The Pink Toilet

I am a pink toilet

On the street

My innards displayed for all to see

I’m a disarray of my pink parts

I’ve been here for days, untouched

Am I undisturbed or discarded?


As the World came Alive

She sat on the hill

In the dead grass,

That satchel still across her chest.

She crossed her legs

And felt relaxed.

Relaxed but not happy.

She thought about how this was okay.

The birds were chirping.

The birds had returned.

As the world came alive,

She wondered if it would help to cry.

She sat and sat and then picked up this pen.

Maybe answers could be found this way.

Maybe there were no answers to be found.

Maybe this time the only answer is still

The question

And to live is to just sit.

Sit, sit, sit

In the discomfort

Until it’s time to rise

As the world comes alive.

You’ll Always Be

I will take you with me.

In my heart you’ll be.

In a song so depressing,

In a jog enlightening,

In an exchange inspiring,

You’ll be.

I may be alone

Surrounded by thousands,

Struggling to remember who I am.

But I’ll think of you

And how you allowed me

To be.

That’s Not Why I Choose to Stay

Would it help to tell you that I love you.

After all the abuse

After all the sabotage

The isolation

The fiery words

     I cannot separate myself from you.

     But that’s not why I choose to stay.

You were there when a man in uniform came to the house to tell us the news

You were there when Mom broke down

You were there during the move and the awkward stops and starts of a new life

     I cannot separate myself from you.

     But that’s not why I choose to stay.

You knew me as a chubby kid, when I’d sneak gobs of peanut butter from the kitchen

You understood the comfort I found in food inversely to how well I understood calories

You didn’t judge; you didn’t know how.

You do now. And you do.

The abuse, sabotage, isolation, and fiery words.

You expect the perfection that I cannot provide.

I am you.

     And I cannot separate myself from you.

     But that’s not why I choose to stay.

Beneath the criticism is belief

In your abilities



But darling dear, I am afraid.

What if we never make it?

What if we never do?

Following the Prescription

It presents so normally, doesn’t it,

The prescription for our American lives.

I find value in my appearance, in my achievements,

In my comparison with the waist of others,

Just as I’m told.

I hold my tongue, not taking that next bite

And not taking the conversation deeper.

Just as I’m told.

I will find acceptance when I fill my prescription,

I will be like everyone else.

Just like I’m told to be.

To Heaven or Hell

When the crust has fallen out of my hands, I do not look to Heaven, I do not think of Hell

I think of how it was


I remember when you made a funny face, not wanting to smell my dirty feet, turning your head away

When you came home late, after how many days or months, I don’t know

The boys and I ran in the dark across the kitchen tiles, through the shadows, to your room

We knew you were home

We could sense the peace in our hearts, in our home

I remember when

You taught me how to say my kindergarten teacher’s last name


You crossed your arms, pretending to be cold


You didn’t know how cold our lives were about to become

And then

You were gone

To Heaven or Hell I do not wonder like other little daughters

I do not wonder if reunion is possible anymore

I wonder only of what I’ve missed.