Monday, January 12, 2009


and suddenly, everyone is a writer
everywhere you look someone is writing something you should have written first
and you think...damn
remember that skinny kid that wanted to be sent to her room
just so she could read and dream and write?
you had a diary by the time you were seven
when you still thought all boys were like your younger brother
and nobody was cooler than your mother.
whatever happened to that little pink book
with pink pages
and a gold padlock?
you can't even remember what it used to say
no that's a lie.
and here you are today
what do you have to show for it?
still a wannabe
clacking away on a computer
posting pieces of your mind that very few people read
putting yourself out there
but not enough to get noticed
not enough to get criticized.
that's always been your way.

november sunrise

We rise early and walk hand in hand to the seashore. There is a chill in the air but we have a blanket and each other's arms. We sit down and wait for the light to peek over the horizon, laughing and joking.
We have had so few of these moments lately. I want more of them. What most couples take ten years to experience we have spanned in ten months. It seems as though fifty years has gone by since we met and yet it still seems like only yesterday.
Here we are, it's beautiful here, with the sand, the sea, the sleepy sun yawning into the brightening sky. It's as though we've only just fallen in love, nothing to worry about, no billsbabydoctorsjobsfightsfamilygameschoreserrandsillnessaccidentschurchobligationssurprisesemptywalletsboringnightsgossipLIFE to get in the way.
It's just so...easy here. I relax into your chest and your chin rests on my hair. And I remember the first day I saw you.
It was like seeing the sun rise on a cold day.

labor day

You were born on a Thursday.
Your doctor scheduled a labor induction for the early morning of October 9, 2008, at the hospital in Mount Pleasant. We were not alone. Your father was there, and your godmother and another old friend of mine were there too.
We waited for hours. It rained. I slept. I wasn't allowed to eat. I was given an epidural and the doctor ruptured my membranes. More hours passed. Eventually I was informed that you would be born via cesarean.
I was terrified. I cried. I said I wanted to go home. Phones were ringing like sirens. I cried, cried, cried. I yelled to turn the phones off. Nobody listened. I was in a panic. I knew I had to do it, to see you. But that didn't mean I wanted to.
They wheeled me in to the operating room. It was bright and cold, hopeless, like ice. I became sick. They prepped me; set up a blue paper barrier. It was almost time, they said.
I asked for your father. Where is he?
He's coming.
Where is he?
He's on his way.
Finally, just before they sliced into me, he was there at my side. He held my hand and kissed my forehead. I started to cry. He sang our special song in my ear. I closed my eyes.
I barely felt the knife on my belly. I could feel the pull of your body against mine, trying to break free.
She has hair, the doctor said.
For the first time that day I cried tears of joy. To know something about you after wondering for so long was all I needed to understand this was the right thing.
When they brought you to me, I couldn't hold you, I wasn't allowed. But I got to touch you, whisper that special song in your ear as your father had just done.
I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck
And then you were gone and I was asleep.
When I awoke, your father brought you to me. You took right to my breast. It was a miracle. It was all I could have hoped for. I couldn't stop smiling. I swear it wasn't the morphine.
You have his hair, his eyes, his ears, his toes.
You have my nose, my mouth, my cheeks, my hands.
You weighed seven pounds, nine ounces.
You measured twenty-one inches long.
You hit a nine-point-nine on the APGAR scale.
You were born at six-oh-four in the evening, Eastern Standard Time.
You were born on October 9, 2008.
You were born on a Thursday.
Happy Birthday, Betsy.

