If I should have a daughter, instead of “Mom,” she’s gonna call me “Point B,”
because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
“Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”
And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,
wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs
how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming,
I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself
because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
And, “baby,” I’ll tell her, “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times.
You’re just smelling for smoke
so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire
to see if you can save him.
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him.”
But I know she will anyway,
so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.
Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.
But that’s what the rain boots are for,
because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat,
to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind,
because that’s the way my mom taught me.
That there’ll be days like this.
♫ There’ll be days like this, my momma said. ♫
When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly
and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment.
And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there’s nothing more beautiful
than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,
no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over, and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute,
be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive.
But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily,
but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her,
“remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior,
and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”
Remember that good things come in threes; and so do bad things.
And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong,
but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door a
nd offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat,
you tell them that they really ought
to meet your mother
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Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
I miss her,
I hear her voice in the waves,
I hear her voice in the waves,
I miss her,
This is a poem that can be read backwards and forewords.
Submitted by the3booknerds
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We all follow this road at some point.
The choice of not knowing.
The road that might lead to
absolutely no where.
The fear of the unknown.
Fear of being lost.
Hopeless thoughts drowning our minds
squeezing all that is left
into a state of suffication.
There is right or left.
Which path should I take?
No map exists to help me.
I admit, I am the lost one now.
The scared one. The one in hiding.
Trying to survive this obstacle.
A the crow needs to just sweep on by
and pick me up. Pick me up and just
drop me off somewhere. Anywhere.
That will be the path I am willing to take.
I opened that box
to take a look inside
to only see a reflection
of my being.
Wrinkles hug the
corners of my eyes.
My eyes a hint
I touch the water.
The ripples fix my
defects. They have created
a new way.
Who is this man I
now look upon? The
touch of the mirror
has ended all sorrows.
I now close this box
of pure alchemy. A charm.
I smile, turn around
and walk to see what follows.
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“We the people of United States,
in order to form a more perfect Union..”
blah blah blah
what is that mess? Is it
actually “We” the people or
the mighty supreme that fit best?
Definitely not like me.
Not many of those good ol’ folks.
To many of us poor, savage bottom feeders
fed the great “free” American table scraps.
Who was this made for anyway?
middle class man over there
doesnt quitely see the benefit.
And this “Blessings of Liberty to
ourselves and our prosterity”shit just
isnt the truth. What a shame.
Shame shame shame on you, good sir.
Where is the Liberty I am denied
One needs just a
good lick of liquor to keep the
sanity we have left. If there was sanity
to begin with. With and end note,
God bless to those of us who
arent on top. Never will be on top
and are denied liberty to a
trashbag full of wealthy bastards
stealing what liberty exsisted.
The liberty I will never get to see…..
Shame shame shame.
An American shame.