California Dreaming (Writing About You Again)

We’re on a hillside,
overlooking the Pacific,
and it’s 80 degrees;
call it California Dreaming

Chilled champagne,
a fruit platter,
me in a silk robe
and you with a notebook in hand.

And I can see it,
your eyes covered by shades,
but there’s a twitch in your cheek
and your hand is steady with each stroke of the pen,
and I swore I’d never fall for a writer,
but, man.

In the twilight,
I look below and see Byron and Mary
strolling on the beach.
I hear Charlotte, Emily, and Anne
swoon in time with the waves that are breaking—

when I look back at you, head bent over a notebook,
pen still in hand, I stretch out my arms,
wrap them around your neck,
feeling you relax into it…

and you know
that I only write poems about dreams,
because no where in Jersey could we
maintain a patio set
without snow, or wind,
or the chance of getting it wet.


When the “Door” Shuts

So the boy
you loved three years ago,
cried two years OVER,
finally is in a relationship again.

And you cry,
before you remember

this is the same boy
who told you not to dance in your seat,
who smiled when he dimmed the happiness in your eyes,
who left,

So the boy
you LOVED three years ago,
maybe never stopped wanting
in some way, shape, or form,
is finally in a relationship again

and you spend the next five hours on YouTube
dancing in your seat,
and this time, it only takes 300 minutes
rather than 730 days
before you’re smiling again.

Energy: Gabby “Healing Process” Update

Do you know how little the amount of energy I have put into myself is?

I have spent up so much of this life force inside me hating, missing, loving, loathing other people besides myself and have found that now I’m a state detrimental to my health.
When you expend all that energy into other people and don’t take time out for yourself, don’t step back and see how they’re affecting your life when it’s exactly that: your life, you’re never going to get better. 

I guess I’m preaching to the choir.
I have spent so much time especially missing and hating what others did to me, wondering that I have stopped my growth as a person. I have lost track of who God wants me to be, and the only person who is letting these people affect my life is me

It is time to let only my decisions affect my life. 
it is time to live for me, and who God wants me to be, especially time to figure out His wonderful purpose and plan for me.

Letting go is letting God; regardless of what other people say. It’s giving something or someone up to His higher gracious power, His loving power.
Because without God’s love and grace, I don’t think I’d be able to re-build myself back up. I don’t think I could have thought that I could actually be happy on my own and have epiphanies (despite other people telling me these very words) that only I have the power over what hurts me, of who.

When you live not for the purpose of searching for “completion” (through others) and instead live to do God’s work, the only energy you will expend will bring Him glory in the end.
And, despite what people say, there’s no gore on our part to receive His glory, His unfailing grace on us.
That’s pretty amazing. 

I’m sorry it took me forever,
but I want you to know healing is a process and becoming the person God intends me to be is the goal in my life right now. Faith is my main anchor.
I want you to know the only energy I have left is on me.

And that’s pretty amazing.


I take care of myself
to be prepared for the next sap
who says he wants to
“audit my life”
and make sure I get treated the way I deserve.

In short,
I take of care of myself,
because you didn’t when you
said you would.
I take care of myself because
you ran
when you promised you’d stay.

I take care of myself
I have a feeling
they’ll all do the same thing.

But if I’m ready,
it’ll hurt less this way.

Night Owl

I am sitting in a pitch black room, but somehow it appears navy. My face is only lit up by the man-made light that comes from a fluorescent computer screen. Pandora is playing James Blake and I am happy.

I have just finished a Vinyasa set of my own making and somehow I am still breathing. Doped up on allergy medicine and my own worst enemy, midnight memories, I sit in silence and feel my body sigh with relief. I am happy.

I sit with my legs folded under me and my hair wrapped in a makeshift bun at the nape of my neck. My legs are bare and prickly; I’m in an old T from cheer and “yoga shorts” that have my ass hanging more than halfway out and I am happy.

I am sipping on ice water, feeling the dull throb at the base of my spine; I let my body unwind. I am happy.