Why I Am Taking Back My Apology To That Gnome Table

There's this little table, this little table in our old living room. It's a little red and green gnome with a long white beard and rosy cheeks holding up the top of a tree stump. I always thought it was a dwarf, though I have recently come to realize that dwarfs are not as jolly creatures as this being appeared to be. The little tree stump the gnome holds is made of plastic, serves as the table's top and was often covered with books or coffee cups.

 My mom gave it to my dad for his birthday and yet I've always considered it mine. No one in my family is agrees with this, but I know it's mine. See, I always thought the table was real. 

And because it was real and yet never moved, it was obviously enchanted. So once when no one was looking, I kissed its cheeks and then its little red lips. It did not stir. 

But then I became very afraid, very, very afraid. My kiss hadn't been enough, and such made sense. I didn't truly expect it to come to life by my kiss, it had been very unlikely I was the gnome table's true love. I had just kissed it in case there was any chance I could save it. 

But now I became afraid, afraid and very very ashamed. I had wasted my kiss on a gnome, a gnome I did not love. And so my young heart was thrown into guilt. Why would I kiss that which I did not love?

And for a long time I felt very guilty. I felt guilty that I had so carelessly thrown a kiss away. I finally confessed my sin to my mother. She held me as I cried. I doubt she remembers it now and if she does, it probably amuses her.

  Today, I dropped a little gnome I have and broke his hat. My immediate impulse was to apologize to him and kiss both of his cheeks. And so I remembered this. And I laughed.

But now that I think back, I really don't think I've changed much from that girl. I'm impulsive, I always have been. I always feel guilty. I've tripped over my own heartstrings too many times to count, but I never tell till I crack. I don't believe in breaking my own heart and I guess I still believe in kisses bringing enchanted beings back to life.

Sometimes I wonder, I wonder, how long I plan to feel guilty for feeling, for feeling a little too much. How long am I going to feel the need to confess that I cared too much? It's been almost seventeen years and I constantly tell myself to stop throwing my emotions around. Why can't I just feel and not feel guilty for feeling so much?

I've always been the one who cried at little things, who picked up bugs stuck in buildings, and apologized when no apology was needed. I've always been the one who promised not to write poems about that one person but did anyways. And I've always been the one who's felt guilty for being that one. I've always felt guilty for feeling so much sadness, so much happiness, so much compassion, so much infatuation, so much mortification. So much emotion. 


So I'm taking back that apology to myself, to my mother, to that gnome table. I'm not sorry for kissing that gnome. I'm not sorry for feeling and acting upon compassion. I'm not sorry.

I don't want to apologize for my heart anymore. I don't want to tell myself that tears and goosebumps and blushing cheeks and butterflies and sighs and flashing eyes are all wrong.

One day I just want to feel everything, everything but my guilt. And that day may not be today, but I hope it's coming. So today, I'm starting by taking back that apology to that gnome table.

For The Cracked Bottle Days

And there are moments
when blue bottles crack
when you can't recognize yourself in the mirror
flushed cheeks and unbrushed hair

there are moments
when you pick up bottle caps
with little babies 
build towers
laugh as they yell "higher! higher!"
There are moments when towers
fall

and you don't want to get up because
your room is too hot
and no book is worth reading

And there are days
days like this
where you write yourself letters
poems
verses
to remind yourself
this too, shall pass
this too
this too

when you play your everyday game
of what's the lesson
and you don't find an answer
when I don't find my answer 


And as much as I try to pick myself apart
 sometimes I just don't understand myself

Why I have days like this, where I just fall apart
 why I forget I'm loved 
or cry at the slightest provocation.
Why we all have days like this..

maybe it's just life
maybe it's just 16?

maybe sometimes I need these breakdowns
these days where I feel like I can't make it through
to realize
I can make it through
I just did make it through
and it's almost midnight
and  I'm writing a poem about it

And there's something special about that
No matter how bad any day is
We can turn it into Art

So there will be days like this
I just hope that I remember
that when I can't stand straight
I can always find some words to stand up for me

Sleep Scapes

I wonder what dogs dream about.

My dog has nightmares sometimes, he cries in his sleep, his paw twitching. He's so little, so fragile, so soft. His dreamworld should be a safe space for him, sleep should not come with fear. When he cries I pick him up and hold in my arms, tell him it's okay. I lay him on my bed; he's still curled up in a little ball. But he's awake, his dark dream is banished. And at that moment, I feel triumphant. I feel as if I've protected a precious being away from the cruelty of this world, the cruelty that follows us even in dreams. I feel like I've kept something innocent and sweet from darkness.

Dreams. Funny things. I have the most vivid dreams, detail oriented, I remember every object on the desk of my dream scene when I wake. But most of all, I dream about people. People that I know well, think about often or haven't seen in years. I often wonder why I can't capture images in pencil, yet my head in its sleep state is able to recreate every detail of someone's face.