two hearts

I imagine you curled tightly as a snail within me, a coil of hope and anticipation as you sleep in the cradle of my womb. When you move, I liken you to a little goldfish, twisting and shimmying in the sea of my belly. When you are removed from me, like the pulp of a pumpkin being hollowed out, it is my face that will light up like a jack o'lantern. When you cross the portal and are given to me, I will hold you tightly to my chest, a squirming poker hand. My smile will make it apparent to all that I've finally done something right in this game of life. I will kiss you, count your fingers and toes, tell you your name. I will be selfish in the matter of sharing you. I will not want to give you up. I will not want to let you down.
Your father cannot understand as I already do how it will be between you and I. We will fight. It will be a brutal, interminable war, one which we will fight until you are as old as me, and only then will it be clear that we are on the same side. He has already told me he cannot imagine you being as hostile with me as I was with my own mother. But I know. You're already a fighter and you already like to stir things up - my stomach moves with all the turbulence of a stormy sea; you're a tiny hurricane charging toward land. I know what's coming. I am as prepared as I can possibly be, but there will be damage. There always is. And each time, you will think it is the apocalypse. I am ready. I wish I could help you to be ready, too.
I hope as every mother does that you will grow up to have the best of your father and me. My memory; his patience. His hair and eyes and smile. My nose and my giggle. Of course I have dreams for you. I want you to love books. I want you to excel in math and science, as I never could. I want you to be kind, honest, and intuitive. I want to be there for everything. Your first laugh. When you start walking. When you say you own name for the first time. I want to teach you things, like how to throw and catch a baseball, and how to read, and how to find shapes in the clouds. I want to teach you how to do a cartwheel but I can't do one myself. Maybe you'll be the one who teaches me.
When you no longer move within me, I will have already begun the painful process of letting you go. The world will all at once close and open upon you and you will be instantly fixated on dominating it. I will miss you, and I am acutely aware that joy and pain cohabitate inside a mother's heart as she watches her child grow up - a bittersweet experience. Yes, I will miss you, but I will hold on to the hope that one day, you will turn to me and understand everything about us. You will run headlong into my arms, pressing your weight against my belly, reminding us both of a time when we were one.

the gift

I believe God has a purpose for each of us while we are on this planet. Finding it isn't difficult; it is, however, difficult for us to accept it when our purpose is presented to us. Just like anything else in life that God hands to us that may take a little work, oftentimes we want nothing to do with it.
So it goes without saying that my calling, though slammed into my face constantly over the course of my young life, was until recently refused by me. My calling is to teach and to guide others. Whether that be a group of high schoolers, or a handful of toddlers, this is my purpose in life. With my becoming "accidentally" pregnant - I emphasize the adjective because I don't believe anything is accidental in God's eyes - I have come to realize that my latest teaching endeavor will be presented in my role as a mother. It will be up to myself, and my husband, to guide our daughter through life and raise her to be an individual of strong character and faith.
I was told as a young teenager that it would be unwise to become a housewife, as though being a housewife and mother would classify me as uneducated. Certainly, this is the stigma that comes along with leading this kind of life. However, if it brings me peace, who is anyone to judge? Being pregnant changes alot of things, most especially one's outlook on life. Becoming a mother - I can only imagine how that will further transform my existence. Sacrifice is part of the package, but martyrdom is not what I seek. I want respect for my choice, but I am willing to accept that any type of motherhood is a catch-22. If I returned to work, I would be labeled as selfish and neglectful. And since I choose to stay with my child at home, I will be labeled unintelligent and overprotective.
This does sound like a losing situation no matter how you slice it. But I believe God is speaking to me. There is a reason my daughter is coming. She is the best surprise I could ever have been given. And I am going to strive to be the best mother she can ever know.
This is my calling.
This is my purpose.
My life is her life.


