Dear Fat Beverly

How I’d like to go back and talk to my fat self–

The one who sat all alone, like a book upon a shelf.

I’d tell that unknown beauty of a secret she’d soon know

That fixed the problem she endures, that burdens like a foe:

The diet you eat now, is loaded down with carbs

That piles on fat-filled layers, we cover up with garbs.

That diet leads you to a stroke, diabetes, heart too fast–

But then you’ll finally learn how to tame that beast, at last.

You will become determined to learn all that you can

To feed your body properly, and fix a new meal plan.

And then, your weight will drop a hundred pounds, and more!

You’ll be wearing clothes like you never dreamed, for sure!

But the news that’s best of all, is your health takes a turn–

That diabetes takes a hike; sure glad you finally learned!

So learn from my mistakes, and do yourself a favor:

Change your diet now, to a new plan you will savor.

 

 

Dear Harvey, Who’s about to be Born

 

Poem Eleven

 

Dear Harvey, Who’s about to be Born

 

Make sure you’re born on May 8.

Do not rush things and come out the day before.

Repeat: NOT THE DAY BEFORE!!!

That’s a good little boy…just cozy in and relax.

 

May 8 is a great day…three years after the Nazi’s surrendered to end the war.

The week the state of Israel will be formed – spurred on by an article in The Nation on May 8.

 

You’ve been dodging genetic bullets for a long time.

Great grandfather murdered in a Pogrom.

Grandfather escaping the Czar, alone as a teen.

Parents facing death and certainly no you if hitler had won and taken over America.

 

So just cozy in and surf that wave that rolls you out on May 8^th , child of mother May.

Because May 7 is a Vietnam Draft Lottery death warrant…as is the tenth and eleventh!

 

If you are born any of those days you will definitely get drafted, way off in 1969.

So just relax and enjoy floating the pond.

 

Your ancestors have been through enough war.

You need to grow up in Philly and randomly go to Woodstock.

Then join a hippie commune to give you the idea of hitchin’ out west.

So you can leave on that summer vacation and never come back.

Rather than have to worry about that dirty ol’ Draft.

 

So chill out Harvey…it’s more important than you know!

Just chill…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Me, Age 29, About to Get Married [11 – #dearformerself]

You’re going to regret this.
He’s not “the one;” he doesn’t even love you.
You’re going to cry on the way back up the aisle after and they will not be tears of joy because somehow, you already know.

But marry him anyway, because for you there is no other way to learn this lesson–
that God is a God of grace, not judgement; that He is the One True Love of your life;
that he has more grace and goodness in store for the rest of your life than you could have ever imagined.
That you are beautiful, and worthwhile, and courageous, and you have so much to offer the world.

It will take a long time to get there–years, and then a decade or more, but you will see so many sights along the way and have so many new experiences; you will wonder at this man’s lack of courage, thought, love.

And one day, someone will show up at the door of your own home and look at you, and you will begin to learn about love.

This marriage is a terrible doorway to a new world and how it’s going to hurt going through but in the end you will be so grateful for the entire thing you would do it again.

To Kill a Mockingbird

Each night at three, when stirs not a peep,
why, bird, must you sing another song?
Do you not know that people sleep?

I thought one night you were in league
for theft of sleep. You’re a deadly weapon!
You give me, daily, CHRONIC FATIGUE!!

But it’s you on a limb, alright;
not some fool’s dot mpv tricks
disturbing my dreamless night.

They’d wake me up on purpose –
my life’s basket of lunatics.
Oh bird, sweet bird, must you of sleep usurp us?

Surely, no other birds want to hook up.
Go find another branch, another tree, another yard!
Will you please just shut the fuck up?

Poem 12: “The Wisdom is Found in the Journey”

dear past self,

Stefanie at Seven

Dear Stefanie:

 

Remember when you were seven;

A little freckle-faced imp?

You weren’t always sure-footed

And often your big toe would be limp.

 

You liked to play with dolls

And brush out their hair;

And loved being on the swings

Flying high into the air.

 

At school you were smart

And wanted to be the first one done.

You thought if you were

You’d be able to have more fun.

 

Your friends were few

Except the ones in your head.

Going home when he was there

Was something to make you feel dread.

 

I wish I could hold you,

Old former self of mine.

You were so lonely

Searching for something you just couldn’t seem to find.

 

You lost yourself in music

And in making up all kinds of rhymes.

You’d play with your doll

And sing to her all the new lines.

 

I sometimes still feel I’m you

Trapped in a tender shell;

Wanting to escape,

Feeling doomed to hell.

 

Oh you sweet poor child

You never had the chance!

