All original material in KaraMac@Mindsay © 2011

I am REALLY pissed off and irritated and put out and delightfully challenged by someone who is too old to be overreacting and too boring to be calling the shots.

My Aunt Sonya died 3 hours ago.

13 years ago, actually in October, she took me into her home after everything that happened with my ex-stepfather. She became my second mother.

She appreciated Chanel handbags, designer sunglasses, Trisha Yearwood and Jewel's first album.
She loved sauteed mushrooms, Ally McBeal and the game Clue. She let me stay out until 10 o'clock on a school night for drama rehearsal and she grounded me when I needed it.

She helped Kristen & me set up our first lemonade stand on the bike path on Ferndale Avenue in Herndon, Va. She kept bringing us fresh pitchers. We made around $40 one day. Back in the '90s.

I kissed her goodbye this afternoon. I said, "I love you, sweet dreams" and she opened her eyes when I kissed her goodbye. I knew it would be the last thing I said to her, but I didn't KNOW it until I got the call at 12:23am this Saturday. Sweet dreams, Aunt Sonya. I hope you are with Nana & Larry & Papa now. I hope you are peaceful now and not in pain and the cancer is far, far away from you now.

The pain I have is just settling, sitting inside me. I have a feeling it will be here for a while. I will miss her...for a while.

I slam the doors sometimes, when no one is home.
I tore off the doors to my heart
so many years ago, when it was sweetly necessary.

I remember laughing at time
Now time, she begs me to
take a moment to remember

All the avenues of love
I refuse to paint with poetry
my canvas is rich, proud & silent
my brush is dry, no matter
what paint I dip her in

Pain is music
Temperature is a song,
heated with hate or frozen with longing
Time is such the audience
it's a quick romance
but life means more to me than sweetness and hurt.

Home is where love stays.
I keep the doors open sometimes, when I think you might see,
I sealed some rooms in my heart
Just to save the sweet taste of love, music, hate and longing.

I'll always be in the opposite direction.
Wish me love.
Wish me hate and longing,
I'll wish you love.
I'll wish you sweetness and hurt.

Sometimes lessons are the best storytellers.

Your soul is my soul
My blood is your blood
My heartbeat follows yours
Our strength forges ahead,
even if our expectations are decimated by uncalculable change
My spirit whistles and dances beside yours
Our friendship has walls no existing army could hinder or shake
You are my family, my friend, the sweet air that sweeps through me always.

Lucky, strong and packed to the gills with laughter.
That's us.
I love you and I am right here, incessant and ready for another crab dip with you at Clyde's! haha
Oh crap I just ruined the poem. But it's been like 6 years since we had some crab dip at Clyde's dude.

Thankful
for the lining in my soul
that glows, golden and bright
Courage
is a restful sigh of silver and satisfaction
Happiness
is like a magnet for me, pulling at me, reminding me to laugh at every single turn
Sadness
is the rain, the past, the sweet and salty strength that is cemented in my eyes
Love
an unexpected visitor, a balancing act, a poem that you live with each step of every day

I am doubly thankful that the Joisey Shore is premiering Season 4 tonight! heehee ha. Silly vodka.

I'm giving up my bachelorette throne in like 50 days. Can't write poems about doing the dishes and refilling the toilet paper thingy. I do this a lot now. I used to just take shots of Bacardi 151 in between shifts at Lone Star, haha Oh, stupid Kara 7 years ago

This seems right. I'd also like to slap myself in the face for it having to take a random 3 Doors Down song to drive a tincture of motivation into my head to start writing again. It always helps to look back at where I was. Enter Mindsay archives As calm as my life is now, I feel like those ten years should be documented better.

Hidden Heart
by KNM

Heart, you are soft
My protection, it is a solidified steel gate
weathered with temptation,
fevered with denial
...never opened.
Simple,
yet I can't help but subscribe to the hilarity
in your difficulties with such a realization.
The warm hope delivered in your salute
upon my reminding you...

You are unheard, secret heart.
Yet you ultimately seek the substance of my direction.

Heart, I am riding the tide.
Yesterday remains a challenge to you
Yet I taste the aim for next week's demons.
...But I've already fessed you up, sweet heart of mine.
I've already
cashed you in.
Yet you gather a new hope,
one that reflects both utopia and rejection
You are determined,
and your pumps are small, soft heart.
Yet I am not budging

That handsome, rich beat of Independence
defaces any bastion of rationality you may superstruct...

and therefore
I coo at you from outside your rusty cage
I have tenderly placed you in...
Perhaps you will one day thank me
as I hide you, narrow your energy
it is not due to the fear of you breaking, dear heart
...but my faith running cold thereafter
surrendering me to sweep away
the totality of my conscience
...and feast off of innocent hearts
just to sate my hunger for
love,
lost
And a heart,
Once soft...

The truth is that I will always be me.
No excuses, no apologetic nods.
Swallow it or walk away.
I've got no explanation for you, no rehearsed story.

I will not lay down on my back for you.

This glass underneath my feet...
This silly pain, a thin skin of remembrance over my heart, always

It's important for anyone to remember that growing stronger means
facing
the deep, damp horror that you so coddle every single day. Personal normalcy is light, routine, fragrant: grass, gasoline, perfume, smoke, air conditioning, food.

Friends are pearls and lovers are diamonds. But I can't wear you every single day. Some days my neck is bare and I have to remember. I have to feel nothing but skin.

This soft earth underneath my life...
This silly strength, a thick skin of remembrance over my heart, always

Strength is the origin of pain, it shows up afterwards and shines inside my heart, always.

Presently, there's a few dishes in the sink. The place mats on the dining room table need to be straightened, the coasters aligned. I've got to vacuum the main living room rug--I have two white dogs...Tomorrow's not going to be a joke, tomorrow's going to be a full-on apothecary of motherly thankfulness. Full swing. I'm slightly bitter from this past Easter, so I'm going to have to make a point about the napkin rings, the fancy wooden salad bowls and the serving of such. The scented candles, the fresh flowers, the homemade iced tea.
Tomorrow, before she comes, I'm going to have it ready x500. 12 Coronas super chilled in the fridge. French bread sliced, with glass ramekins of olive oil with sunken ground black pepper. A tenderloin marinating and waiting for the grill. Cloves of garlic and the pepper mill on the cutting board, ready for the pot of mashed potatoes (my mashed potatoes).
My morning routine will be usual--let the dogs out in the backyard, feed them breakfast, walk them, feed myself & Nathan breakfast, then it's on. I haven't cooked soul food in a quite a while, but that shit is going down tomorrow. I hope I blow her mind, I hope she relaxes and has a great time. Her granddogs are a little crazy but I know she loves them.
All I'm saying is it's going to get dirty in the kitchen. I'm throwing out all the tricks and I'm cementing my spot for holiday dinners. I need organization and I'm happy to cater any family event so that we all see how it's supposed to be. It didn't die with Nana in 2009. I'm rushing the blood. No more scattered shit like Easter. I'm taking over, now. She's going to be blown away