Family is most likely the strangest social group our culture embraces. And I do mean, AMERICAN culture. We are already selfish, self-centered, self-indulgent people as a whole - in fact, we are self-named these things. That's right, we know we are and we are disgustingly proud of it. We continue to breed more selfish Americans by the millisecond. And then we get the idea that we can all come together and get along.
In a culture where everyone is taught they are unique and what they have to say matters, nobody actually listens to what another person has to say. It is especially true in the American home.
I love my brothers. They love me. That's not to say we don't have harbored resentment toward one another. For the longest time they thought I was stuck-up, snobby, a stick in the mud. Then suddenly I was a silly slut. I don't know what the older one thinks of me now; I do know we're back to where we were when we were little kids, friends. The younger one of course just thinks I'm old. And I am old, older than him anyway, and old enough to have a child of my own. I've thought many of the same things of them, maybe because they are boys: They were both troublemakers, rude, loud, annoying, dirty, into illegal activities, smelly, irresponsible. Okay, so one of them is still like that. The other one, I respect and admire, he turned out really well. Sometimes I even envy him, but mostly I miss him because he's always working.
Now let's throw in stepsiblings. Officially, legally, they aren't my steps, but they have been a part of my life now since I was eighteen. They have thought many of the same things of me that my brothers have, and I of them. There is a girl, my stepsister. We are both the eldest in our biological families, and I am older than her by about eighteen months. We have a strong bond now, but that's only because we went through the "hatin' stage" with each other. We did the REAL growing up together. And you know what - we're very different, she and I. In our details. But when it comes right to it, we value the same things.
I have often harbored the suspicion that my family - certain members of them - believe me to be the following things: humorless, ambitionless, flaky, irresponsible, dishonest, a follower, of less than average intelligence. Talk gets around in a family. This is why gossip in high school is as cruel as it is - we learn the rumor system from our elders in our home lives. It's worse with family, though. You have to LIVE with them. You have to see them and wonder if that's how they really feel about you for the rest of your life.
Time for in-laws! I love my in-laws. I truly do. But mixed with my family, it was like a landmine field. Every five seconds someone was stepping on a mine and it was exploding while they were here - be it me, them, my father, my mother, my grandparents, my siblings. It was a very hard time for everyone, when it was meant to be a joyous one, and I often worry that they came away from it thinking: OUR SON MARRIED THE BITCH QUEEN OF FAKE.
For some reason it isn't enough for me to know that I'm really pretty awesome. Just because I know that, doesn't mean everyone else does. I generally like people, and they generally like me. Sure there are some people I'd love to slap into the next Ice Age...but then I step back and realize there are people who think that same thought when they think of me. Kinda sucks, doesn't it? Especially when some of those people are members of your family. Trust me. It isn't only me. You've got that problem in your family too.
Sometimes I feel like I'm all twisted and tangled in this ridiculous net of family ties and I'll never get out. I'm knotted up tight and anxiety gets the better of me, and suddenly I'm fighting, straining to prove myself to these people. These People. Who they hell are they anyway? Where did they come from? Where are the ones who loved and protected me? Sure I'm an adult now. But sometimes I really feel as if I'm facing off with my family.
And then there are, increasingly now, more times than others when the net is like a gently swinging hammock, and all the ones I love are nestled in it with me. Because when it comes right down to it, I DO love every one of them. Everything is full of life and light. We're quiet and happy because we're together. I understand that the best thing about embracing yourself is looking at those you love and seeing yourself in them, that maybe being a little engrossed with who you are isn't such a selfish thing after all. We're all in this hammock, this life, together. And I look up at the sky, and all I can see is blue.


You're missing it all.
You're missing their first leap off the swing, the first time they write and spell their name on their own, the first time they use the bathroom without someone having to remind them.
Yesterday I taught your son how to throw a Frisbee. Me, someone who technically isn't a part of his world, but actually I am part of his world. For six hours a day and five days a week we are together. Your kid and me, and I'm showing him how to grow and watching him do it.
Where are you? For the most part you're at home, or out shopping, or at a yoga seminar. You're planning a ski trip with the family but you have to bring in an outsider to keep your children out of your hair. You're missing it all.
Your little girl calls me Mommy. I tell her constantly who I actually am, she won't listen to me. All day, every day, any time she sees me, her arms fly up to my waist and she smiles and says, "Hi Mommy." Where are you? Who else does she confuse with maternal obligation concerning her little self? I'm there to see her be a little monster, biting and kicking at her friends, most likely her way of showing her confusion. Not where is Mommy - who is Mommy.
You're missing it all.
Do you even notice it?
If you did, would you change?


In my four days of semi-seclusion my mind has gone into overdrive with ponderings of the abstract, the inane, and the poetic. I have had nightmares about single-wides and braces, snakes under my bed that consume Bud Light cans whole. I have found comfort on the cushion of a dated loveseat parked in front of a dated television set. I have worried about a dear friend's health and in turn worried about the overall state of my own.
All of this and more I have experienced while you are gone. And when you return, warmth comes with you. In these months I have come to know you as the truest of companions, something in which I have constantly believed for others but never truly experienced until these unending times. You have opened yourself to me and I in turn have slowly let you in on all of my secrets. Not one of them has made me repellant in your eyes. Now that we know the worst things about one another we can allow ourselves to see only the best. After all, it is all that is left. And while people are not a wholly good species, the vast capacity of our personalities is good, and kind, and trustworthy. There is so much for us to learn.
We can teach each other about ourselves.


