And Don’t Forget to Love Unconditionally

my grandfather came to me yesterday
he was hiding in between the beats
of my son’s sweet cries

hello, hello, hello

quit counting breaths
quit weighing the strength of
his grip on your fingers

I am taking care of things.

I was a child once,
he says.

I am a child now, I think.

my son looks up and smiles at nothingness,
his hollow mouth is valley wide

I imagine my grandfather
whispering firm instructions:

be happy
be healthy
go easy on your mother

I kiss the sky and whisper back
hello, hello, hello

I miss you so.

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Observations

babybreastfeeding

When you are most still is when I see you best.

There are blood vessels in your eyelids that are
shaped like diamonds and the slope of your nose
is something all its own (I’ve shook my head in front
of the bathroom mirror enough times to know it isn’t mine).

I listen closely to your resting breath and
it hums softly and consistently as summer evenings;
occasionally it shifts and for a moment is the
whooshing of an ocean wave.

I place a hand to the curve of your back
and wish for more time – always, more time.
The thick, pink flesh above your elbows
is my contribution to this world.

I can’t fit any more life in me,
I’m so full of love for you.

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#BeReal – HASTYWORDS

Nicole Marie:

#BeReal. It all starts HERE.

Originally posted on hastywords:

Welcome to the #BeReal series!

Over the next month, I am showcasing several unique people.  You will judge them.  That’s okay.  And it will be natural for you to do that.

I put together this series because teens everywhere are jumping on this #DontJudgeMe bandwagon.  Well, I think the trend needs some context.  The hashtag #DontJudgeMe seemed to come from nowhere.  But it spread like wildfire, and was used millions of times in a very short period of time!  If you don’t know what I am talking about, just Google “#DontJudgeMe” and you will see thousands of teens making #DontJudgeMe videos. You can read more about what I think of the challenge HERE.

We live in a kaleidoscope world where we’re all different.  We are living art.  Being viewed and critiqued by those around us.  We are quickly assessed and categorized.  We are judged by everyone we meet.  That’s how we work.  It’s part of…

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Letter to Someone

Dear You

 

Dear

rotten, impossible you

 

my bones are tired as the

corners of my waterfall mouth.

 

I scream at walls instead of

your crumpled cardboard promises;

I call on the projectionist to

turn off the lights in your eyes.

 

If you’d only

remove stone fingers

from flowered ear canals,

 

If you’d only

uncurl the fists you

shake at nothingness

 

maybe then you could

reach out long enough to feel

how brittle I’ve become in your wake.

 

 

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In a world so quick to judge, just #BeReal

Nicole Marie:

#BeReal

Originally posted on The SisterWives:

This is a first for SisterWives – not only are we on trend, but thanks to Hasty, we ARE the trend – yesterday, in response and outrage at the #DontJudgeMe tag (where people post ‘before and after’ pics of themselves in an Ugly Duckling transformation to show their (now) levels of beauty and acceptability), this amazing lady created a new hashtag, and it’s one we should ALL use – #BeReal.

Hasty BeReal SW

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Asymmetries

I.

Her mouth is wildflowers

but her tongue is too tame for its own good.

 

II.

She was raised up in a climate too hot to keep

the skin from melting at the edges of her eyes

and then the world was only horizontal,

so that she never saw the days rise and fall

but shift hazily from right to left, left to right,

like the pages of a magazine.

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Rosemary

what if she disappeared
quick and clean as a rainstorm

would you still love her when
she is little more than earth?

perfume stale on a necktie
rosemary and basil fat in the kitchen

these things aren’t tangible
like her hands on your mouth

wheeling through the seasons
with the windows rolled up
isn’t really living, she told you

four arms, four legs
two hearts, one home
these are the roots of us

waste the days on fleeting laughter
on the way she looks at the end of the night

put on your best suit and
go puddle jumping

it won’t matter like
the way she smiles in the rain

if she wants snow in July
disembowel the Egyptian cotton pillowcases

tear down the silk curtains and
she’s queen for a day

bask in the way she ties a
perfect knot around the
neck you kiss when you’re sorry

the way she glides across the
living room and calls on the help

because when she’s gone
when she’s really, truly a memory

you won’t ache for things,
for money well spent, for her rosemary

instead you’ll keep her best in the
all of the jeweled spontaneity

in the way her body felt
so light in its blissful carelessness

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So You Want to Quit Drinking

Nicole Marie:

An amazing piece by an amazing writer and a good friend. A must-read, drinking problem or not.

Originally posted on Running on Sober:

(the following poem contains profanity and raw imagery. it is not intended for young, nor sensitive, eyes. it is inspired by several bukowski pieces, each linked to in the footer. while bukowski, to my knowledge, never sobered up, there are few who understood alcohol’s powers as well as he did. I’d like to think he had both bluebird and kraken in his heart, and would not hesitate to let you borrow either, or both, though he’d probably ask you for a six-pack in payment. hey, we all have our demons, baby. if you need help, get some help. don’t let them win. you’re worth saving.)

***

so you want to quit drinking

after bukowski

so you want to quit drinking
give up the bottle
clean up
dry up
grow up

so you’re finally ready
to quit waking up
in strange places
with spit
on your face
vomit
in your…

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6:39

it was mourning
in a quiet, orange sunrise

it was a warm mattress
with warm bodies,
central heating

snow dusted front porch,
coffee set to brew its heavy, familiar self,
a thing of happiness, twisted
when paired with death

6:39 and the animals
were asleep, I was asleep,
comfortable actually

funny how even the
paint on the walls
looks different now

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When We Are Here

daddyandson

Somewhere, ages ago now
I was setting sail on bones and ash,
catching the wind with an old t-shirt,
watching you and everything I knew
turn doll-size in the distance.

Miles had spread at a viral rate
by the time I went overboard and you

you

were already there to buoy me back to shore,
to refill my chest with all the reasons there were to stay
and when I opened my eyes all I noticed was the
brilliant orange of the sun as it left us.

So I’ve been using all your edges to keep me upright
but you’ve never seemed to mind (you’re too busy
seeing me in some post-apocalyptic calm, something
I cannot), you who chooses over and over to
stand out in the rain with me.

It’s all so surreal now, way back behind us,
and it feels like someone else’s temporary sorrow
when we are here, cradling the shiny newness of a
living, breathing thing that has your mouth, my chin, your nose.

It is almost impossible to think how simple
a decision it was, to look into your eyes, nod, press my mouth,
my body to yours and suddenly we were changed.

I think I’ll spend forever thanking you.

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