Tag Archives: Love


When your grandmother dies,
she does not remain in the ground
or in the picture on your bedside table.
you will find,
that when a man kisses new dreams into you
you’ll remember to thank her for your face
and the lessons she whipped into your skin
thank her for making you worthy of good love
again and again.

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..When distant

I think I miss you,
all of you
then I remember all the yous you’ve been to me lately
and none of them are worth yearning for.

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Telephone wires

Does your here-ness
cancel out all of your there-nesses?
Does your love signify the end of my loneliness
or its transformation?

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He tries
but his words are gasoline by default
only because he is a man
and men are pyromaniacs in suits ,right?
They love to watch things dissipate.
Don’t they?

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Some days it snows somewhere..


I told myself that I would do away with writing silly love poems
 for boys who aren’t yet men,
I am writing more poems about you than necessary,
they are naked apologies
and granulated confessions
and all the grime and grit I let in.
these poems have slithered their way into the ink
of my pens
not even a nicely placed comma
can change me
not even a neatly dressed apology
can make me all that you’ve been looking for you
all you’re ready to love
You are a bad habit and I am a bad addict
We’re all kinds of wrong for each other
We are ash at the end of a cigarette
Not made to last
Made for the bottom of a shoe
Seconds fleeting
time slips under my thigh
the parasitic nature of first love
has me know that you’ll never leave the ink of my
you’ll never leave the brim of my lips
and when you’re finally a man and you’ve learnt
to love back
my pens, my ink, my keys
and my lips will still write of that boy
that boy who tainted my poetry.

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.catching petals before they break

I’d like to see your scars patched up into a ball of sunshine,
maybe I can apologize for never once being sorry
but it’s not every day that one finds their peace
in this story
she saves herself.
in this story
the Princess slays the Beast

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Tulip Girl Earrings

Hello folks,
Well it’s almost morning time in Chicago and I thought I’d brighten up your Mondays with a colorful display. So aside from writing I design (not uncommon) and well now I have found a new love for making jewelry. I am the woman with the wild and wide collection of earrings so it was inevitable that I’d take the next crazy step and start to make them myself. And then I thought how could I combine my passions and make this new business venture a reachout initiative, well by donating of course!!

I give you Tulip Girl, my semi-line of handmade earrings that I intend to give half of all the proceeds to a charity in Malawi that deals with helping expectant mothers access clean drinking water, have some of the nutrients required for the growth of their unborn child, gain educational on some child-birthing and infancy and then gain access to Doctors that will deliver their babies safely. In a third world country a high percentage of mothers and babies die during child labor, every child deserves to live and every mother deserves the chance to watch that happen. So please spread the word,this is just a small step but by purchasing one of these pairs of earrings you will help, even if only minimally, in saving a life.

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All earrings cost $14 except the button earrings that are $5 a pair.

Please contact me to make your purchase at : tulipgirlus@gmail.com
or call :                         US Number:   +1575-386-2455

 “There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.” 
― John Holmes

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..A love affair

How I wish I’d found a mocking bird
singing to a cherry tree,
laughing on a bending bough
starring at my feet, dear me!!
dear my!!
The Mocking Bird
it’d stare
it’d stare
it’d stare.
and mocking bird
and swinging bough
and blowing wind
and starring eyes
and dancing sun.
And contorted clouds
hornet’s nest
Kneaded dough.

I want to see this cherry tree
Bitter boughs
Sheen brown skin
That has made a wandering bird
fall so deeply in love
tossing away its teasing tongue,
its sneering roar.

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Loving my new haircut :). Picture by my sister http://soleilart365.wordpress.com/

My pockets are compiled
of odd things
I have ventured into the world
I bring you back shopping receipts
and old bubblegum.
what more can a wanderer offer?
what more can you beg from a dreamer?
I belong to the leap
the pure dive for something only
movement can give,
the jolt.
the zest.
the running flames.
I hope to never taste like bitter butter
on stale bread
or smile with less sunshine on my lips
or stay longer than a city’s air permits.
Chances are :
you won’t forget me
Chances are:
you’ll never want to
I bring you all of me.

(Hello from Chicago folks!!)

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…Tired wheels

[ For mothers of young angels.]

Gnawing butterflies

On taunting onesies,

Spinning mobile.

Molding crib.

Unsung lullabies.

Bibs and bows.

Training wheels.

Sunk beneath myself.

What now of these carriage bones?

This never tiring silence.

These ogling teething toys.

This roaring pain.

Disconsolate tears,

Branches broke,

Stars mistaken for rainbows,

Shed of laughter.

I need the other end of this cord.

This is a two-way conversation,

I need the other end of this string.

What will I do with these carriage bones?

This crib blood?

This sinking depth?

This teasing child-cry replaying in my head?

How will it waddle in on new walking feet

And mumble my name

From behind two inchoate teeth?

Carriage bones.

Restless hate.

Homeless love.

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