nothing seems to work out
the way i have it planned
when the crowd sits down
that's when i decide to stand

things always seem to go
a tad bit different for me
just a tick or two off
from what's considered life's normal beat

when they're no longer taking questions
that is when i raise my hand
when they ask for women volunteers
i stand up like a man

people often wonder
exactly what it is
that continually brings about
this life of quirkiness

my friends they ask quite often
is there a cure for what i do
9 out of 9 doctors surveyed
say they don't have a clue

guess i'll continue living life
the way it is i am
as long as i'm happy with it
i see no need to try and understand

I wonder if she thinks of me
Whenever I think of her
I hope and pray that it's not true
I wouldn't wish on anyone this curse

Why is it so hard to let go of
Childhood memories
Is what it is I'm living with
Not enough for me

I'll be taking this heartache
To my weary grave
If you see the girl I'm thinking of
Will you tell her I said hey

And find out if she thinks of me
The same way I think of her
And if she does it daily
Like me, I'm sorry that she's cursed

Where shall we traverse tonight
To the cemetery of shadows
Or silky moonbeams high

To what lands mystical dreams
Shall we sojourn
On a fiery comets tail fly
To the sad lonely mountains
Or the jagged lightening filled skies

Oh secret dreams
When the moon turns red
Returning from our travels
Find my body alive or dead

Oh pale dreams



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

My mom used to blast
the Any Given Thursday live album
out of a 1996 silver stereo system
that sat crooked in our clear library cases
at the back of the living room
with cracked CD cases stacked
on top of each other like a forty story tower.
She would accompany John Mayer,
making every song a unique duet
as she dusted the shelves and used lemon Pledge
so the cabinets and coffee tables would shine like new.

I used to sit at the top of the stairs
in my pajama bottoms and one of my dad's
old undershirts
watching her dance like a ballerina in a theater
across the floor with a vacuum for a partner.
She was so lame.

I'm fifty two now and my mother doesn't sing any more.
Instead, I just play
"Your Body is a Wonderland"
over and over again when I'm cleaning
around my son's high chair or the seven
peppermint candles I have lit on the counter.
My daughter asks me to turn it off.
"Mom, no one listens to him anymore."
But I know she will one day.

I ran my hands down the crisp sides
of your baby blue pin-striped
Ralph Lauren button down.
The lines leading straight to your hip bones.
I wrapped my arms around your waist,
pressing my head against the chest pocket
as you smoothed my blonde hair
with your big hands
kissing the top of my head
slowly
as I breathed in your body wash
with eyes closed
saving this moment
in my kaleidoscope.

Sometimes I'll sit on the edge of your bed
and watch you fix your hair in the mirror
in just your cargo shorts.
Sometimes when you're sleeping,
I'll write stories on your chest and draw
little circles around your eyelids
or trace the curves your lips make.
Sometimes you'll wake up,
roll over, and kiss me silently
before you're back asleep again.
Sometimes I'll shout,
"Wake up!"
because you're so cute and I don't want
to be done playing yet.

I know you've seen my demons
follow me like a bad shadow,
but you've proved
that sometimes you need cracks
to let the light shine through
And guess what.
I really like you.

I miss the sound of your voice,
And how you used to sleep our time away.
I miss not having a choice,
And I reminisce on the days that I didn’t have a say.
I fondly look back on your time with me,
And I thank you for all you’ve done.
It’s such a shame that I can finally see
That it’s not my fault that you took off on a run.
I miss your blue judgmental eyes,
And I miss crying myself to sleep,
Because I’d go to my room and realize
That I was in far too deep.
But you called yourself dad, and that’s what you are.
We don’t just share DNA.
We share such a bond, like when you almost crashed the car,
And I’ve loved you more and more since that day.