A Better Deal (Poem)

A Better Deal


Baby, Baby,
look at my tears.
Do you think
that they aren’t real?
Do you think
that I’m too shallow;
that love is
something I can’t feel?

Baby, Baby,
look at my pain.
It’s written
all over my face.
Do you feel
a bit of remorse?
Of regret,
is there a trace?

Well, I can’t understand it,
it is true.
Is a broken heart and goodbye,
all I get from you?
I never said I’m perfect,
but I was always real.
But, all you ever wanted
was a better deal.

Baby, Baby,
have a heart.
How can you
stand there while I cry?
Did my love
mean nothing to you?
Was forever
just a lie?

Baby, Baby,
give it up.
Do you have
to act so cool?
Gives me shivers
the way you look through me.
I can’t believe
I’m such a fool.

Well, I don’t understand it,
it is true.
Is a broken heart and goodbye,
all I get from you?
I gave you everything I had.
So, tell me, do you feel
like you will really find
a better deal?

Home Sweet Home, cough, cough.

You never know what you'll find when you pull up carpet. I've been doing some renovating on a place my aunt owns. She's moved to a smaller, easier to maintain place and needed someone to inhabit the old place. I needed more space, so I happily agreed to fill the position. I'm getting a 4 bedroom, 2 bath house with fenced in yard for the kiddies, and it will only cost me around $300 a month to live in (this includes utilities).

However, I decided that I needed to do some major cosmetic surgery before I could claim it habitable enough to move into. This led to removing the carpet, which led to the nastiest cold ever. I've been flat on my back for several days now, barely able to move, speak, or hear. I just got my sense of taste back today, though I'm thinking it's going to be a while before food appeals to me. Not to mention, I'm back in the catch-up mode. The world doesn't stop for the sniffles. I just have one question. How does the laundry pile get so big when you're out of the game for a couple of days? Thank goodness this new place is all one level. There's nothing worse than dragging baskets of laundry up and down stairs when you're under the weather.

I figure that it will be a couple more days before I'm human again. After that, I'll be back at the grindstone, laying new carpet and painting walls. The worst part is over now. All that's left is the fixing up part. This is the part I like the best, when you can see the changes happen right before your eyes. I love the fact that I have a totally blank canvas to work with. I can put my stamp on the place, really make it feel like home. What makes it more exciting is the fact that this is my first home "on my own". I'll have my kids there, of course, so I won't be alone. But, I'll be totally independent and completely responsible for it. Add to that the fact that I'll be decorating it by my own tastes and without having to defer to anyone else, and I'm on cloud-nine.

I didn't know how much that meant to me until I started living with the guy who became my ex-husband. He has a passion for Elvis and power tools that drove me crazy. I had a huge picture of Elvis on my living room wall, figurines on my shelves, dirty power tools on my kitchen table and in the mud room, and I despised it all. If it wasn't Elvis or cordless drills, it was all this tacky, orange Tony Stewart paraphernalia. Seriously, no one takes you as a mature, intelligent and tasteful individual when you have posters of race car drivers and long deceased rock stars on your wall. And did I mention that my ex is 23 years older than I am? At some point as you grow up, it almost becomes a necessity to do away with posters held up with thumbtacks. Perhaps this is one of the reasons I am his third ex-wife.

Anyway, I don't have to worry about that anymore. At least, not until the kids get a little older. Still, I can confine it to their rooms if I must. No more Elvis watching me undress in my bedroom. No more lugging heavy equipment off the table, then sanding the table down so I can sit at it and enjoy a meal. No more beanbag chairs. No more tacky western shirts in my closet. The walls will be the color I wish. The furniture will be arranged the way I like it. And, oh my gosh, I'll have total control of the remote! I'll finally have a place that I can relax in. Well, if I can get rid of this cold first.

You Called My Name (Poem)

You Called My Name

Just when I thought
I’d be okay,
that the memories of you
had gone away.
Just as the pain
started to fade,
you called my name.

Just when the longing
deep inside,
became something I thought
I could hide.
Just when I moved on
with my life,
you called my name.

There’s a part of me
that cannot seem
to let go.
There’s a part of you
that feels it too,
you must know.
‘Cause every time
I walked away,
you called my name.

Just when I thought
that I could breathe
without the scent of
you on me.
Just when I let go
of this need,
you called my name.

There’s a part of me
that cannot seem
to let go.
There’s a part of you
that feels it too,
you must know.
‘Cause every time
I walked away,
you called my name.

Unspoken (Poem)

Unspoken

Did you hear the soft, “I love you,”
that my lips just didn’t say?
Did you see my complete love for you
that my eyes just gave away?
Did you taste the bittersweetness
in our gentle kiss goodbye?
Did you see the salty anguish
in the tears I wouldn’t cry?
Did you know I felt your sorrow
that, “I’m sorry,” couldn’t right?
Did you feel how much I need you
by the way I held on tight?
Did you see my complete love for you
that my eyes just gave away?
Did you hear the soft, “I love you,”
that my lips just didn’t say?

Blog Surfing

You never know what you’ll get when you hit that “next blog” link, do you?

