I Saw A Woman For Her Flaws

[Journal Entry]                                                                                                               Oct. 26, 2010

I saw a woman for her flaws.

I saw I had the same.

I thought it was beautiful.

And you really cannot do any wrong.

I’m taking off passed pretty portraits of rights and wrongs. Some lefts were spotted, too. A scandinavian dressed in an anishinaabe headdress swallows gun shells. Smoke left scurried door outward. Sound check would not be for another hour. Early. So I induced more than I knew I should have. Poetry potluck. Seems people are more aware of what they don’t have than what they do. Bag of potatoes in the cellar. I remember my grandmother’s cellar, though not my real grandmother. I wouldn’t enter it by myself for fear of hairy monsters and getting trapped alone in the dark for hours. What I didn’t realize is that parents would very quickly see your absenteeism and locate you. This never occurred to me then. They wouldn’t notice now. My mother of abundance is scared of spelling errors, so she fails to write as much as she would actually like to. My mother of abundance is not a biological mother. I say this because I’ve come to understand that in this lifetime mothers are abundant. It’s fathers who are harder to find. Daddies even more. I hate her singing because she needs to be louder. I want to accept her creativity but... I’m a critic to her poetry. Does that make me a shadow artist? She sings too quiet when she NEEDS TO SING LOUDER. “House of broken dreams, blah blah silent screams”. I hate it because I used to write that shit. Stop getting angry. Understand.