Never had the love,

Never learned how to dance.

 

Your next years weren’t better

And possibly became worse.

The hurt inside continued to burn;

Same chapter, different verse.

 

Oh you precious little girl,

With your eyes so blue:

This world is a sad place

One not meant for you.

 

I long to hold, squeeze, and protect you;

To shield you from all that is to come;

To save you from what you’ll go through,

Before all is said and done.

 

As you close your eyes, dear child

Lost in fitful sleep,

I gently kiss your forehead.

And for you–my self–I weep.

11. Moonbeam

11. Moonbeam

It’s past midnight

as I sip my coffee

and dig into my concrete filled brain,

to write some inspirational poetry.

Damn this fog!

Hush!

The croaking frog!

Glowing from a shimmering moonbeam

Inspiring a poem!

MOONBEAM!

Dear Former Idealistic Self, 20 Years Ago (Hour 11)

Dear former Idealistic Self, 20 Years Ago,

Twenty years is a blink, but you already know the relativity of time.
So listen, and change course.
The path you’re on, though good, is not the right path for you.
You feel lost and you’re searching for anything to give you stable ground.
But that ground leads you away from your dreams,
to a dead end that you’ll never forgive yourself for.
Don’t believe the lie that you were called.
You already know what you were born to do.
You’ll have to fight to do it, to make a way, but you can.

You’re an idealist, who gets a bad rap because you see reality, too.
As heartbroken as you feel, your hopes rise just as much.
But you must temper that hope with wisdom.
I’m so sorry to tell you, there are no miraculous doors that open.
You fight for everything, as you always have.
You are strong, even when you are at your weakest.
But don’t waste time hating that strength.
Be the Amazon you love. You’ll never bring her to life on screens of silver,
but you are a gladiator.
This is your path, though I know you do not want it.

Listen to your head before you go on your year long Academy adventure.
Don’t let religion brain wash you into believing in “the one”.
Use that year to build your dreams and education upon.
Don’t wait and flounder like I did.
Write, write, write, and write… one day you won’t have as much time.
And when you return home, let yourself get lost in the city.
Everyone else knows where you are, they’ll help you find your way.

You bear the weight of the world on your shoulders.
But none of it is your fault.
You must learn to cast the weight off, like a ball into the ocean.
Be brave and ask for all those things you don’t yet know how to do.
Answers will be given, then you can create the doors you want to open.

You have twenty years ahead of you.
Live them better than I did.

I’d Rather See You Cry

It’s so easy to hide it,
behind screens, or hands, or walls.
To tuck your pain away where it can’t
make things worse.  Or better.

I’ve heard voices break and connections go dead,
I’ve witnessed messages composed, deleted, and composed again,
Then still left unsent.
Or reduced to a single word.

I’ve had doors slammed and locked in my face,
backs turned to me, faces twisted away.
I’ve conversed through bathroom doors,
shields of hair and pulled up knees, comforters that failed to comfort.

I’ve watched faces seal the sorrow in,
seen it bitten it off with tightened lips,
beheld it smothered out by defenses I can’t image,
In eyes deep as the well of souls.

And I have hidden behind layers of my own.
Veils woven of dark humor, over walls built of analysis,
Around pain and fear and need I would burden no one else with.
Yet I expected trust.

Tears and trust are only easy for children.
For us they must be earned, and shared.
They cannot be taken, or stolen, or forced,
And they can be so easily lost.

I’d rather hold clenched hands and shaking shoulders,
hear sobbed imprecations and wailed confessions,
I’d rather let sorrow soak my shirt and pain pierce my heart.
I’d rather suffer together than hide separately, and suffer still.

Sweet Lady Jane

Those dark clouds are passing now

The sun shines on your face

Your eyes see right through me

I never could escape

Those who condemn our love

Where are they now?

I’m only concerned about

Our wedding vows, where I said

 

I promised to cherish you

In sickness and in health

How I would forsake all others

And love only you

For richer or poorer

For better or for worse

Till the day death do us part

Those are my vows to you

 

My sweet lady Jane

 

The years pass by way too fast

It seemed like yesterday

That I noticed you

Sitting across the way

In that glimmering instant

I knew I could not last

Another minute without you

I just couldn’t pass, then we said

I’ll love you forever

Forever and ever amen

We wouldn’t have to ever

Be alone again

I’ll be your sugar

And you’ll be my babe

And though dark clouds may form

We can fight them away

 

My sweet lady Jane

 

Two hearts become one

In a beautiful way

I will honor and cherish you

Starting today

You’ll never feel unwanted

I’ll never run away

Too much is never enough

When you talking about

 

My sweet lady Jane