"You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress"šā¤ļø #HappyFriday #itssafetosayshorthairfitsmebest #Flashbackfriday #boomama
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"You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress"šā¤ļø #HappyFriday #itssafetosayshorthairfitsmebest #Flashbackfriday #boomama

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'Boomama 2014' by Ravyn LaRue
I cannot allow myself to forget you and it scares me to think I might be but last year on this day I was broken because although it had been years since you died I felt like I needed the words you wrote in your letter more than I had ever needed them before and last year I crumbled completely but I cannot let that happen Iāll study for my exam as you wouldāve wanted and Iāll read your letter if I have even the slightest spare moment I should have done that then and the past is another land though I cannot afford to leave you completely behind
'Pink Pearls' by Ravyn LaRue
I have pink pearls Coral and lopsided But pretty in my mind They belonged to my grandma Mama says I should talk to her again I didnāt bring the pearls to Chicago Thieves live there As do demons, as I learned I only wear them out Special times Often to the Guthrie I wore them to Cabaret There is a sadness, of course, in them I never saw Boomama wear them Only simple small white-teeth ones She wore pallid pearls and red shirts And I see Ms.Hart do the same Her words are contemporary and progressive But the letter my grandma wrote- Though old-fashioned and aiming for domesticity- Guides me, too I believe there were many ghosts that night But when I cried onstage as Marmee I think that was Boomama She liked musicals anyways I remember sitting in her living room Watching āCarouselā and getting bored But āYouāll Never Walk Aloneā- Thatās her too I know Patty gave me the pearls But they were my grandmas And I treat them as such, with veneration I remember once, standing in the kitchen Boomama said she wanted to be a saint Regardless of all else, I think she worked miracles And she helps me still I would like to think sheād appreciate the choice I made on Monday But who knows Those pearls hold a fraction of her spirit in my mind And I wear them to many shows Since I canāt take Boomama to see them anymore But I remember being onstage for āCarouselā The consensus was that it sucked But I couldnāt care less Since I felt her presence And I think that helped me, at least in that moment To shy away from being timid Since I felt her then And that sort of spirituality isnāt to be questioned, in my mind I plan to give the necklace to one of my children, if I have them Even if not, I know itās important enough To not let it die with me Since, after all, it didnāt die with her
'Pink Pearls' by Ravyn LaRue
I have pink pearls Coral and lopsided But pretty in my mind They belonged to my grandma Mama says I should talk to her again I didn't bring the pearls to Chicago Thieves live there As do demons, as I learned I only wear them out Special times Often to the Guthrie I wore them to Cabaret There is a sadness, of course, in them I never saw Boomama wear them Only simple small white-teeth ones She wore pallid pearls and red shirts And I see Ms.Hart do the same Her words are contemporary and progressive But the letter my grandma wrote- Though old-fashioned and aiming for domesticity- Guides me, too I believe there were many ghosts that night But when I cried onstage as Marmee I think that was Boomama She liked musicals anyways I remember sitting in her living room Watching 'Carousel' and getting bored But 'You'll Never Walk Alone'- That's her too I know Patty gave me the pearls But they were my grandmas And I treat them as such, with veneration I remember once, standing in the kitchen Boomama said she wanted to be a saint Regardless of all else, I think she worked miracles And she helps me still I would like to think she'd appreciate the choice I made on Monday But who knows Those pearls hold a fraction of her spirit in my mind And I wear them to many shows Since I can't take Boomama to see them anymore But I remember being onstage for 'Carousel' The consensus was that it sucked But I couldn't care less Since I felt her presence And I think that helped me, at least in that moment To shy away from being timid Since I felt her then And that sort of spirituality isn't to be questioned, in my mind I plan to give the necklace to one of my children, if I have them Even if not, I know it's important enough To not let it die with me Since, after all, it didn't die with her
September 22nd
Happy birthday Morgan Sad deathday Boomama Iām far too far from both of you Iām far too busy for either of you But I have my ways Though they may be half-assed They arenāt half-hearted I wore a Boomama blouse And Iāll talk to Morgie later on speaker phone Everythiā¦
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'September 22nd' by Ravyn LaRue
Happy birthday Morgan
Sad deathday Boomama
I'm far too far from both of you
I'm far too busy for either of you
But I have my ways
Though they may be half-assed
They aren't half-hearted
I wore a Boomama blouse
And I'll talk to Morgie later on speaker phone
Everything is sad and unreachable today
But I carry on
As you would want me to
So I do
And I will
And Christmas will be Christmas
And I'll reach you both then
I'll reach you both then
Since Morgie is with Mama
and then I will be too
And Boomama lives on in family
She lives on in the family
And I'm crying
I must write about war
And life
And story-books
I must go on with good things
Like shows I've never seen
And letters from friends
The tears won't even come out
Instead they gloss my eyes over
I miss you both
All is unreachable today
But because of you I carry on
I must
I haven't any other option
'2207' by Ravyn LaRue
I feel like I'm forgetting you
Which is impossible
I'm forgetting the commonplace of you
All I remember is ceremony others remind me of
I need to recall the small simple things
Because they matter so much more
How I would go over unannounced so often
And you didn't mind
Ever
And I could tell you anything, and you'd always try to help
It sounds so far from unique
But it meant the world to me
So what does it matter if kindness is boring
It isn't
It's vital.
'Boomarmee' by Ravyn LaRue
There must be more to you
Your daughter died-Ā
And youāre still just pastel warmth
I like my hearts bruised and charred
And you are all too saintly
Itās like playing a relative whoās become
Posthumously perfect
It may be gorgeous but it isnāt real
But the hope sparked at the bleakest of times-
That is your soul
Which I wish to water and grow
and carve into something mine
Iāll rip a page from an enchanted book
Light can be tragic and trifling
But I need you to be anything but boring
But you are also ripped to shreds and questioning-
Maybe death is best.
Sorrow is not enough
You are stretch marks and sickness and strength
You believe heaven is better than anything at all on earth
You merely wish to give your dears a better future than the past you had
-Every Saint has a past-
You are part of the fight against inequality
You have a soul seeping from inside your widened ribs and widened hips
You long for your belovedās embrace, but you are enough for yourself and your dear ones
You know the importance of Art and Kindness
You are deeply spirited and passionate and autumnal and comforting
You would hold a skeleton child in your lap without fear
You read the bible and admire its gore- reading it aloud became your catharsis for when your outside had to be a demure porcelain shell
You want to cut your hair off and swim bare in the cold ocean in the misty morning.
Thereās a Scorpio soul longing to escape
Thereās camaraderie between you and the oppressed millions
Emotionally volatile, you are not afraid to cry, though death is no reason to-
If one is good, which we know she was, there is nothing to fear; she is in heaven, and you will join her with the matron who made you, who you now are.
I suppose youāre more like me than I may have once thought-
Though on the outside you are merely milk and honey-
There is a dark fiery passion burning inside you,Ā
And like me, those you love- you adore and nothing else really matters
Death is just a passageway, and itās more intriguing than it is sad or scary
It is beautiful, like life, even in tragedy-
And your beautiful darlings- like my own dear quail
And though youāre saintly- itās the spirited sort of fire and brimstone, and passion and love that is the beacon on your heart I need to clasp myself onto.