choosing loneliness

  • My childhood was
  • Pocked
  • By
  • Loneliness
  • At five
  • I quickly learned I was
  • Alone
  • Soon thereafter I learned
  • Loneliness
  • Not long after that I learned
  • Sacrifice


I learned that to

Sometimes of my body
Almost always of my peace and
My honesty

I am among the
Survivalist Chameleons

I can blend, meld, conform
I can change
My speech, my stance, my sense of humor
Who do you want me to be?
I’ll be her
Just don’t leave me to the wolves

And I learned that sometimes

To the
Only choices of

Sometimes the sacrifice was too great
Too injurious

Sometimes the
Desolate landscape of
Could also be construed as


And, so, loneliness and safety
Marry to create a cocoon of

Perhaps it is how
Heroin addicts correlate the
Pain of the
Needle breaking the skin with the
Relief to follow

walking into the glass wall of us

I’m a liar
Because I won’t tell you how I really feel
I’m a coward
Because I won’t look you in the eyes
I’m a bitch
Because I withhold myself
Even though you asked nicely
And I’m mean
Because I bait you and then escape
And I’m cruel
Because I want to punish you
For loving me
But I’m lost
Because I’m cruelest to myself
And I walk into the glass wall of
And I knock myself out



Butterfly sitting on a Wall
Butterflies today
At the edge of my field of vision
Fluttering and gone
Tantalizing and gone
Leaving me ever wondering
What I’ve just missed

choosing differently

  • God is generous with
  • Second chances
  • I see you in him
  • In his intensity and curiosity
  • In his determination of what’s
  • Right
  • For me
  • I see how my strength
  • Intrigues him
  • And incongruously makes him want to
  • Fix me


  • He’s just as
  • Sure
  • That I need his
  • Guidance
  • He’s just as sure
  • That he
  • Sees me
  • Better than I
  • See myself
  • He’s passionate and
  • Hungry and
  • He presses me
  • Challenges me
  • Outright
  • Pushing and pulling
  • But instead of
  • Resisting
  • Correcting him
  • I’m flowing
  • I’m choosing
  • Different
  • Can I let him
  • Be
  • The way I couldn’t let you?
  • Can I let him
  • Wind himself around me
  • Without stiffening or flinching?
  • Can I let him poke around
  • Inside my heart
  • Determining for himself
  • What is true and false
  • Without fear
  • Impaling him on my slamming portcullis?
  • Is it not too late with him?
  • I used all my chances with you
  • Can I open myself to him
  • So he can walk right in
  • Like I couldn’t with you?
  • I made so many mistakes
  • This time
  • I choose to float
  • Downstream
  • I choose to
  • Risk
  • For me and for
  • Love


Well, What Do You Need Help With?

“Well, what do you need help with? Let’s start with that since you already know many things that I need help with.”

It was a gracious thing to say, but I also felt like he was testing me. And I felt like, regardless of my answer, I was going to get it “wrong.” So I was honest. “I think I need help with having someone to comfort me. I’m so independent that sometimes I don’t even know I need comfort. I miss trusting someone enough to bounce ideas off of.”

He said that seemed “vague and not so transparent. Do you really feel that you are being transparent with me?”


“Um, yeah.” I was being as transparent as I could. But it didn’t look transparent or feel transparent to him so I’m sure that he felt I was being evasive. I said as much. I got no response back.

I think he was asking for a list. I know that many men (and women) like to know what’s expected of them. They get satisfaction out of fixing things. Doing things. I get that. I do too. But I didn’t have a list for him. What I needed at that moment was a big, tight hug and a long, slow kiss. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

I mostly raised myself. I had a narcissistic mother who crafted a co-dependent daughter. I haven’t been monumentally successful at retraining myself to not be co-dependent and so, to avoid the tendency, I avoid the circumstances and therefore, sometimes, any hint of commitment. I am strenuously careful about the people I become attached to because I can get very attached. Those I do get attached to are often highly independent themselves, and therefore don’t need me terribly, or I just bobble along with a string of acquaintances.

This messes with my love-life. I don’t like dating. I’m not good at small talk. I prefer to talk about big things, important ideas. I’m not good at slow. I’m getting better, but it’s a struggle. Being independent has encouraged my inclination to jump in, feet first. I’m a passionate person, I love adventure, I love surprises, I love mystery. I fall in love with people, ideas, places quickly and want to know everything about them.

This, I find, is not normal.

This, I don’t much have a problem with.

