the way it was when it was someone else’s way it was


Beat’s and rhythms, all those places

All those places in the changing structure

Of the places I’ve been in the steady

heart beat of that steady heart beat

that kept me alive through some of

those suspicious places structured

to drive my baby girl self away

from myself.


They were not my stories


Other people’s stories playing out

in those moving places that left

the structure of things haphazard

aches, Those kind of aches that belonged

to someone else that melted like

glaziers in the pretty blue of a sky

falling, falling beneath the deep.

Other people’s stories drowning

us all in their forever after


They were not my stories


Blame it on the way it was

In circumstances bereft with

hearts that gathered in another

‘way it was’ to a beat and rhythm

at another place under another

roof in another time dragged to

wretch my time, in that place of home

haunted by someone else’s history


My history was yet to be made


What child wins on someone else’s way

to being the self imposed on by other?

In the seething quiet of life hidden

in that failed structured place

of make believe going down the path

of a discarnate truth that gets to

play out all that shit again in some

someday to come in that poorly laid

structured place called home


I am not my history


1 Comment


One response to “the way it was when it was someone else’s way it was

  1. I think this is my favorite poem of yours that I have read. Very powerful, nuanced, forceful. Thank you! (Love the photo too)


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