singing palm

the air was crisp but warm. indian summer they call it maybe? i’m pretty sure it’s indian summer but it wasn’t summer at all. it was spring. well at least in terms of what spring is, after winter. the season of bloom. the sky was clear and filled with a thousand stars. i could have counted the stars with you all night. i was mad about what i was wearing but you would never know or care. but then again maybe you would, because you appreciate things like that. nonetheless, i’ve always felt your adoration, even in my sweats. i felt like a child, a happy one, as i slapped your hand and you kissed my nose. i couldn’t possibly be awake, not with this magic. i felt wildly insecure, and i told you. there’s so many beautiful girls, i said, but you’re my brown eyed girl, you said.

you see, life is full of these tiny moments that make make this one colossal moment. but sometimes after that, thats all it was. a moment. never to be repeated except for in the quiet cerebral parts of your mind. where maybe you made that moment more than it was. they say that a memory is only a remembrance of the last time your brain visited that site, changing its tiny surroundings and details each time.

i told you i’d leave you, you begged me not to. the moment i might have imagined, where you fought to keep me. but these moments i see, have you staring at him like he’s your understudy. nonetheless, you kissed me like you loved me, in that indian summer air, where the palms sang a lullaby, under the clear star ridden sky.

swan

she has never felt sexy. ok i take that back, there was this one time… yeah i think she felt a little sexy then. she’s has this complex. like the ugly duckling, mixed with the awkward turtle thing. she’s a turtle mixed with a duck… totally, that’s exactly what i was thinking of.  she still hasn’t decided if she’s a swan yet, but what she realized on this day, is no one but she is going to get her there. not only that, she is, because he thinks she’s not. say that ten times really fast. no matter what you want to blame it on, daddy issues, low funds, thunder thighs, or a love for being the drummer in an all boys band, she has struggled her whole life to feel like a woman, a goddess, sexy, a classic beauty… comfortable. she’s bold, however. she looks for the swan each day, searching for the reason she was created and called beauty. this day was particularly hard for her to see that swan stare back at her. i think someone scared it away. but in her awkwardness and sadness, she found a patch of smooth water. 

she pulls up to the new unfamiliar, yet old proverbial. she had this most amazing feeling of sliding her bare feet, coyly onto the wooden floor as her toes said a shy but relieved hello. what made her feel sexy today? her toes on the bare floor, each one, explores the next inch, while they get to know each other again. what made her feel at ease today? they way her legs and arms willingly followed, flowed, and stirred as the music dropped around her. what made her feel comfortable today? that some will never know what a Martha Graham shift or a Hubbard Street 5th means, or what it especially means to her. what made her feel singularly beautiful today? herself. herself. herself. with raspberries on her feet, and bruises on her shoulders, her hips melted, her arms followed, her knees softened, and her toes griped the floor, she remembered, she was home and home made her feel beautiful.

little boy

little boy did you know, that you can be brave even if the moonlight doesn’t dance in your eyes?

little boy did you know, that objects are, in fact, always larger than they appear?

little boy did you know, that i look at the lyrics while you only hear the melody?

little boy did you know, that the taste of ice cream is not as sweet as your bottom lip?

little boy did you know, that you don’t have to sell yourself to this world as fiction? you’re a natural prose.

little boy did you know, that i don’t even know if your eyes are grey or blue because i’m never close enough to tell?

little boy, did you know?

little boy did you know, that i’m not the elaborate woman you see in the light but the same little messy girl that lives in your dreams? my feet, always bare. my heart, always wild, just like my hair. i’d dance with your eyes in the moonlight and be closer than i appear. i’d write you a melody, if i knew that was all you wanted to hear. my house would be filled with ice cream and prose, if it got me close enough to your eyes, your lips, or even just your nose.

i wanna hold your hand

this morning i told god i just wanted to hold someone’s hand. it’s such a funny notion, the things we long and ask for. simple. yet satisfying. there’s something about it that can render more butterflies than a kiss. a hand. a hold. when i was little, my momma would alway sing this song to me. we’d dance around the kitchen, believing in the words we sang. loving every moment of love. i used to believe, without any looming shadows of doubt, that it’d be someone else singing this song to me one day. my hair would be a mess, probably piled on the top of my head, curls begging to be let loose. i’d be wearing that dress. the one i cook in, because i always cook in a dress. i’m never practical like that. he’d try to take my hand, i resist. he’d try again and succeed. clasping tight, he’d swing me through the kitchen in my bare feet. with a swirl too fast and too pure to disagree with, he’d scoop me in and whip me around. like a child, i’d laugh as if to say, i trust you but don’t let me fall, but also, don’t stop. i’d try desperately to keep my feet from floating. but why? feet should always float off the ground. with that cheek in his eye, he’d say, “oh yeah i’ll tell you something, i think you’ll understand.” and i did. i was had and i would always understand. and because of that, with none less care, we’d yell at each other, “i wanna hold your haaaaaaand!”dinner would be wine and take out that night, because our kitchen was really only ever made for dancing.

