Canterbury Confessions

Would the matter make any difference if we could turn back time, together or apart?

Remove our granite love letter?

Wear sandals for the steps it took to get us here?

Instead of leaden wear steel- toed shoes…


The anonymity becomes unmasked from time to time.

Transgressions…etched forever in stone.

But with every stride…grave indecision, blindfolds my mind.

Conflicted…there is no joy in the ride.

And, no matter the journeys I take…Canterbury Confessions have nowhere to hide.

How remarkable the steps it takes to bury pride.


Gasping for Tears


If she had cried…would it take away the ghastliness of great surprise?

Even as a witness…to her rain…

A gentle, caressing touch that penetrates the skin.

Humidity and its warming coat…left gingerly behind…

Among this…could I begin, again?

As a crow flies, tears fall from the skies.

Yet, never from a solemn women’s eyes.

Water pounds like a fist coursing itself from the heavens.

The road ahead, still parched and unforgiving.

As the crow flies, tears fall from the skies.

Yet, never from a solemn women’s eyes.

Dog Owner’s Creed: this is my dog

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Dog Owner’s Creed

This is my dog.  There are many like her, but Mattie is mine.  She is my life.  I must remember she came to me set in her own way.  Unlike, females of her kind, she peed like a boy.  Without my dog, I would have not learned to accept ‘that we are all different’.  Without Mattie, I am useless.  I must learn to walk Mattie far away from fire hydrants, things that stick out of the ground, and people’s pant legs.  My dog is a straight shooter, though, she appears for intensive purposes, to have been a boy born in a girl’s body.  Any enemy who wishes to tell me otherwise, can go to hell.  I am my dog’s mother, and know her inside and out.

My dog and I know what counts…is acceptance.  That during conflict we must not waiver from our ‘truth’, no matter the noise, the hate, or the ignorant non dog lovers, who stand in our way.

My dog is a human with four paws, as I am human, I know because she is my life.  I will support her in every manly attribute she chooses to display.  Whether it be fighting with others, killing small rodents, eating like a Marine long from home.

I will learn to accept her weaknesses, her strengths, her dominion, as she accepts mine.  I will keep Mattie, a.k.a, Matt, semi clean and prepared, as their are haters everywhere.  We are limbs to the same tree.

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Before my Higher Power, I swear this creed.  Matt and I are friends.  We are the master’s of our universe.  So be it until the day we shall part.


Bully the Beauty

I don’t think this about being gay.  I don’t think it could be…even if IT wanted to be!  That is  until today when I reminisced of the times when scar face had been my shadow.  When being gay was not only not okay…it was a sin.  And, the pain, the embarrassment and the guilt was as real as the day I had to put others beliefs in beauty ahead of my own.
I had been having some morning TV with my coffee.  Just about the only time I watch the crap they feed us is when I am not quite awake.  The lovely actress from 12 Years A Slave had been, very swimmingly, accepting accolades for her work.  Lupita Nyong’o stated very adamantly that as a woman of darker color than creamy cocoa… there had been a forever stigma attached.
That many richly emblazoned African-American women believe themselves ‘uglier, more standard and/or less lovable’ because of the stark darkness of their skin.
Not giving it much thought other than an empathic nod…I went about my day.
But bully the beauty must stop with me.  With what I can write and with who I can reach:
By the power of the cats, a prom photo from a loosened album lay upon my office floor.  I jokingly and unwittingly sent it to the young man who happened to draw the short straw for that date some thirty years ago, via FACEBOOK.
‘You could have been so beautiful’ had been the response from my mother.
And, there is where the whole bullied beauty started.
I tried to fit in.  I tried to be like everyone else.  I wore the prom dress. I smiled for the camera.  I hid inside my music, my writing and my mind what had been the truth of ME.
I became that scared and scarred child…all over again!
Lupita and I are not that different.  As I am sure many struggling with their homosexuality, feelings of being born into the wrong body do.  As I did so many years ago.
I had been given the gift of being a girl.  Why couldn’t I be a Beth?  I teen who played with make-up?  I child who preferred pink to blue?  And, where had my flawless body…so promised me…gone?
Why couldn’t I have just stayed straight?  Not been different?  Played by the rules!
I look at that picture now, long dress, heels and forced beauty.  I can tell right away that girl turning into a young adult was not real.  Not happy.  Not the woman I had wanted to be.
When I turn on FACEBOOK to tune the day’s events out I see skinny, cardboard boxes and cut outs of women that look just like the last woman I saw.
How hard it is to stay true to yourself when the only thing the world wants from you is to be like everyone else?
Though the years have hardened my skin.  It hasn’t hardened my soul.
Yet, I still believe that there was a night in my parent’s bedroom.  Clock nearing midnight, yellow wallpaper adorning the dusky silhouettes.  A man sits at the end of the bed and a woman prepares herself at the vanity.
I know down deep in their hearts this thought had crossed their minds:
‘Why does she have to be so different?  What did we do that was so wrong?’
Beauty, my friends, is around the corner.  It is in the woman you helped raise.  She is now a mother herself, encouraging her children to find grace in being unique.
It is in the friend who lives down the street making ends meet, building a house into a home and raising a bi-sexual teen the best way she knows how…with love.
It is in the partner you lay next to every night.  The woman who struggled for so many years with scars so deep the plunge she took to relieve them…only made her stronger.
I finish with this thought.  What if gay were okay?  What if colors were things we sought from a rainbow?
What if we didn’t bully beauty?  What if beauty is indeed…far deeper than the tone of our skin and abandonment of our someone else’s ideals?
And it’s alright if you hate that way
Hate me cause I’m different
You hate me cause I’m gay
Truth of the matter come around one day
It’s alright
-It’s alright/Indigo Girls

Mother and Daughter Reunion

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty...
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty…if it is full may it be again.

On rare occasions we see someone for the first time, again!  Like a love lost that walks back into your life after life has settled.

A stranger who has brought about every emotion known to woman-kind.  Love, hate, wonder, awe, anger, pain.  A symphony of bad times lightly riddled with lyrics of the moments when times were good.

As a child my mother was as vast as the ocean and as deep as the sky so alluring and blue.

As an adult, wandering through life, we all forget where the magic happened.  If we are lucky and graceful enough we allow a slight opening in the walls we have built up over the years of living.

As an adult, I saw my mother today.  Beautifully strong.  Slightly composed in her spirituality and slightly erect in her character of being.  It took a brief moment.  A flash by the passenger side window.  The rain splashed up and created a drift.  Catching all encased in driving to sit quietly for the smallest moment in time.

A time where we all, all women, all carrying the weight of should have been done and should have been.

I saw my mother, again.  My tiny dancer.  My heart skipped a beat.  Weathered into a wonderful combination of style, humor and second chances lady of grace.

And, for just a that blink of an eye, I remember what she had placed me here for.  To follow her guide.  To be what is right.

To only be half the woman she has been for me would be an injustice to the questions she encouraged me to find answers to

There is a road, no simple highway  Between the dawn and the dark of night  And if you go, no one may follow  That path is for your steps alone
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go, no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone