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

I Must Go On

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


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


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
rewriting the memories hidden
under this very same bed?

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

Let Me Go Easy

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.


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

You Don’t Let Me

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.


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

The Last Box

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 did so well, driving your Vega to first place.
The house looks deserted, the grounds are unkempt and unloved.
Summer heat has burned the lilac bush I finally grew and turned my roses brown.
Flowers struggle among the weeds and most of them 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,
the weight really caught me by surprise.
I patted the morning glories goodbye, watered them with tears.
I climbed up 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 as I 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 a box of fancy glasses
Would weigh me down the worst?


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

Fly Away

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.