Just a Faded Memory

 (a sestina)

I starred into those hazel eyes,
but in those caves, there was nothing
only a miniscule glint of memories
on those lips lay all my past kisses.
So why do they question me like I am your girl friend?
They should be asking her, she has your heart.

I will curl up on my leather couch, Hart
of Dixie in the background, threading the eye
of my needle. I will go to bars with my friends
and drink, party and flirt like nothing
matters. That dark stranger will lay kisses
on my red lips. I will make new memories

without you. Sometimes I will flip through pictures, memory
bringing back the good and the bad. But my heart
has cleared. I now know many kinds of kisses,
I have looked into rainbows of eyes,
but I make myself feel nothing,
only some have become true friends.

I lean on them, my real friends.
We laugh over inside jokes, crafting memories
on drunken nights, but remembering nothing
the next day. The bar boys enjoy our heart
shaped asses as we fix our shoes, do not care for eyes,
only wish to feel our kisses.

But I can not live this way forever, kissing
the surface and skating through life with friends.
I have to look life in the eye,
mold my mind and shape my memory,
have someone quality help stitch my heart
and fill it with cheer, leaving nothing

behind to prick my skin, nothing
to harm my fragile kisses,
make me loyal, make an honest heart
out of me and find my best friend.
For I may recall you in memory,
but I no longer see eye to eye.

My heart will sing with sweet nothings,
a new set of eyes meeting my lips with a kiss,
a friend and rewritten memories.

An Old Trap

(a pantoum)

Why don’t you love me?
I toss and turn, throwing blankets
my mind stuffed full of what ifs
scenarios of how things could be different.

I toss and turn, throwing blankets
but the dark peace of sleep never comes
scenarios of how things could be different
acted out on the stage that is my eyelids.

But the dark peace of sleep never comes,
Instead you haunt my dreams with your face
Showing up on the stage that is my eyelids
Voice saying, No. No it can’t be.

Instead you haunt my dreams
my mind stuffed full of what ifs,
your voice saying, No. Well maybe it can be.
But I do not love you anymore.

Definition of Bitch

While in one of my communication classes for the semester, we debated the meaning of bitch. Was it still offensive to the girls in the room? How was it used in context? When was it ok for people to call someone a bitch? It got me thinking about how I think of the term bitch. A few years ago, it would have been considered extremely taboo. Bitch was for female dog breeders and that was it. Besides that, it was used negatively by rappers or people trying to offend. However, what I've found is that there is now three sections of a definition of bitch and they all range in seriousness.

1) "We're all bitches." "We're all whores." *insert random badass word here*
     We all know the nights. We're kidding with our girlfriends. Maybe some drinks have been involved. We kid about everyone being a bitch. It has a childlike tone. Everyone knows that no one is serious. It's all just shits and giggles.

2) "Oh you're such a bitch, but we still love you."
   This is the girl that's a hardass, but she's got meaning behind it. On the surface, she may act bitchlike and be a bit gruff on the seams, but inside, she just really cares for her friends. And it comes across. She can have a serious tone, but she can also joke about being a bitch. She accepts her role as someone that combines a badass attitude with sentiment and sweetness. She gets it.

3) "You're a bitch."
   And then there are some girls that truly are bitches. They seem heartless. They have no reason to be outright mean to people. They may flirt with their "friend's" boyfriends or flirt with the guy at the bar that you've already called dibs on. They don't seem to understand that a girl code exists in this world. This is where bitch gets its offensive nature.

Bitch does not always have to be considered mean. It's not always derogatory. It gets a bad rap from being misunderstood. Sometimes, all it takes is a bit of a discussion of "how do you mean that" to clear the air. We just need to help it along and as girls, realize that sometimes clarification is needed.

Next to Me- Emeli Sande

The Dream by Louise Bogan

O God, in the dream the terrible horse began
To paw at the air, and make for me with his blows,
Fear kept for thirty-five years poured through his mane,
And retribution equally old, or nearly, breathed through his nose.

Coward complete, I lay and wept on the ground
When some strong creature appeared, and leapt for the rein.
Another woman, as I lay half in a swound
Leapt in the air, and clutched at the leather and chain.

Give him, she said, something of yours as a charm.
Throw him, she said, some poor thing you alone claim.
No, no, I cried, he hates me; he is out for harm,
And whether I yield or not, it is all the same.

But, like a lion in a legend, when I flung the glove
Pulled from my sweating, my cold right hand;
The terrible beast, that no one may understand,
Came to my side, and put down his head in love.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

We try to sit next to one another
hands kept to ourselves, my laptop warming
my pant legs. But as we play, you poke
and tickle knowing my weakness.
I have no power of objection
as your lips graze my neck, teeth
nipping. The laptop is quickly forgotten,
thrown aside like a 5-year-old
and a week old Christmas present.
I submit to your dominance.

But as we play, you say, We have tried this before.
Why should it matter? When you are near,
my blood boils and I know yours does too.
Our lips meet, your hands resting on my chest,
fireworks and sparks. Maybe we cannot see
each other as often as we'd like, but...

Isn't love worth it?

For denying my feelings is more painful
than trudging through a long distance relationship,
exchanging little visit, tiny trinkets, and Skype dates.
Hug me again, envelope me in your arms and keep me safe.

Let love be.

Ode to a Phone

You are my child.
I tuck you in at night, letting you charge.
I wrap you in your case so you can be safe.
I panic when you are lost in the jungle of my purse.
I cry when a drink spills and you break.

In return, you do everything for me.
You help me spend time with my friends.
You let me write my blog and Instagram my martini.
You allow me to chronicle my life via Twitter.
You show me funny gifs on Tumblr.

You store more information than I could in my brain.
I play games with you, competitively trying to win
but you do not play games back, you are there for me.
Even though sometimes my love for you does not show
I appreciate everything you do. 

Smokefire

It rises from the coals, settling in the nostrils
just a quick breathe inward releasing droplets
of water down a cheek. It musters
unwillingly, a fog clouding the judgment
leaving a stained trail behind. It chokes
the senses, pokes at the weak, a fire
meant for victory, but now more the stint
of past defeat. But it continues to raise
itself into the sky, its tail following close behind,
lifting the stench that once gave it its name.

Douglas Fly

(An elegy.)

He always hung them in the porch,
splatters of red, blue and gold,
tiny beaks bright orange or black,
wings spanning north to south, east to west.

He knew every call, every crow, every sparrow,
eagle, bluebird, swallow, as he tricks
us grandkids and my grandmother into thinking
one of them has entered the house.

He helped fix their nests, watched over them
and in death, they accept him as one.
Do you believe in reincarnation?
he asked me when the clock ticked its final hours.

I did not know how to respond, but somehow
I'd like to believe he is encased in their feathers,
has grown his own wings and flies overhead
to watch down on me.

Carhartt

(Intended to be a sonnet, but does not 100% follow rhyme scheme or syllable count.)

Riding in his Chevy Blazer, window wind
whipping my hair as I rest shotgun, hand
on his leg, music of cowboys blaring through
cranky speakers. We cruise, bumpy road not
mattering, red light, brakes squeak and he looks
at me with clear ocean eyes, wiping dusty
jeans off not to get my summer dress dirty.
Three months overdue, second date lusty
glances waiting for another startling
kiss. First seen on the 'Net, now more alive
than ever, warm flesh to touch, hair to smooth,
arms to be wrapped in, love to believe in.
I never expected to love him so,
but I've fallen hard for the country boy.