ghosts in here.

Shaking beneath
this skin,
my thoughts echo

like footsteps in
empty hallways
and

unseemly shadows
lurking against
the walls.

I realize, then,
that sometimes,
(sometimes)

a ghost is
just a
ghost.

& no amount
of wanting
to be more;

searching for paths
& seeking a way home;

no amount of struggling
to fight dark &
find self

will change the nature
[of a ghost].

[aarnett2013]

Home [Is Where You Are]

I wrote this for my babies, quite a few years ago.

snow babies

[8.15.10]
 
You are my lights;
the stars & moon
that paint my skies.

The love that carries me
through dark moments –
when i’m lost, you find me.

The sounds of your laughter,
your words, your songs;
the way you both smile.

These are my reasons;
Your love lights my paths
& brings me home again.

The Brief Love of Worm & Apple

Prompt: Write two short poems about a worm meeting an apple. One from the worm’s perspective, one from the apple’s.

The Worm’s Perspective
Apple, oh Apple.
Your skin, shining
like a tiny sun.

Glorious flesh
caresses my eyes
(if I had any).

Your feel, your taste;
Oh Apple, it’s heaven.
Heaven in my almost-mouth.

The Apple’s Perspective
Ahhh! Get away!
Back, I say!
Don’t touch!
Don’t eat!
Oh, this curse
that we had to meet!

[The end. Ha!]

wormy apple

Aside

Ramble On

Strange dreams last night. Strange, jacked up dreams are the norm for me. Quite a few of them involve some random psychopath killing every stranger in the dream (which stars some male from of .. me, I suppose?). With that said, last night’s dream was odd. I had this friend in high school who passed away. I dreamed that, although she had passed away 20+ years ago, somehow we ended up finding a baby that apparently belonged to her. An infant. My mom and I were caring for this little one (who aged several months at a time as the dream progressed). The parents of the baby’s father(though at the same time, not the father?) found out about him and came to see him. They decided, without informing us, that they were taking the baby. I said something to the effect of ‘No! Bad strangers!’ & baby cried for me & would have nothing to do with them, so they left him with me. He was almost 2 years old at the dream’s end. It was odd.

I’ve been busying myself with rearranging rooms in the house & making jewelry for my shop.

spn bff picks bronze carry on necklace

I would love to expand, pick up new fonts and try them out, so on & so forth. I shall when I have adequate funding to do so. It’s a shame that I’m not getting paid to be a stay.at.home momma. Curse you, former boss, & your illegal ways which put us out of jobs. sigh. Anyway. It gives me more time to focus on my shop & schooling & de.cluttering & harassing my children & ahhhh i’m not used to being home all the time! It’s not that bad, but I have so many goals and nearly all of them require money to make them happen. Ripping out that stupid bathtub is first on my list! Rawr. Yes, I’m a bit all over the place now. I’ll stop with the rambling & go do some homework. Yay.

534784_546763222026958_1699134231_n

To The Ginger Goes The Doll

I hate headaches. Headaches make me want to yank my brain out and step on it. Rawr.

Prompt from http://www.writing.com/main/writing_prompts, because my brain hurts: “A new employee in a toy store finds an old supernatural Barbie doll.”

“Oh my gosh!” Kayla was running up the aisle, a rectangular box in her hands. She slid to a stop, her Converse squeaking on the floor. “Look what I found! Look what I found!”

Angi and Rachael exchanged a glance. “What did you find?” Rachael asked, peering at the box the other girl held. With a flourish, Kayla turned the box to face them.

“A Dean Winchester doll!”

Kayla turned to her left as her fiancée and fellow employee joined the group. “No way,” he shook his head, eyes on the doll, “What will you do with that thing? You don’t need that. Put it back.”

Kayla glared (and an impressive glare it was, for Kayla was a ginger). Angi and Rachael stepped back to avoid the crossfire.

Turning the full strength of her mighty glare upon her fiancée, she stomped one Converse-clad foot and declared, “I needs it!”

It was a happy new toy-store employee who went home with the Dean Winchester doll that night.

Aside

Think of the Children

Today, I was checking out my classes on Blackboard. I’m not a fan of Blackboard – I prefer hands-on learning – but it’s a step in the direction I want to go.

I’m working toward my BA for Early Childhood Education. I have all the credentials you can get, now I need the BA to go with them. :-p Working with and for children is my calling. I’ve been doing it for years and years, and I love it still. I really want to get more into children’s advocacy, and I’m trying to figure out how to go about that. I considered social work, also, but – I don’t know. It’s not a job I could “leave at the office”. I can’t even do that with child care. The real problem would be handling situations in an ethical, professional manner. I’m not sure I could look into the eyes of a suspected child-abuser and say “We’ll come and check things out”. I don’t think I could walk away and leave an abused or potentially abused child with that person. In fact, I’m quite certain I couldn’t. For all my professionalism in my line of work. I don’t believe I could tell a person “You’re under investigation” or whatever it is one would tell them, and then just walk away and leave that child with them. I would be more apt to walk in with a ball-bat and scream “Let me show you what you’re doing to that baby!”

Maybe that’s what’s needed, though. I know case workers are overworked, understaffed and very underpaid. I know that there are rules, regs and laws that have to be followed. Maybe, though, those kids in trouble need someone who will refuse to accept “investigations take time” as an answer. Maybe they need someone who will scream at a system who, far too often, lets them down. Maybe they need someone who will follow through on even the “little” complaints, because what if? What if that child really is in trouble? What if you’re the only person willing to help? What if you’re the last resort, the final stand?

Maybe those kids in trouble need someone who will fight for them, tooth and nail, heart and soul. Who will scream “No! Look again!” when “unsubstantiated evidence” is thrown out. Who will say “No! Parenting classes are not enough when they’re hurting this baby!”

Our system has failed so many kids. Too many. I’ve seen it firsthand. I’ve made the reports and I’ve tried to follow up to see what’s going on, only to see absolutely nothing being done, or to see it blown off like it doesn’t matter. It’s sad, it’s beyond sad. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s heart-breaking and it’s not fair, because we’re supposed to protect our children. We’re supposed to love them and nurture them, and teach them that there are good things in this world. We’re supposed to protect them from the monsters that scare them in the dark, but how are we doing that if we’re the monsters?

The focus is so wrong. You focus on guns and you focus on political parties and you focus on who’s doing what and when. Who’s putting the focus on the little hearts who need it the most? If the people who are supposed to protect them fail, and the system who is supposed to be the back-up protection fail, who do they have left to save them?

I haven’t pursued a social work degree because, and only because, I could not handle watching children fall through the cracks. I could not be professional when I know in my heart that a child is being abused or neglected, yet they’re left in the hands of the people doing it. I could not stand by passively and listen to nonsense bureaucracy who pretend to have the youth’s interests at heart but really don’t care. I couldn’t stand by and watch some beast of an abusive person walk away with a child that is in need of help because the system failed that child.

That’s the point when I would break out my ball-bat, scream out some type of Amazonian war cry, and take things into my own hands. I make it sound like a joke, but it’s not. It’s not a joke. I haven’t pursued social work up until now because I have children of my own, and they don’t need mommy spending time in jail for assaulting some tosser who harmed a helpless child. I am a protective momma raptor, and it’s not only of my own children. It’s of any child who needs me.

I’m looking into a social work degree, though, so maybe I’ll make a career change. Professionalism be damned, someone needs to let the protective mommas out of their cages.

 

 mother

Just (Tap) Dance

Postmodern Jukebox – this group does covers of more modern songs, and they’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Video

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