I got the brilliant idea to browse through some blogs to see what was out there, me being so curious and all. I learned a valuable lesson when I did. I learned that I really don’t want to know what’s out there. Out of the twenty or so blogs that I came across, I could only read three of them. Out of the three I could read, only one of them had intelligent content.

I don’t have much to say about the ones I couldn’t read. It’s not their fault that English and bad English are my only languages, therefore I have no strong opinions about them. I was wondering if they would be upset if I posted a response in English. Probably not.

It was the three that I could read that had me so disappointed. The first one I came across was beyond vulgar. They obviously missed the part about not having pornographic content on their blog. A British woman, guessing by the slang, authored the blog. She had one post with pictures of deformed anatomy. Another post of hers had her sex toys and panties up for trade. Her written parts were equally as obscene and filled with profanity.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with her particular tastes. I really can’t say that I have room for criticism. After all, I had three kids before I was married, so I wouldn’t win the “Good Christian” award in the mating habits and rituals category. I’m simply asking why she advertised this about herself. Why? Why make it public when you can still write what you think without making it known to your fellow man? What could her purpose possibly be? I mean, I guess it was entertaining in a “mangled limbs at a train wreck” kinda way. Still, I wonder if she realized the message she’s sending to her audience?

The second readable one was much better, though much duller. This gentleman was using his blog to preach the benefits of positive thinking. I was positively bored. Apparently, he was too. There was only two posts and they spanned a year and a half time period.

The third blog probably shouldn’t have fallen into the readable category. I can read bad English, but this was beyond bad. Maybe if the teenage girl writing the blog would spell out her words so I could know what was abbreviation and what was just a misspelled word, it might have been different. Again, if your intended audience is persons who understand you just fine, hide your blog and invite those who understand you.

So, maybe I’ll skip checking out other blogs. Something tells me that I’m not going to find much of what I’m looking for.

Birthday Blessings

Tuesday was my twenty seventh birthday. It wasn't much, as far as birthdays go, but it wasn't bad either. Honestly, birthdays aren't much of a big deal to me. I guess I fail to understand the significance of them.

I suppose that some might say that it's to celebrate another year of life. Others would claim that it's just a way of marking that you're another year closer to death. I'm neither a "glass half full" or a "glass half empty" kinda girl, so I'm not into celebrating because of that. I'm just not into celebrating birthdays, period.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have any particularly strong feelings regarding this issue. I don't hate birthdays. I just don't see the reason for the fuss. You get older every day, not just one day a year. You don't gain a year's worth of knowledge on this particular day. Yet, you still get rewarded for, what? Not getting creamed by a train or falling down a well in the past year? Well, I guess it's as good a reason as any. I am a little giddy to still be breathing. Still, breathing is instinctual. I do it ALL the time. I hardly think it calls for cake. ;-D

I guess I can see the allure for some (and despair for others). Everyone likes to feel special. Everyone likes to have their moment in the sun. I'm as guilty as the next person, in that respect. It's nice to have friends and family show their appreciation for your existence in their lives.

I just wish it wasn't such a production. I hate that people feel obligated to be kind to me on a particular day during the year. I would much rather opt for a spontaneous gesture, one that truly showed consideration. For instance, it was to celebrate my birthday, but the gesture the class made on Monday night wasn't obligatory. It showed thoughtfulness and genuine warm feelings towards me and it was the best birthday present I've ever had. Well, other than the puppy I got for my sixteenth birthday. Nothing beats a puppy.

I guess what it amounts to is the meaning of the gesture. A good deed done out of obligation, guilt, or for recognition doesn't seem like such a good deed, and I hate being the purpose behind such an act. I would much rather be the recipient of a kind gesture made out of genuine caring. That truly makes me feel as if the past year of my life has value.

Well, here I am, another day older and without cake to celebrate the fact. I'm always joyful that I've had another moment to grow wiser, love stronger and give more. I'm never resentful that I'm closer to my "oven timer" going off. I try to remember each day to be thankful of my blessings and to show my gratitude without looking at the calendar. I hope I let people know by my actions that I value their acts of goodwill towards me, and that presents and cake are not necessary, but are cherished none-the-less. I hope they know that their presence in my life over the year is what made the year worth living and the only thing I truly find worth celebrating. I hope that if I forget their birthday in turn they know it's not because their life has no meaning to me. Quite simply, I'm not the best at scheduling my time, and it's hard to remember a particular day to be loving, respectful and appreciative when I feel that way every day.

So, I just want to say to those who went out of their way for my birthday, thank you very much. The fact that no one made a huge production, as per my wishes, showed me that everyone who acted, did so out of the best of motives. To those who forgot my birthday, I'm not upset. I'm not saddened by it, or feeling neglected, or under the impression that I don't matter to you. Every one who is in my circle of friends and family are there because they have shown me kindness beyond a scheduled date anyway. And as I reflect on the past year of my life, I recognise the true gift you have already given me. You have given me pieces of yourself, whether it be time, consideration, respect, love, appreciation, and/or friendship.

Okay, that does beat a puppy. But the puppy was still awesome.