I don't share my dreams usually. It's embarrassing to admit you've dreamt about that friend of yours in 6^th grade, or that some people just keep appearing in your dreams. My dreams often involve being outside, on a beach or in a field. I used to always analyze them, try to figure out what they all meant.

But now I just let them be, take them as small gifts when I can. I don't know how to explain that I have so many memories of so many people that never actually took place. I've been in the library of my dreams with a group of friends, telling them to be quiet. I've ridden a large tricycle down my street, a large rottweiler chasing me as an old friend laughs at the mayhem. I've roasted marshmallows with faces from camp, freaked out over a test on ferris wheels in Biology, while my 8^th grader teacher yelled at me.

Once I even met Gonzo and his flying chickens. I've conversed with a superhero who cursed to become a talking lizard. He told me to tell his wife about his predicament. I've dressed my self for school in my dreams, missed the bus on numerous occasions. I've almost been kidnapped and lost my voice. I've dreamt about crushes; angry and happy dreams, most of which I woke up from feeling dazed and confused. I've dreamt about falling down stairs and forgetting to wear a shirt to school. I mean it was, apparently, hula day at school- I did wear a grass skirt.

My dreams make me laugh, but they also scare me. For a couple hours, I submit my brain to powers I can't control. Sometimes I think the second I float off to Nod, my pineal gland perks up and yells to the rest of my brain “She's out! Let's get her! Come on, make sure you're as creative and weird as possible! The more realistic, the better. Volleyball? She doesn't play volleyball! Make sure she drops the ball! Good! Anyone feeling like having a huge crab come out of the sea? Cuz I'm really feeling that!” I wake up confused. But I also often  wake up from dreams that tell me things I never knew about myself, reveal fears and feelings I didn't think were part of me.

And that's scary. It's scary to think that the unconscious part of you holds parts of you that even you don't know about, that you somehow caught a glimpse of. I don't know why I remember so much of my dreams, but I think it's because I fight to remember them. I want to remember every thought that passes through my mind. Maybe that's why I write. And I can't accept that for hours at night there are thoughts and scenes I won't remember when I awake. So I grasp for them.

And sometimes I write them down.

I'm trying to unlock myself, to unlock my world. And I feel that my dreams are an integral part of that quest. I don't know why, but I know they are. And while I try to store away dreams in the cabinets of my head and sheets of paper, I attempt to keep my dog from his bad dreams. But no one has ever kept me from my nightmares, woken me up from my sleep scape. So I wonder if I should let him have his.

But mostly, I just wonder, wonder, writing late at night till dreams come to take me too.  

Let Me Keep

always thought my brain lived in my chest cavity

beating out thoughts

heart child

heart child

heart child

can you feel your thoughts pulse?

stuck between stars and earth

I've always had rolling hills beneath my feet

always wonder whether

I should roll down them

or walk through them

be sensible

or be whimsical

I want to grow wings you see

feel the moon between my fingers

and hold starlight in cupped hands

but be rational

there's a world there, that doesn't know

doesn't know

of all that lurks behind closed books

so be rational, be rational, child

be reasonable

writing, it isn't reasonable

caring so much, oh honey, it isn't profitable

And don't drag your skirt through ocean water

it isn't sensible

be reasonable

be rational

but I can't, not when faced with

flower chains and poetry books

sun light and star bright

first star I see tonight

wish I may, wish I might,

let me keep my whimsy

let me keep my whimsy

sometimes, it's all that keeps me going

my light footing,

gentle wind whisperings

I often think

I'm more than ready to grow old, but growing up

that's another matter

so let me keep my fairytales

let me keep my castles

keep my whimsy

I intend to always be a heart child

feeling thoughts instead of thinking them

Once I fought this

but it this isn't a light head, just a warm soul

So let me always keep a warm soul,

A hearth lit for wandering thought

I've Decided To Love Myself

I've decided to love myself

I've decided to embrace my braces

and soft tummy

small curves and bumpy arms

I intend to love my flutter brain tendencies and astronaut orbits

I'm not bad at math; I just have a higher concentration of pixie dust in my blood

than most

There are pay offs you have to make when you're born a poet

common sense, for example

And I'm going to start complimenting myself,

when I look in the mirror

instead of finding every flaw, I will trace constellations in my eyes

comment on my high cheek bones and long lashes, gentle waist

That's how I will define my body; gentle

I don't lack muscle definition, I am a gentle soul, gentle body

I am of Botticelli's spring

soft skin, flowing white limbs

I've decide to love myself

Because I only have one life time as this person

and I'm not going to change

I've already spent enough of these sixteen years

molding my skin and soul into a form I'll never hold

I will not say anymore

“I'll probably be pretty when I'm older.”

or “Maybe I'll be smarter..”