I like who I am. I know I’m a handful but I’m a good person and loyal and loving. But, yeah, hard to get to know. And I recognize that I shut people out because I don’t (and don’t want to) need anyone. And I don’t want them to need me and possibly blot me and my needs out all together. Well, that’s not precise: I want to need someone. I want to have a partner/lover/husband but I don’t know how to let that man through my unconscious barriers (and habits) to create that braid. The men who have gotten through have really wanted to get through. I’ve had some amazing, loving relationships in my life, with some truly wonderful men.

But I have no idea how it happened and even less of a notion of how to recreate it.

I have no idea what I need. I address my needs one at a time, instinctively. Was I supposed to say: My car needs a tune-up (it does); my house needs to be dusted (it does); I need my script to be bought; I need to go to the store; I need to return emails and phone calls…?

Someone quoted Tony Robbins the other day (please bear with me). He said that women are too busy being a good man to find a good man.

This is me, but, you know, so then what? How am I supposed to run my life, push for a career, maintain good relationships with my friends and family and fulfill myself creatively and still be perceived as feminine enough? I appreciate that I’m not supposed to be ringing my hands like a Brontean heroine waiting for my Duke of Somewhere to swoop me up, but where’s the middle? What’s the solution?

I would like, very much, for someone to help me, to share the decision making, to cook or shop when I’ve had a long day, to pay half or (blissfully) more or all of the bills until I can make a very lucrative living at writing. But what does that mean in the interim?

Be strong all day long, but when it’s time for a date be just needful enough to make a man feel needed, then go back to being strong when the date is over? It feels like a game or, worse, false advertising. And for the life of me I don’t know how to be that flexible.

None of this, of course, will be any consolation to the men I meet in the future.

“Strong, confident woman In Search Of strong, confident man. Must be smart and funny and resilient and patient and passionate. And tall. And athletic and creative… Etc.”


It’s in the way the
Catches in her eyes

In the quiet patience
Of her hips
The curl of her lip

It’s in the grace and economy of her

Fluid and lyrical

In catching the

Bolstering the

Embracing the

It’s the delicate flesh

That can be made to
But in furious

And the violation of it

The body of a woman

The pleasure-seeker
Give and receiver

Bends and stretches in
Ecstasy as it does in
Constancy as it does in
Protection as it does in
Cooperation as it does in

Her softness flows as a stream
Yet dashes rocks below


In every step and

We are yesterday
Today and

if, then, else

  • If I had been a happy child
  • If I had known unconditional love
  • Would I have grown into a woman with
  • A surging thirst of ambition?
  • If I had believed my mother
  • Anytime she nurtured me
  • Instead of ever suspecting her motives
  • Would I have come to love a simple life?
  • If I had had brothers to look after me
  • If I had had friends or my father to seek solace in
  • Would I have grown so strong and
  • Independent?
  • If I hadn’t faced and walked away from
  • The option of suicide at eight years old
  • Would I have chosen it instead
  • After some flapping melodrama years later?


  • If I had played dolls with little friends
  • If I had had play-dates and summer camps
  • Instead of wandering the forests and creeks like a wolf-child
  • Would I still have a transcendent imagination?
  • If parent figures hadn’t wafted in and out of my homes
  • If I hadn’t been drug to one sham wedding after another
  • Would I have had my starter marriage and divorce
  • Instead of insisting on one true love or nothing?
  • Who would I be
  • If I hadn’t faced what I’ve faced?
  • Would I like me as much?
  • Would I be as proud?
  • Would I want as badly
  • To touch the hearts around me?


On This Week’s Episode Of “My Mother Is Crazier Than Your Mother”…


Not a Christmas Card.

My long estranged mother, with whom I haven’t had a more meaningful exchange than the $20 bills she sends me for Christmas and my birthday, just sent me torn out pages of The Far Side cartoons. About cows. Cartoons about cows. She said they reminded her of my ex-boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend from ten years ago (he likes cows). She wants me to get them to him. Get them to my ex-boyfriend from ten years ago. For her. Because, that’s a great fucking idea. And I’m sure my ex-boyfriend’s wife would agree that it’s a great fucking idea too.

a kernel of you

Can I have nugget of you?
A kernel?
I promise to treat it with the utmost
I will build it a
Velvet box and
Keep it
And sheltered
And loved
I will hum to it
And watch it sprout
And protect it
From the wind
I will
Nourish it and
Prune it and
Keep it