Brenda

Some scars run deep.

Some scars made you weep.

Some scars made you lose sleep.

Some scars haunt the narrative.

Some scars made you yell an expletive.

Some scars are neither positive nor negative.

Some scars you forget how they were made.

Some scars are lessons learned and games played.

And some scars..

Over time..

Fade.

Looping

from past

to present

to future.

Everything is happening now.

All at once.

Forever.

I took apart my heart.

I took apart my pain.

I feel you in my heart.

I feel your lips in the rain.

I choose you over and over and over.

The wolf of my potential stares at me every day.

The wolf of what I know I can create stares at me. Expectantly.

The wolf of my ancestors looks at me. Stares at me. Knowingly.

The wolf that bit me, that destroyed me and left me for dead passes by to see how i’m doing after he attempted to eat me. He’s surprised I’m still alive.

I realized I’ve been feeding the last wolf.

I realize I was starving the other wolves.

Thinking they might bite me.

For they are wolves too.

But not all wolves bite.

Some wolves protect.

Some wolves defend.

I begin to feed the wolf of potential, the wolf of creation, the wolf of my ancestors. Taking my time. Thanking them for their patience. Their belief. Their knowing.

————————————————————————-

Finally, I stand up and walk into the world leaving behind the wolf that bit me..

With the wolf of potential in front of me,

the wolf of creation next to me,

The wolf of my potential stares at me every day.

The wolf of what I know I can create stares at me. Expectantly.

The wolf of my ancestors looks at me. Stares at me. Knowingly.

—b.jean

Romantically,

Poetically,

We say what we mean and we say it,

Riskally.

Yeah that’s a word.

In poetry world,

Especially.

Now if we say what we mean, we should do what we say right?

Typically.

But sometimes the poet can say it,

phonetically.

And still not do it,

Unfortunately.

Matters of the heart are ever so,

Messily.

But maybe,

Maybe,

A word spoken true and romantic action made honestly,

Can mend a broken heart.

It can be a Remedy.

Don’t you agree?

Wouldn’t it be Heavenly?

She thought in prose

She was born in the right era

Where women had rights, degrees, and could travel all of terra

She loved in prose

She saw the beauty in the days

She saw beauty in all ways

She was prose

She wrote for herself

She wrote to herself.

And finally, finally, she chose herself.

Sometimes I feel relief

Sometimes I feel grief

Sometimes I wonder could have been

Sometimes I know it would have been

Sometimes I feel regret

Sometimes I acknowledge the neglect

Sometimes I allow myself to wonder

Sometimes I know there’s no point to ponder

Sometimes I remember the good

Sometimes I remember the bad

All times I am thankful for your motivation

All times I am thankful for your creation.

has allowed me to carve out my own place.

In the world,

in society,