It’s a Given

It’s got to be summer.
The windows are down.
“Chicken Fried”
or “Brown Eyed Girl”
or something that is
irrevocably
warm, wind-in-air
plastered smiles,
hands raised through a
sun roof
good
is playing off the radio.

This is my version,
so we’re driving down the Causeway.
And the reeds are whipping
to and fro
and your fingers are locked with mine
hand is raised to your lips,
because you know I like that.
And you let me sing,
you smile when I dance in the passenger seat.

We hit the bridge
the same time as the chorus.
I look out over the river
I’ve grown up
and around
and between from
and thank God for the marshland.
Thank God for the tiny hometown
where I spent summers feeding ducks,
writing on the porch swing,
letting the sun kiss me in all the places
you will touch so tenderly.

And when we reach the curb at my mom-mom’s,
you walk around the car,
open my door
and start singing to me,
as I lead you down the street,
past my church,
holding your hand,
taking you through my childhood,
enjoying a summer day,
realizing love can be
warm, no traffic,
fireflies at the first sign of dusk,
laughter in the
moon light
good.

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Your Eyes on Little Me

I’m excited
for when you become a dad.

This isn’t the normal break-up poem,
about how I would’ve been the perfect mom,
how our children
would be a reason for staying together all this time,
or a way to make-up for “never getting over”
you,

because I have.

But “Next to You” is playing
and I’m feeling nostalgic.

So let me say that I’m excited
you’d be the father
that lets his child believe
they can fly.
You’ll be the daddy
his little girl comes running to,
the one she’ll want the love of her life to be modeled after.

Promise me
you’ll never lose that light in your eyes
and the laugh
that shakes a whole room.
Promise me
you’ll tell them
all the good and bad things
and you’ll recall with clarity
the moments that made you,
you,
for them,
to them.

It’ll take time,
but when I see a dad charging toward his kid
like a plane,
I’ll see you.
And when I see a child
laughing,
it’ll sound like you.

We grew apart,
but promise me,
you’ll never grow up.

Sunlight Sedation

It is the way
you kissed my palms
like they had been holding
all of your oxygen
for the last two months;
pulling up the hem of my T-shirt
and reminding my stomach
with your mouth
how worthy it is
of worship,
of mercy.

You will never be
a new religion to me:
but rather a louder way to love.
You will be my reminder
of daily grace.

Because as your lips met my skin,
my eyes were wrinkling themselves
into two old maids
laughing in rockers
on the front porch of
their country house in the summer.
Two windows
squinted like they were staring
at the sun.,
not caring if they were blinded
in happiness.

Like love never left;
like the splinters of hurt and
regret remained in my heart
only so
when the time was right,
I could re-make them into a door jam.

It’s like saying your name,
missing how much
my lips
pursed at the “shh”,
and now, not wanting
to be quiet
about this.

I’m Alive, I Swear

And pretty damn happy.

I have written some stuff I want to share with you guys again. So thanks for sticking by, especially in the drought.
If you don’t want to wait on the blog posts follow my tumblr at overturnedinkwells.

Update:
Mentally, I’m healthier. Emotionally I’m healthier.
Physically, I’ve been side-tracked, but I want to get back into yoga to clear my mind and stretch out the stress.
I’ve started school again, so that’s another reason updates haven’t been as frequent.

One thing I want but have yet to make time for (and should be chastised for) is reaching out to my devotions with my loving and gracious God. I value my Christianity, but do not always practice what he preached (I need to work on language, easy to succumb to).

But right now,
I am happy with my life, I don’t mind being alone, I’m not wasting effort on anyone who doesn’t make effort/time for me. That easy.
Who wants to be in my life, will make a point of it. And if I don’t want to put effort, I’ll make that known.

Here’s to happy readings.
Thanks for all your love and your commitment to this blog.

Much love,
Gabby

Gabrielle

“Learn how to love someone well 
& don’t fuck it up.” 
– Moriah Pearson

So start with loving yourself.

