Season 1, Episode 015: Super Young Love at Home

Guilliean reads three of her poems; read along with the poems while you’re listening!

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Superlove

I won't let you in, I'll fight you to the end
Too close, I can no longer be your friend

Love ends, where hate begins
You are which of the seven holy sins?

Hold you down, surrender to me
Mission to the black hole of a distant galaxy

You make me strong, can no longer deny
The thought of you makes me comply

All I ever wanted was you
Black and white tableau flame in my mind
Of all the memories we left behind

All the minutes - I imagine me and you
Together, like it was only natural
A hushed greeting from you, like a sledgehammer to my loins

I feel almost normal when you're near me
But I keep myself guarded, unable to face the truth
That if I lose myself in you, then me will cease to be

I refuse to let go of all the things that I have ever known
Love hardens, love breaks, but I won't let you in
Pride, I think, is my only sin.

Photo by Mieke Campbell on Unsplash

To be young again!

To be young again!

To jump on cracks, breaking Mama's back

To run from the shadows of a cloud on a spring day

To skip to my Lou, fall down from a ring of roses

Hopscotch, and jump-rope, and down down baby

To be Enlightened by curiosity

To examine the world through science, reason

To believe in God unrepentantly

To beg someone to kiss the boo-boo to make it better

To imagine the floor is lava

To defend to the death the notion that rain 
  on a sunny day is the Devil's wife weeping

To bathe in water and imagine the Titanic sinking

To clutch your teddy bear thinking they will save you

To be young again!

Photo by Nicole Geri on Unsplash

Home

Home is where the fences are cinder blocks,
                 radiating heat well into the night.
Home is where the shit on the street
                 is from ornamental plums,
                 and not migrating ducks and geese.

Home is knowing where the garlic salt is
                                          in the kitchen.
Home is where your dog is.
Home is waking up to the sun everyday,
                      ten months out of the year.

Home is walking out to your car,
     covered in a thin coat of dust.
Home is moving your joints,
and not hearing them crack,
                because humidity.

Every day is a new day.
I have been craving this adventure.
                         I earned my stripes.
The ride is bumpy, and I'm wearing a helmet.
I got it good. For now.

But sometimes, when you're feeling so far removed,
       when you hear a noise that doesn't sound right,
                         you want to be home.

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