but i’m not so sure that girl in the story is me. has it ever been me? no one, aside from my mother, had ever swung me around in the kitchen with that look in their eye. it wasn’t until i grew and the pain of the world became real, that kitchen ballrooms became just a figment of my imagination. it didn’t seem as if it was a painful thing, or a sad thing, but a practical thing. one that you put on your shopping list. “love is not like that, check.” or maybe i’ve only begun to believe that it wasn’t for me. and if you can believe it, i’ve told friends that if i was actually presented with the opportunity to be married, i didn’t want it. and in fact, was something i’m scared of. how does the funny girl become the pretty girl you marry? how does the smart girl become the hot wife? how does the best friend become the lover? maybe she doesn’t. maybe it’s just that she’s much better at this thing on her own. her funny, smart, friendly own. i don’t know about you, but i’m pretty good at being that girl. the wing (wo)man, the easy to friend zone, smart funny, best friend. sounds dramatic and sad doesn’t it? you’re right, it probably is. how does a sweet vision of your future become a dulled down picture of what you’re living? oh but how is it that we let lies created by the enemy through the one thing we desire or the things that actually make us substantially beautiful, change what we really believe and long for? that through the mouth of men, we’ve begun to believe the lie that simply and nonchalantly, the promises of god are not for us. thank god this isn’t where the story ends.

some days i have a very direct opinion on what my speaker plays for me. other days, i let it run wild. hit the shuffle they say. as i hop in the shower, wash the sleep and the bubbles from my eyes, a great bop by my man harry comes on. my spirits are lifted. if i’m going to try and dream about holding someone’s hand, it might as well be his. amiright? i digress. it could have been a coincidence that the beatles came on next, however i don’t believe in coincidences. just like my mind can create the detail of life in a kitchen ballroom and death in a friend zone, i believe in the divine detail of our heavenly father’s comfort, protection, and grace. the dispeller of all lies. someone who’s love is so crazy and wild about us, he’ll do anything to get our attention. a man who likes to be silly and specific so we know he’s paying attention to every little detail of our life. “oh yeah i’ll tell you something,” my speaker sang to me, “i think you’ll understand.” and i did. it might sound trivial to you, but i knew, as you know when you’re a child, that this was my little promise reminder. the most odd, but most specific of nudges that holding someone’s hand was important to him too. he may not be giving me all the answers to the questions i have, but with his brilliant sense of humor, drops tokens of faith that only i could comprehend. you better believe i danced in the shower. a little restrictive, but that never stopped me.

so here. in case you need too. i’m lending you one of my favorite songs. the one that reminds me of my messy, wifed-up curls, dancing in the kitchen, as a reminder of god’s promise. in this moment, choose the little girl (boy) us, who believes in the things not yet seen. who believes that our father is kind and loving and specific and silly and his heart wants what our heart wants. who believes in truth and the things he’s spoken. and who dreams, without shadows, about someone holding our hand.

because when there’s music, you dance.

here’s what i know to be true: coffee first. sing, sing often. listen to your friend’s stories, they tell way more than what your friend is actually saying. know how to parallel park. always make sure that when the waiter brings food, it’s actually yours. be humble. don’t park where you’ll get towed. earthquakes are less scary when drinking green juice on sunset blvd. with your babes. laugh at yourself, it gives everyone else permission to enjoy your quirks. levi’s over wranglers, they make a better booty. ask for forgiveness, not permission. wear sunscreen. swim in the ocean as long as your body can physically stand it. let your hair run wild. coffee. don’t be afraid to genuinely love something so much, you fall to the floor and hug it. say hello to neighborhood cats. give your honest, unapologetically-you applause and praise, even if it scares you. wear the dress. pay attention to where the toilet seat is. eat the fries. when there’s music, you dance. in the street. in the dress you wore. grab your friend’s hand & RUN. it’s ok to love fireworks. it’s ok to post said fireworks on social media, don’t be ashamed of what you love. always know where the nearest ice cream shop and bathroom is. eat the ice cream. stand in the middle of a busy la street just to watch more fireworks. nap. be the rescued disney princess. sing. let him make you coffee. savor every tiny moment, because they’re slyly the big moments.

el camino.

it was the 22nd day of september. i could taste the warmth of the jasmine persuading itself through my front door. i panicked with the girl starring back at me, unsure if you’d like my hair. you were early, but the coffee was hot. i would have heard anything you said that day. but your arm just lay across the back of the passenger seat. i’ve often wondered if it was that arm and it’s expansive fling that lured me in. “look” it said. “look how much space there is for you.”

there we sat.

and there we sat. being the teller of of all truths. belly laughing & indulging. finding ourselves in moments of silence, mesmerized by how the ocean moves. we could have stared at it forever. how does the earth’s guts not fall out? how is it that we’re technically standing sideways compared to our friends on the other side of the world? what the hell even is gravity? where does the world stop and the universe start? how do i love without being deeply wounded? how do we not let comparison be thief’s? what if it doesn’t change? what if he doesn’t come back? why did we order two single pieces of fish instead of the single dish of two fish? extra fries of course. how did we find a friendship so perfectly simple and so simply satisfying?