One afternoon
Sitting outside
Drinking coffee
They looked at each other
Half joking
Half serious
“All we have in common
Is sex and coffee.”
It was true
She wanted deep conversation
He liked to keep it light
They talked about the weather, the bills, the house, the dogs and the kids
That was about all
Skimming the surfaces
Riding the waves
Just keeping it simple
Like sex and coffee
He knew how she took her coffee
Strong and dark with a little stevia and cream
He liked his made with honey instead
And that was about it
She wanted more
That he did
A little romance
Surprises and all that jazz
Date nights
Dressed up and taken out
Lingerie and lace
He thought that was too much trouble
Rather get it done and over
So it never took all that long
Just long enough to mess things up
About as long as it took
To brew another pot of coffee
Make one more cup
One for him to take away and one for her to sip
While she’s standing at the bathroom counter
Straight out of the shower
Soaking wet
Feet on the towel
Letting her body drip dry
Taking her own sweet time
Putting on her makeup
While he rushed right by
On to the next thing on his list
After sex and coffee
That was then
And this is now
He’s gone most all the time
Home only every forty nights
She’s gotten used to doing without
Half of what she had
Now she makes her own pot of coffee
Sleeps on her side of the bed
Doesn’t even mess up the rest
She reads books and writes stories
To fill up the void
She drinks cup after cup
While standing in the mirror
Putting on her makeup
They talk almost every day
About the same things
The weather, the bills, the house, the dogs and the kids
And yesterday she said,
“All we had in common was coffee and sex so I couldn’t help myself.”
And even that seemed too long to him
He liked to keep it short and simple
Like sex and coffee.
☕👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead
924a.m. 6.7.20 
Tag: #bestisyettobe #WalkWithLove #friends #wordsforyoursoul #damnstraight
Crazy Times
She never thought the day would come
That the doors would have to be shut
Keeping her from doing what she loves
But it’s crazy times just now
What she does isn’t deemed “essential”
And she knows damn well it’s not quite true
That’s just like beauty
In the eye of the beholder
Crazy to believe it anyways
But she aches to touch
Aches to be touched
Misses the music and the lyrics
The good vibes
The scent of coconut oil on her hands
The feel of another person’s skin
She misses the pulse she feels, the rise and fall of breath
She longs to be needed,to fill the void
To step up and press down
Give her all and get more
It’s crazy how she knows
What to do and when and where to go
But right now
These crazy times
Are keeping her
From doing what she loves
So she’ll make do
In other ways
Hold her breath
Find the treasures
On the ragged edges
And make it through
These crazy times
Until she can do what she was born to do.
👣🧡 Jeanna’ Mead
3.31.20. 6 46 a.m
Crazy Daisies
She would rather have
Crazy Daisies in pitchers
Or Mason jars
Instead
She would rather have
Tequila and whiskey
Instead
She would rather be picked up
Taken for a ride
In blue jeans and barefeet
Instead
She would rather receive
A simple bracelet
Handwritten card
Instead
She would rather have
Chocolate kisses
Instead
She would rather be
Taken out for burgers and beer
A little live music somewhere
Instead
She would rather be
Kissed again and again
Instead
She would just wait and see
What will be
Instead
Jeanna’ Mead
6 23 a.m. 2.13.20
She Knew
Listening to this song while drinking coffee in Christmas morning
.https://open.spotify.com/track/4z8sz6E4YyFuEkv5o7IJni?si=H-jlAXihRWC4iq1qQieQS.
Mary knew. I’m sure of it.
A woman’s intuition.
She knew and she kissed her baby boy knowing full well she was kissing the face of God.
She wasn’t intimidated. She wasn’t afraid. She was His mother and she did what came naturally. She kissed Him. She loved Him. She held Him and she soothed Him.
She gave Him love and she received love back.
Imagine this, the Lord Jesus snuggling up to His mom, nestling in her embrace, loved and accepted, cherished and wanted.
