#boomama

"You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress"🙃❤️ #HappyFriday #itssafetosayshorthairfitsmebest #Flashbackfriday #boomama

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 I’ll study for my exam as you would’ve wanted and I’ll 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

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

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

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I haven't any other option

It's vital.

And though you’re saintly- it’s the spirited sort of fire and brimstone, and passion and love that is the beacon on your heart I need to clasp myself onto.