woman

she lived her life the best she could
amongst the wealthy, the arrogant,
the poorest of heart,
the ones who didn’t care
for the likes of her,
who delighted
in tearing her apart

but she rose high above the ashes
though they left her covered
in unseen scars,
believing she was too soft, too weak,
too simple-minded,
yet she made it
through the wars

it gave her depth and substance
making her the strong woman
that you see now
though kindness radiates
from her weary eyes
don’t ever discount the sweat
that lines her brow

for she’s tougher than you think
more courageous
than you or me
and when the time comes
when our mettle is tested
she’ll be the only one left standing,
just wait and see

in his eyes

his voice is like silk and whiskey
so smooth and oh so heady
bass tones breaking through the walls
i’ve carefully built around me

and when he says the things
i desperately need to hear
that i’m beautiful and that i matter
suddenly there’s nothing to fear

i’ll believe him for as long as I can
for this girl needs a little help now and then
to remember just how strong she really is
in a world filled with boys and wicked men

so keep whispering in my ear
share the world that you see
so i can see it too and know
that some days it’s okay to simply be

strong and beautiful
sometimes vulnerable
perfectly imperfect and
in your eyes, unstoppable

Ahead Of Her Time

 
When I first drew Frida and posted the sketch on my family FB feed, many family members had no idea who she was – which is unfortunate because Frida Kahlo was a woman way ahead of her time. She painted through her pain and limitations and one of her famous quotes goes, “Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly.”

She seemed to love Diego Rivera unconditionally, despite his…well, flaws. I remember coming across her diary, published long after death, of course and while the entires were so raw my soul ached, I could never get myself to buy it. Her paintings told me enough. At least they were her diary in a way, painted for all to see. 

Wanderer

She used to come on a Thursday afternoon
with her powdered wig and false teeth
Rich but a bit too quirky
you could even hear her breathe
a bit too eccentric
always out of key,
can’t you see –
she’s nothing like you and me?

Grandmother tolerated her
everyone did
but the moment she left
they’d laugh and they’d kid
talking about her hair
her teeth, her skin
her rheumy eyes,
the hairs on her chin

But all talk would go to one thing
when everyone was done
where was all her money?
where had it all gone?
Last I heard she came to California
married a man more than half her age
no one knows where she now
a fool, a wanderer, never the sage

But I often find myself wondering
whatever became of her
not caring about the money
how did her life become a blur?
a person of no importance
but for the money she once had
she’s been gone for so long now
I hope her life wasn’t really that sad.