Feminism, Freedom, Inspiration, Nature, Poetry, Spirituality, Womanhood, Writing

But I’m Not Perfect Yet

Old poem, old photo, newly paired, never shared:

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But I’m Not Perfect Yet

Why the shampoos
with promising poems
“You’ve really got it now”
“Not your mommas hair-do”
“Beautiful, luscious, supremely clean”
Why all the claims and things
in the ads we see
I know some who
can take it
or leave it—
and why I ever accept it,
I don’t know
I was beaten with it
as a girl
see: media and magazines
images of youthful
concealed women
(concealing whatever doesn’t fit
with the current trend)
see: glowing women or matte
depending on the season
submissive yet dominant
bronzed and flirtatious
You hear confidence is
everything but I don’t believe
that to be true
(I pride humility)
I cannot blame myself
here, and neither should you
Some days I am bland
Some days I am sexy
Some days I’m just decent
and free
but all these days
I am taken with
thoughts of
What I Should Be
My eyes aren’t large enough
My hair won’t lay strait
My clothes just don’t look
that good on my back
Not nearly as good
as they looked strung
up on the rack
I contort myself
with belts and jeans
I pinch, prod and shave
I bleach
chop
polish
and press
I bend over backwards
trying to achieve
a standard that someone
somehow made me believe
I didn’t feel
good-looking
today, it’s true.
I wanted to grab every
woman and ask
“Do you feel this way too??”
I wanted to know
that deep down we
are all just the same
and that on the outside
none of us are ever
what they claim
on the backs of the
bottles of $16 gunk
those are just words and wishes
amounting to junk
intended to make a buck

Memoir, Poetry, Prose, Rant, relationships, Spirituality, Womanhood

Introversion (synonyms: introspection, self-absorbsion, timidness)

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photograph by Kirsten Lara Valenzuela \\ model Crystal Danielle Gasser

 

Introversion. You wonder if is innate or learned.  Is it because you were raised as an only child? Is it because of early childhood trauma or simply because the birds used to laugh at you outside your window? “Mocking” birds, you later learned. Is it because you were raised in a cabin, with just your father and a wood stove for company? What came first, the chicken or the egg? You remember pretending to be ill when childhood friends asked you to play. You felt you couldn’t tell them the truth: that you just wanted to be alone.

You are on Facebook, see a meme: I’m staying inside, it’s too people-y out there, click Like.

It’s like this: as introverts we are inclined to work the night shift, in fire towers, on the homestead. We are willing to stop and look at the moon for a long period of time. We go on to ponder it and everything else within a moment that drags on for a night and the whole next day. We take security personally and are often the guardians of our homes. You go, I’ll stay here. We can almost sense the need to be in a tower somewhere. You always thought Rapunzel really had it made: that long golden hair, impassioned lover, and that bedroom all to herself with few visitors. Twenty four hours is almost not enough time to yourself, you’ve noticed. You could take weeks, a month, of solitude. You need it! You want to scream— as if the world should hand it to you. Your boyfriend leaves to Africa for three weeks and you were just getting used to the new routine when he comes home.

You read Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer and High Tide in Tucson.
You can feel someone coming from a mile away.
No one ever sneaks up on you, yet you are often startled.
You are “sensitive” and there’s no way around that. Ever.
You cannot date or live with other sensitive people.                                                                     ……Can’t one of you just go for a walk?

You take up writing.
You notice nuance everywhere.
You suck at wowing a room verbally.
You feel you are often interrupted or misunderstood.
You try to express yourself with as few words as possible.
You notice what everyone around you is doing, even feeling.
You’ve called in sick when really you just needed a “mental health day.”
You feel incredibly guilty, foolish, and weird for this.
You RSVP to parties then panic and not go.
Your one true desire is a full weekend at home.
You read Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.
You prefer the company of just 2-3 friends over dinner or lunch (preferred).
You are a powerhouse one-on-one.
You let few people in but to those you do you are loyal.
You prefer letter-writing as a means of staying connected.
You would never, ever do social things three days in a row.
You are well rested.
You have secrets.
You are sensual.
You like to be in bed.
(some boyfriends find this sexy,
others are appalled.)
You enjoy you.
You notice everybody
else seems to
need company.
You pity them.
You wonder
if you could
ever have a child,
if you should ever
have a child.
You prefer the
company of animals,
radio show hosts.
(But even they can
be too yappy.)

