a smile
brush away her tears.
Hey, I look better
since I started working.
I realize, I am not the
woman he says I am,
I am the woman
my own eyes see.

Posted in Jeanne Marie

Love isn’t and love doesn’t

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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 right, so you might as well give up before you even start.

Love doesn’t bind you in barbed wire because it’s afraid of losing you.

Love doesn’t lock you in because it’s afraid to let you out, afraid that somebody else might tempt you.

Love doesn’t control you by controlling your access to money.

Love doesn’t hit you or slap you.

Love isn’t cruel or verbally abusive.

Love doesn’t make you feel dead inside.

Love doesn’t care if you are pretty or if you have big boobs, gorgeous hair and a tiny waist.

Love doesn’t make you less…

Love doesn’t stand you up.

Love doesn’t break you into a million pieces.

Love isn’t a game of tug and war.

Love doesn’t capture your heart just to break it.

Love isn’t the presents you buy her after you made her cry.

Love doesn’t always last forever.