I’m tired of watching myself
as if from a crow’s nest
this girl’s who’s scared of
her own reflection.

She holds saucers with shaky hands
and guzzles down cups of insecuri-
tea.

I want to look at her and say:
“Baby,
baby,
baby,
learn to sigh your own name,
your full name, and listen as it catches the wind.

Listen as it guides ships from ports
and toward undiscovered islands
of self-exploration.

Discover that you are every bit as varied
as the grains of sand upon the shore.
Discover your reflection in the see-through blue water
and do not be shocked when you find that it is 
beautiful.
Discover the feel of the sun on your skin and that
it is something else that makes you feel alive.”

I am tired of the looks of pity
from Kiana when she tells you:
“Even butterflies do not know
their own beauty.”
If it takes metamorphosis, 
to transform a girl
into a goddess,
I will stay through the hibernation period,
just to watch you launch from
a cocoon of self-doubt
and second guessing.

You have called yourself
“Duff” for far too long
and I am sickened by the fact
you hate your own empathy.
You find it weak that you cannot
just flirt with anybody.
You find it weak
that love consumes you
entirely
and have sworn off becoming attached
because it cracks open
your vulnerability.

I know how you place yourself in shadow,
consider yourself “there” and let others’ lights encompass rooms
as you smile from the edges. I know you may not accept
that you draw people in and that what you consider darkness is what others consider a story
and you are full of so much 
glory, baby,
baby,
baby.

Start with realizing that loving 
anything
takes strength.

Start with realizing
that you should first be
happy
with yourself
before being
happy
with anyone else. 

Start with realizing
that it’s okay to grow 
alone.
Ivy must start as a seed
before climbing the trellis. 

Start with loving
now,
with living 
now,
with watching
just how much a year can change.

And when you stand upon the shore,
with the waves of your island
lapping your toes,
I want you to know:
It’s all different,
you’re all different, and 
it’s 
okay.

I want you to learn 
to sigh your own name,
your full name, and listen as it catches on the wind.

Understand, 
this 
is only the beginning, 
and it is
perfectly okay
that you’re not the same.

This Poem Isn’t About You, But Thanks, Anyway

I’m not having a hard time
believing in something called
radio violence;
in wrecked 
car crash messes
of butterfly wings
that have fallen from being
strung up amongst my ribs
and landed flat,
stagnant,
in my stomach. 

I am not quite certain of what will bring them back to life. 

I used to want to be called an author
but I am human origami
sitting in folded up masses of limbs
tucked behind places they should never be able to reach,
foot behind ear,
I still hear you every step of the way
it took me to admit that I had become a poet
in the face of disaster.

This is something make-up cannot cover.

Mask or disguise,
when I write to “lover”
know it is just hollow heartbeat
place holder soul
never Savior,
knight in shining armor
rusted on the road that led to Damascus,
I was blinded by the light that told me I
know longer needed to play damsel in distress. 

So, without further ado,

I introduce my self-conscious,
uninhabited hatred of self
turned to romancer of my reflection,
I fall for its charms each time.
I am pretty in that I can see beauty
in other things.
Know that discord alone can 
bring harmony
and that symphony is a 
mix of instruments, played at different intervals,
mess-formed,
but never messed UP 
melody.

I cannot write love poems.

I write about palm kissers,
and shadow chasers,
start my stories with “Happily ever after”
because I am often left with
“ONCE upon a time…”
far gone,
possibly wasted. 
I searched too long for princes,
when I should have been climbing down my tower,
forget trellis,
razor shredded tresses falling all around.

But,
when you look at me,
when you take the crazy,
when you make me laugh for sweet seconds
that don’t feel like agony…

I want to. 

Because somehow,
those memories,
the ones that stopped my car battery,
stop singing,
and I watch your eyes grow wide,
because in the cocoon of us,
butterflies are swarming.