While stopped at a traffic light this morning, I looked at my gas gauge and was disgruntled by the low amount of fuel left in my tank. And of course I began grumbling to myself in my head. All this gas I waste just driving from Point A to Point B, doing the same thing every day. Going to work, going home, going to the grocery store. Going to church, going to the mall, going to places I've been well over a million times in my life. My high school years were practically stagnant and not worth commemoration of any sort. It was someone else's prom, someone else's homecoming, someone else's graduation. I never had a senior year. The years following have felt the same. Someone else's debut party, someone else's wedding, someone else's baby shower. I raise someone else's children.
As I sat at this unnaturally extended red light, I was overcome with a sudden urge to fill my gas tank with the thirty dollars cash I had in my wallet - the only money I have left to my name - and just drive in whatever direction I wanted to go until my car couldn't move forward another centimeter. I wouldn't get very far, maybe to Savannah or Columbia or Myrtle Beach, depending on which way I decided to go, but I'd be somewhere else for a little while.
I'd be someone else...
...The light turned green and I came home.

with a gallon of gasoline & a strike-on box full of misery

Sometimes I look back upon the friends I've had in my life and wonder what happened to the ones whom I no longer consider friends. I understand there was a reason for the unfriendings, for lack of a better term, but nevertheless I still think of them from time to time. A few of them simply faded away, but most of them were spontaneous combustions, like fireworks marking the end of a celebration. With these friendships I remain sad yet bitter. Certainly they are enjoying their lives, and that's all I'd want for them, but at the same time I feel left out, if only because I am not part of that life any longer. And yet, I don't miss that lifestyle. The meaningless false affections, the group psyche, the herd mentality. If you stand out, you don't fit in.
I understand now I don't have to be friends with everyone. Just because a friend of mine is friends with someone doesn't mean I too must befriend that person. Just because a friend of mine dislikes someone I know doesn't mean I too must dislike that person. And I'm lucky to have the friends that I do. I love all of them. My friends are my family, and my family are my friends. They are one and the same.
There is always room for more. The ones who've left are always in my heart, they just aren't in my life. And you know what? That's okay.

the champion.

When it comes to my blogging style, I have to admit I am intentionally lax in detail. I prefer the abstract, to allow what few readers I have to take the iniative and let their imaginations do the work. I delegate responsibility, so to speak. Okay yeah that means I'm lazy as all hell, but I believe the time has come to give back, and write an actual piece of work here.
Politics. What a trendy topic to have chosen for my debut effort. Everyone can thank the fantastic Colin Kerr for the inspiration. The explanation for this of course is the fact that he has graciously asked me to edit/proofread his thirty-two chapter essay on politics and philosophy.
After reading only the first page of the first chapter of said book I realized I am guilty of indifference to politics. That's right, I said it, I pretty much don't give a damn. I went through a phase for about six months where I was genuinely interested in CNN and FOX News, and then I simply stopped. I am twenty-three years old and I'm trying to make it on my own. I am currently not enrolled in college, I have yet to attain anything as minor as an Associates in Arts, and I find I am exercising apathy in every department promoting education, whether self-taught or institutionalized. At the same time, however, I am wildly envious of those the same age as myself who are on the way to achieving a Masters in some field such as microbiology or aerospace engineering - two professions which, ironically, I do not have the interest or the brain capacity to pursue. That's right, you have read correctly, I am smart and I am wasting my life pretending I'm not.
Politics have always been something which dually intrigued and baffled me. One would think a child growing up in a Navy household, the daughter of a petty officer who watched the national news like it was Saturday morning cartoons and the viewer a four-year-old eating Pop Rocks candy for breakfast, would have taken after her father and turned into a raging political activist. I'm sorry y'all, I have no such disease. I was immune to it. All this talk of Ron Paul is going right over my head. I feel like I should maybe join in the discussion, but the truth of the matter is I haven't studied and so I'd fail the exam. I don't even know what the man looks like, let alone what state he claims. I most certainly couldn't tell you what his political views are. Apparently he's some sort of superhero though. His slogan is "Hope For America"'s got a nice ring to it. So he's out to save us. That's very thoughtful of him. As long as he can deliver a bullshitting speech without stuttering over words like "nuclear", I'm totally in. Where do I sign up?
I don't mean to beat up the man by any means. Compared to Hillary and Obama, who fight over the upcoming primary nomination like two preteen girls fighting over who's going to marry the current Hollywood heartthrob, Ron Paul is fairly competent. I don't see him investing in four-hundred dollar haircuts, or claiming himself to be the "true" conservative candidate, or involving himself in media catfights. Considering that with the very little news coverage I do allow myself to indulge in I have never once heard the man's name mentioned; hell, he's practically invisible. I wonder if they're doing that intentionally? Is there a chance that he may actually be an honest politician, even only one-fourth truthful? After all, in that line of business, honesty is a weakness on the inside. Of course you're not going to hear about him on the news. He's not worth mentioning. Ron Paul who? Sounds like a pop star who was caught soliciting in a public bathroom in Southern California. They'd let you believe it too if it weren't for those signs. Hope for America!
Ron Paul's gonna save us all. Don't you want to believe it?
I think I do. After all, I'm lazy, and I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to do it.