Where Did I Go Wrong? (Poem)

Where Did I Go Wrong?

It’s hard to find a reason;
a purpose to believe in.
Never thought that you’d be leavin’.
How could I be so wrong?
My whole soul feels so hollow
after all the lies I swallowed.
I know not what will follow.
My passions still burn strong.
Just where did I go wrong?

I gave you laughter.
I gave you love.
I gave you every part of me
that I could give up,
and you never implied
it wasn’t enough.
I gave you comfort.
You gave me pain.
Well, I can’t help but feel
I got the bad end of this deal.
How long has this been going on?
Just where did I go wrong?

Letting Go

I recently threw a baby shower for my littlest sister. It turned out pretty good despite the fact that few people showed. The food could of been better, but Mom was in charge of that. One of the games flopped because there wasn't enough people to play. Thankfully, I'm quick on my feet and thought of a back-up game. The best part, however, was one of the things I planned. I bought a scrapbook and had everyone who attended make a scrapbook page. Each page had a box on it for the person to list their name and a spot for them to say something personal, informative, or funny to my sister. We took lots of pictures during the whole thing, so it's just a matter of cut and paste to finish it. Isn't that brilliant?

Of course, I was too busy hosting to make a page from me. I thought about it shortly after the shower and decided I was definitely going to do one. I thought about what I would write in the box to share with my sister about having a baby. It didn't take long to figure out. If my sister needs any advice, it's this:

God gives us children to hold so we can learn how to let go.

I know, it sounds like a Hallmark card, but it's so true. Since the moment of conception, I had to learn to let go of a lot of things.

The first was my sense of modesty. You have numerous doctors, nurses, lab techs, and assistants poking and prodding you from every angle. You have every reckless decision you made as a teen evaluated, re-evaluated, and analysed. Your territorial bubble is invaded by countless women as they rub your belly, whether it bulges or not. Your body becomes public space the second you share it with new life, and you can either dwell in your humility and shame or let go and except it.

The second thing I had to let go of was my vanity. Stretchmarks, pants with spandex panels, and the disappointing day after delivery when you still look 6 months pregnant leave little to feel sexy about. I was a size two before pregnancy and a size twelve after. Not to mention, I wasn't even out of maternity clothes when I discovered the boys were on their way.

Next, I had to let go of control. When the twins came around I also had an eleven-month-old daughter at home who was learning how to walk. Between dishes, laundry, babies, doctors, my job and my then husband, there was too many things to do and not enough hours in the day. I didn't want anyone else doing my chores because they didn't do them the way I liked them done. However, I learned that getting them done was more important than getting them done right.

After that, I learned how to let go of the things I only thought were important. Countless belongings have now been demolished, countless desires shelved for another day. Your priorities become rearranged and you discover that there are larger things in this world than yourself. It's a hard lesson. Very hard. Especially when your favorite necklace that your grandmother gave you rides The Porcelain Express.

I've had to learn to let go of a lot of things, and I face more in the future. For instance, letting go of the bike so they can learn how to crash. There's also learning to let them go as they strike out in the world, totally independent and naive. The only thing that makes it worth it is the things you get to keep. You get to keep their love, and the precious memories. You get to keep fingerpaintings they did in Kindergarten and macaroni necklaces to replace the one that got flushed. You get to keep the peace you gained when you learned that control is an illusion.

I've definately received more than I've lost in this little venture. I'm sure my sister will too. It's what parenthood is all about.

Catch-Up

I hate being sick. I really hate playing catch-up when I start to feel better. I said start because I'm still not my usually perky self. I feel like an old dish cloth (used hard, wrung out, and hung up wet). It probably would have been better if I hadn't had the kiddies this weekend, or if my folks would of been in town. Heck, even in state would of been nice. I did discover something incredibly important though. I cannot be doped up and still deal with three toddlers. They're quicker than me anyway, but add in a little cold medicine and it's truly an unfair battle.

So, today has been a crazy day. I finally got my laundry and dishes caught up. I definately need to find me a place where the washer and dryer is on the same level as the rest of the house. Stairs suck! I finally got my homework done for my business class. Thankfully, most of it was done earlier in the week. Now, I'm playing catch-up on my blogs. Thank goodness this was a light week homeworkwise. If not, I would just have to crawl back in bed.

Little Things (Poem)

Little Things


I don’t need a big stone on my finger.
I don’t need a mansion on a hill.
I don’t need for you to move a mountain.
I don’t need so much to get a thrill.

It’s the way you softly touch my face,
the way you kiss my tears away,
the way you hold me ‘til I fall asleep.
It’s the way you sing me our love song.
The words are right. The pitch is wrong.
Is it no wonder that I fell in deep.
I’m so amazed, so blown away,
by the little things.

I don’t need a limo to escort me.
I don’t need to go out every night.
I don’t need more than your love to please me.
It’s the little things that make this love so right.

It’s the way you say, “I’m sorry,” first
to save my pride and ease my hurt,
the way you’ll pick a flower for my hair.
It’s the way we dance in the moonlight,
the way you talk to me all night.
You never cease to show me that you care.
Yes, I’m amazed, so blown away,
by the little things.