Dreams, Inspiration, Love, Poetry

Light

Awakened
a spark of inspiration
in the twirl of a girls umbrella
at a school bus stop
blue and pink
it makes me think
there is a miracle
in every lighted kitchen window
at the end of every road
and inside of every home
tortured souls collide favorably
with their expectations
frightfully forgiving human nature,
through gritted teeth the choices of others
we tuck and prod and unravel ourselves
before taking for granted headlighted vehicles
we watch our hands running away with themselves again
–and the years too
we shoo the children out the door for a day with strangers
we keep the faith

Awakened
a spark of inspiration
a miracle in every lighted
kitchen window
women and children
children and men
alone, together, and illuminated

Dreams, Inspiration, Poetry, relationships, Womanhood, Writing

Poetry Reading at Eugene’s Barnes & Noble March 12th at 3 p.m.

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Poetry Reading at Barnes & Noble  Eugene (above)
1163 Valley River Drive
Eugene, Oregon
March 12, 2017

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I am pleased to remind my friends and readers of this low key poetry reading event at Eugene’s Barnes & Noble. With the Eugene Poetry Foundation as our platform, my cousin Crystal Gasser and I will be reading for fifteen minutes each, followed up by an open mic.

Being it is the fifth consecutive month of our Barnes & Noble readings, I am honored (and only mildly freaked out) to have the stage and the headline. See our flyer below. All are welcome to join! Other poets encouraged to attend!

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Poetry, Womanhood, Writing

Seen/Hidden

My emotional makeup is running.
fushia-colored need blossoms falsely on my cheeks
while neon strikes of pencil glow in
a most unfavorable way
on my eyes and lining my lips
I am drooling down my chin,
which is caving.
The more I paint my outside
the more my inside suffers,
ignored.
The more
pain the more paint,
it seems.
My emotional makeup is running but
I never looked better than after I’ve
washed my face.
Still, every morning
I paint-by-numbers
in an attempt to be
seen and to
be hidden.

Freedom, Inspiration, Poetry, relationships, Spirituality, Womanhood, Writing

The Hole

The hole inside of you does exist
but it is a vessel for goodness and care
not a dumping ground for excuses and addictions

“What are you trying to forget?” I once asked a
man who drank too much (according to me, mind you)

“What? Me? Nothing.”

Oh.

The hole inside of you may be there
it’s true
Maybe blasted open in youth, a big
gaping hole of neglect and rejection
or maybe you’ve been carving away at it
for decades, an attempt to become a real
Rockstar–edgy and tortured

The hole inside of you does exist
I’m sorry I ever said it didn’t
but you turn that hole upon its head
and it is a vessel for goodness and care
not a dumping ground for excuses and addictions
it’s all in how we look at the cavern
light it up and it’s not so bad after all
not so bottomless–albeit there

Poetry

Sparkle and Boom

I am uncontrollably contained
unordinarily incomprehensible
it’s a day off too long coming.

I notice the colored expessions
stone-still faces make when
no longer twisting to impress, seduce
ugly places turn uglier and pretty places too
none of it is as pretty as we pay for,
paint for
but somehow that’s beautiful too,
stunning.
a brain massage and you’re on
your own, you begin to let go:
we are all: bark on a tree
we are all: the back of a leaf
we are all: noses too “big” for our faces
we are all: corndogs in and out
we are all: girlfriends, boyfriends, somebody’s bearded lover.
we are all: tinkering with stones and making music
we are all: hardworking people on our day off
we are all: from Anytown, USA
we are all: struggling
we are all: soaring
we are all: working for somebody, but not tonight
we are all: geniuses with gummed lips
we are all: loose lipped with nothing new to say
we are all: following our day dream
we are all: lit by the mothering moon within us
we are all: nothing without it
we are all: needing to be held
we are all: diving to save the child
we are all: overflowing and down to the last drop
we are all: everything to offer and nothing special
we are all: loose with it
we are all: scared and lonely
 
You pay attention and things
start to fall apart and begin again
simultaneously
my echo
my shadow
and me
we are all: spectacle.
sparkle vile.
boom.
rest.
repeat.