Mary was filling His needs-for warmth, for food, for shelter, for attention, for compassion, for change (yes, He had to be changed.. yes,even the baby Jesus pooped).
We tend to gloss over some parts but we shouldn’t, it’s the truth.
Babies need to be changed and sometimes it stinks and it’s messy but we do it anyways, because that’s what love does.
Love does what’s necessary and what’s good and what has to be done.
Not just the things that look good and feel good, but the hard things, the tiring things and the things that take time and energy.
Mary knew it had to be done and she did it with love, with intention, and with gratitude that she was the one who was the chosen to do so.
Chosen.
Think about that for a second.
Mary was chosen to be the mother of Jesus.
And she knew it.
She didn’t understand why, but she knew she was.
So she kissed her baby boy and she kissed the face of God and He, in return, kissed her.
Today when you choose to kiss someone, kiss them with the intention and knowledge that you are kissing the face of God, too.
There is truth there.. for each and every person was created by God, for a reason and a plan that He alone understands.
We need to remember this…
Just as Mary gave Love to her baby boy, we need to give love, not just gifts wrapped in paper and tied with ribbons, with tags of a few chosen people.
We need to give love generously, gently, graciously to those people that cross our paths, that come into our lives, that somehow bump into us.
Ever stop and think that maybe, just maybe God chose that meeting, chose that person to come into your life, chose YOU to be the one that’s present and in awe of the chance to give and receive love.
Kind of like Mary was.
I think we know this.
Intuition.
We know that Love is the greatest gift we have.
So please give it, receive it, share it, find it, celebrate it, embrace it and be it.
Choose to be like Mary and choose to be like God .
I think we all want to do this just has we instinctively know that Love is what we should be giving, but we get intimidated and afraid.
We fall back on rules and regulations and on lists and others things.
We choose.
Sometimes we choose not to love, not to give, not to receive, not to embrace and not to be present and in awe.
Isn’t that a shame?
Think about it… A baby needs a mother.. needs to be held and touched, to be nurtured and loved.
It’s that simple.
And really, so is everything else.
Mary knew that.
And so do we, deep down in our soul.
So Merry Christmas, may you love more and be loved more.
Jeanna’Mead
7 32 a.m. 12.25.19
Bliss, Snake Oil, and Kisses
She opens up the very last tiny vial
Breathes in the intoxicating scent
That took her back in time
Broke her heart just a little
Made her wonder
And remember
Once upon a time
She stood up on her tippy toes
To reach as high as she could
Held on and let go
All at once
This morning she decided she wouldn’t wait
Any longer
Expect anyone else to know
Her beloved favorites
Scents and words
She had always worn
That she longed to have more
A woman once grabbed her
Pressed her lips
Against her hand
Breathed in and said,
“You smell like a head shop, a little booze and musk… It suits you well”
“It’s mysterious and inviting”
She could only laugh
At the idea
That she was mysterious and inviting
Weren’t those two things a contradiction
At the very least
But secretly she knew
She was someone’s idea of bliss
She was a little too intense
A bit too sensual
Scared a few just a little
Made others long for more
She read lips and minds
Understood the language of the eyes
She laid the stones
Spoke the words
Filled the air with clarity
And sometimes it was a bit too much
A little snake oil, blood kisses, mixed with bliss and twenty one vices
She couldn’t resist any longer
The very last vial had shown her
If she wanted something, she must be the one
Instead of waiting for someone else
She knew herself best
What she wanted to be
Mysterious and inviting
👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead
6 17 a.m. 12.23.19
(For the giver of Bliss .. Words become art)
4 o’clock cravings
She’s up at 4 in the morning
Couldn’t ignore the feeling any more
She needed something sweet
Something hot
Something to make it through
To stop the feeling
That woke her up too soon
She poured a cup of coffee
Added a bit of milk and made it sweet
Then reached for the cookies
Peanut butter and chocolate
Heaven help her
Cause she can’t help herself
When there’s a hunger burning inside her
All those good intentions and promises go right out the door
She vowed to make up for it
By doing twice as much
Working even harder
To counteract her 4 o’clock cravings
Lord knows she tries
But she’s only got one life
And if this is one of her vices
Well, heaven help her
Because she can’t help herself
She’ll drink every last drop
Lick her fingers till all trace is gone
Then slide back in
Between the sheets
Satisfied for the time being
Until she wakes up
Craving something else again.