As of today, I am officially

smart

and

pretty

And I've made myself the authority on that

I am now the only voice of authority that can truly determine what I'm worth

And according to myself, I've decided I am worth a lot

No one can deny me respect, acceptance, and love

besides myself

why?

Because I said so.

And after so long debating whether my word was of value

Why wouldn't it be?

So from this day forward,

I love myself, my spirit, my soul,

my gentle body and brains

Because why shouldn't I?

Getting There, Grain Of Sand

I've got a lot of questions

Why does poetry often come served with salt confusion?

Is it wrong to say I don't know my heart but I want you there?

Is it right to always ask God the answers to questions I shouldn't know?

And why do the young often feel so very old?

My dad says don't push angst

But sometimes even the best envelope heart can't hold freeze dried drama

Junior year, still starring at the X on my treasure map, not any closer

No special story, my old heroes killed off one by one

See, That's the problem with a mind prone to critical analysis

I had this formula:

Be random

dress a little differently

act smart

giggle often

formula for self acceptance, my own acceptance of myself

But maybe, I'm not ready to accept myself

Maybe, I'm living past, present, future

And I've sculpted myself for a long time now

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my own opinion of myself will always hurt me

I'm just seaweed scraps, driftwood bones

waiting for substance, waiting for real form

an owl woman or a butterfly child...I'm waiting

Right now though, I just want to accept that I'm whole

I'm the cocoon of everything I want and will be

But I want it back

That feeling: I can conquer the sky and sea

the walk of a warrior princess, bloodied knees but head held high

A cloud walker, ink spinner, dream broker

I'm sick of tasting sand when I bite my lip

...But if we can see the world reflected in a grain of sand

If a single house holds a thousand secrets

then a grain of sand knows the notes of a thousand songs

One doll, the lives of a dozen children grown and gone

the pattern of a thousand lives connected on a single sidewalk

and if this one beach I', standing on knows the weight of a million feet

Then who am I to say I want to be more than a grain of sand on my beach right now?

Who am I to believe I need to feel strong, to be strong?

Who am I to tell myself I am not good enough for my own self?

Who am I?

I'm a grain of sand, flower petal, bird feather

...and that's enough for now

Because it doesn't take an entire ocean to change the entire course of history

just one wave

And I'm getting there

Obscurity is a place where the world unfolds in cracked eucalyptus leaves and song lyrics

till you're ready to take on the full kaleidoscope view

And I'm getting there

One grain of sand

a cracked blue fingernail

dusty shoes

I'm just preparing for a self coronation

I'm barely bat mitzvah-ed into this world, I'm a new soul

Young bud, waiting for rose

I'm getting there

I'm getting there

So right now, right here

Sitting on the cold sand of Bolinas Beach

I'm burying the words, writing the intention

I accept that “one grain of sand is enough”

and waiting till my words hit the ocean

waiting till my intention finds my wave

Cuz I'm getting there

I'm getting there

I Pledge

Division is an ugly word.
Division over politics, over opinion, over views
See, we aren't different in order to create
verbal, physical, mental wars with each other
we are different because have you ever seen a building built with just a hammer?
This toolbox has screwdrivers, nails, wrenches- that's why we work.
Why are shovels waging wars against rakes?
Why do we push each other down in order to climb up our own ladders?
I guess, I just remembered it as One nation
One Nation under God
See, This isn't about whether you're atheist, agnostic or flaming fundamentalist, Democrat, Republican, Independent, straight, gay, black, white, female, male
This isn't about your politics
This is about our heart
All humans, all history indirectly leading up to our present
I don't know the meaning of true love
But I know the purpose of what we've created
Religions
Petitions
Government
was in order to find a way to love better, love stronger
its called unity
When I was six, the twin towers went down
My mom showed me a postcard with two big buildings, crying
It was just two buildings
Why did it matter?
I was far away, I was six, I was miles and miles and plane rides away
But now I know why it matters
Because when an entire country is founded on acceptance, on unity
On freedom
everything will try to stop that
Everything will attack love
Including ourselves
This world isn't shaped for love
circles allways loop back into pain
But that's why we need to keep building more than ever
I'm sick of people saying America sucks, I'm not really with America, this isn't the REAL America
We, I, You, We created this America
This is our America
We ARE America
We are human, broken, flawed, often messed up beyond recognition
But there is beauty in imperfection
There's hope at the bottom of the box
There's always hope.
And it wasn't just today that lives were lost, it's every day
It's been every day, every year, every decade
that people have died for this hope
Died on a hope
A hope that one country can one day find how to love
love one another
love each other
So I pledge Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands. 
 one nation under God
 one nation under love
One nation that messes up, that fights, that creates division, that hurts

But never lost its hope.