[originally written on October 20, 2007]

scraped knees

kids fall and get banged up all the time.
yeah sure they cry for a minute, but ten seconds later they're laughing about it and two hours later they're proud of their scars.
think on that.


certain fears are catching
like mediocrity
i feel as though i'm lacking
and always will be


a void
a loss
a longing
an ache
a mother's heart is full of emptiness
the kind only her children give
still she finds room for love

seventh inning stretch

life throws you curveballs
just remember you can swing out
but you can also knock it outta the park
& head for home


from all my mistakes in the past
my heart's in a plaster cast
from looking back even though
i know
it'll only make me trip & fall
and scrape my hands and knees...
i hate it when i bleed


but if i start to cry
it could be all the years
have finally come to life
and are showing in my tears


i looked back on my life and realized it was not so bad. then i made it better.

when it happens

you're done for, but you see it as starting.
you're alive, which means in no time you're dead.
you're doomed, but you're going straight for what's bound to kill you.
you're a hopeful, foolish, beautiful, invincible, self-destructive being.
never has it all been so perfect.
life won't go on forever, but you'll just pretend for awhile.
wish yourself luck.

& ♥

give it out
you'll get it back
[one way or the other]
[but that's part of the game]
go all out
full-on attack
[a chance like no other]
[but it still feels the same]


give in or give up
you're running out of time
& she's walking away

lover lover

paint your lips
black your eyes
belt your hips
smile wide
he's coming


These are some of my postings from my Myspace blog. They're nothing special, but they are a part of my story. They are listed by most recent first.

August 11, 2007 - Saturday
damn straight! after nearly a year of carlessness, i once more have a functioning vehicle to call my own! needs a name...

August 11, 2007 - Saturday
& i thought six hours was a long time.
what is WRONG with us?!

August 9, 2007 - Thursday
that's a lot of hours for one telephone conversation.

August 6, 2007 - Monday
i got a letter today.

August 3, 2007 - Friday
& to think
everything could change in five months
five weeks
five days
five hours
five minutes
five seconds
still it can't be measured with time

August 1, 2007 - Wednesday
didn't know his
didn't know mine
well isn't this a fine mess

July 27, 2007 - Friday
he simply
faded of his biggest fears.

July 24, 2007 - Tuesday
i pity
two kinds of people
1. pretty girls with ugly hearts
2. ugly people with ugly hearts
though when you come to think on it, you discover they are one and the same.

June 28, 2007 - Thursday
Sometimes I look back on a certain set of memories and convince myself it was all a dream.

June 16, 2007 - Saturday
it's such a relief to say that word.
(is that a word?)
(well it is now.)

June 14, 2007 - Thursday
you find out
who your friends are.

May 25, 2007 - Friday
isn't it funny
how sometimes you bond with people you've never met?