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Crucifixes and Teddy Bears

My innocence lies between crucifixes and teddy bears.

Casualty of war between sexuality and faith.

Abandoned by a God I was raised to love.

Tormented by a love I was taught to hate.

It died holding my stuffed bear.

Amidst internal screams that tore me apart.

How could unconditional love have a sinner’s heart?

As if my own demons weren’t enough.

Teddy was the only one to show me love.

Never seemed to care.

What I was or wasn’t and held me tight,

Through countless cries that rang to the heavens

For a love we were taught would never leave us

Deceive us

Holding on to the only comfort little girls know 

In the darkness

“C’mere Teddy let me hug you.”

Still the battle rages

Cages

And enslaves us

Nightmares wake us to a new day

Branding our minds with labels that blame us

“Shameful”, “unclean”

But my teddy kept my  hope alive.

For countless martyrs nailed to the cross 

of someone else’s beliefs.

For little girls who imagine her Teddy to be a “she”.

I wear the labels that tear tender flesh.

Raped, dismissed, and left to be forgotten

But War cries still echo…
 Let us “Be!”

For every heartbeat…

For every pulse …

A reminder,

that innocence will rise from the ashes,

proud and unafraid.

Bearing our cross that screams

we have earned the love of the God who made us this way!

And one day, 

maybe I will come to love myself enough 

that I stop the “Hail Marys” 

Put my rosary away. 

Watch my daughter and her teddy bear play. 

And maybe then,

I will tell my beautiful wife about my stuffed teddy

and how it saved my life.

©Daydreamer

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Kiss Me

Seductive Brunette
Seductive Brunette

 

Kiss me… here.

Kiss me… like

the girl you knew

on the playground,

following all the rules,

never crossing the line,

forever on time…

Sweet.  Innocent…

like Daddy used to say.

Used to…

Anyway…

 

Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

I have a job

somewhere important.

Forced to hobnob

behind a desk.

Never rests…

hard worker.

I wish it were that way.

I wish…

Anyway…

 

Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

the nerd in school,

aceing math tests,

memorizing science rules…

Asked to tutor or help cheat.

Happily labeled geek.

Valedictorian…

I remember those days.

I remember…

Anyways…

 

Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

my ink doesn’t bother you.

Like it doesn’t redefine

who I am and who you knew.

It is a declaration,

not a petition for segregation.

Individual…

that’s what I thought they’d say.

I thought…

Anyway…

 

Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

you can’t see the speech at my side.

Forget the images on my arms and thighs.

They yell loudly, but so do I…

My body’s a canvas on which I write

screaming don’t judge, except by what’s inside!

I’m the same as I was back then.

Still seeking approval.

Called tramp instead of geek these days.

Labels…

Anyway…

 

 

Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

you remember when it was you and me…

like the person I am inside

and not the person you see.

Help me to make my statement to the world!

How many times can I say: I’m the same girl?!

I want the same rights as everyone else —

great job, treated nice…

I never knew tattoos on me would change them in any way

change…

Anyway…

 

Just kiss me…. here.

 

 

Good Old Chair

Red Chair

I held your weight when you came home at night,

cushioning your aches in my velvet heat.

I bore the weight of your stolen dreams

while you laid your shoes at my feet.

I held all spilled tears of sorrow,

squeaked joy at each happiness,

endured every slice of ridicule,

in all weather, I withstood the test.

But I prepared for the inevitable,

though worn with age and time.

Built sturdy to last lifetimes,

I knew you’d leave me behind.

I prepared for this moment

with each move and rearrangement.

Your longer hours at work

mostly helped the estrangement.

I thought I worth was a little more,

not considered old, but antique.

Never believed some paper doll

meant more to you than me.

I believed for just a moment

that you would even dare,

to weigh the quiet moments.

Think me more than a chair.

You proved me wrong on moving day,

when baby girl stood crying at the door.

Everything packed, but you came back

to pick her paper dolly off the floor.

Doll By Bailey Powell

 

© Daydreamer

 

Submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, With Real Toads, The Mag, and Poets United.  Glad to know these great poets! Come see!

 

Lone Journey

Inspiration Lane on Tumblr.com

We travel this world in constant search of ourselves.

Overturning leaves of personality mimicked from ancestry and childhood tales.

We seek the absolute.  Distinct and separate from others’ “learned” truths.

But there are no absolutes.

If there were, would there be individuality?  Or just supremacy?

But supremacy is just another word for hate and there is no absolute in Fate.

So we continue our journey.  A path with hidden twists, dead ends, and maddening heights and lows.

Trees speak of religion, wind whispers of sexuality, and I swear the animals each have a personality of their own.

Sometimes accompanied by family, but always alone.  New-found answers replace old ones on the shelf.

I still travel this world in constant search of myself.

 

© Day Dreamer

You can also find this post over at Open Link Night ~ 65 along with some other great poets!

Beauty Evolved

 

I Am Beautiful by Arto-Fao-Chao

Revolution in evolution

deemed us worthy.

Only the strong survive.

Revolution in attribution

deemed us curvy.

Beauty constantly redefined.

© Day Dreamer

Posted for dVerse Poets and Sunday Scribblings!

 

Autumn Brings

Pumpkin Season by Silkest on Tumblr.com

Laughter and Thanksgiving

Homage to the dead

Touchdowns running

Free throws just ahead

Family and friends gather

in tradition and beliefs

Such inspiration

in the falling of leaves

© Day Dreamer

Linked at dVerse poets, where we are celebrating Autumn!

Refund Please

Photo by Day Dreamer

How long does it take to eradicate the meaning of a life and by what gauge do we weigh it?  Hell it hurts to say it? Could you pay it?  Who would?  Five lost in a fire and there I stood.  Trying to remember and trying to forget. Regret and dying inside.   The smell, their smiles… the brokenness of bodies identified…  They ask me:  where were you?  My answer: work… but it never seems to compare.  I should have been there.  I should have known.  It still haunts me, as I look at my new ones and how they’ve grown.  I still lack the words to explain to them.   Five minutes and a pack of Newport Shorts.  News reports… Indigestion at recollection and I get so very sad.  “Mommy where are my other sisters and brothers?” How do I explain, as a Mother,  that one night when I was working…I left them with their Dad? A marriage and five angels lost… Sorry it was too high a cost…

Posted for Poetry Jam