🍪☕♥️👣 Jeanna’ Mead
4 27 a.m 7.14.19
Fingerprints
“Values are like fingerprints. Nobody’s are the same, but you leave ’em all over everything you do…” – Elvis Presley
She didn’t quite trust
Her own fingerprints
She wouldn’t use them
To keep her secrets locked in
For fear they would lock her out instead
She felt like her fingerprints had changed
With pressure and time
As she touched other people
Over and over
Over and over,again
Rubbing in love
Rubbing out pain
Leaving parts of her skin
Bits of her soul
In each stroke
No wonder she didn’t quite trust
Her own fingerprints
It seemed like she had
Too much of others carved into her skin
Just like the way she became
Just a little,tiny bit different
With every one she knew
Just enough to make a difference
She became who and what
Was needed at any given moment
Giving parts of her heart
Holding back parts of her body
She felt as if she was covered with the fingerprints of others
Just as surely as she had left her own
Invisible on the skin
Penetrated deep within
Down into the bones
Stained on the soul
Fingerprints
That couldn’t quite be trusted
To hold up in a court of law
But they could be trusted to hold on
To the secrets she kept
intertwined
Overlapped
Buried deep
Burned into
Her very own fingerprints
That she didn’t trust
To look the same
Over and over
Over and over,again
👣❤Jeanna’ Mead
6 46 a.m 4-7-19
Www.jeannasoul.com
My cell phone and my bank account offer the option of a fingerprint identification. I tried using it..only to get myself locked out.
I placed my finger precisely as instructed,over and over again, and it would not accept my fingerprint the second time around.
Maybe all the years of rubbing others,of burning my fingers on hot stones, cast iron pans, boiling water and this,that and another has changed my fingerprints.
I know that I have changed….I have taken all my experiences and those of the people I’ve touched and it has made me a different woman..I’m passionate..compassionate, forgiving and fiercely protective because I’ve been broken, buried,burned and blossomed into who I ask now and I wouldn’t change any of it..just like my fingerprints…these life experiences have made me who and what I was meant to be.
Just One Cross – 1,000 Are Not Hers
1,000 Crosses
she radiates beauty beyond compare
malachite eyes dancing on delicate features
thick flaming hair accentuating skin so fair
she has built within her own dark lair
where every aching hour is neither here nor there
transfixed on modern technologies to articulate her pain
searching diligently for ways to cut her losses
pain has nailed her to a thousand crosses
like a cask of amontillado she remains walled in
growing moss- lamenting – wailing in her literature
all the times she’s been double-crossed
she lives now in a four-walled cubicle
a home chiseled to create personal comfort
protection from human-demons devoid of true love
the pathetic and sad in endless cycles of utter despair
she feels spurned
rougher, tougher still searching for her elusive lover
trapped in an unreal reality
her unrealized spirituality zaps her vitality
she hopes for better days
& yearns for someone magical to discover her sexuality
she weeps silently and peeks outside her shuttered windows
counting endless stars – glimmering pinpoint beams of light
through eyes that seek their own purity
something to move her out of obscurity
trapped, she reveals nothing
stuffing stories of her pain that fall like rain
upon the mantle of her secure fortress
distressed with stress as her days slowly pass her by
why bother to confess or confide in wounded people
who couldn’t care less?
still, she must find a magical person to listen
to love her – to save her from madness
her tormented broken heart continually cries and wails
seeking an ounce of genuine gladness
prose scribbled on cerebral portals
bring some release from her infinite dark losses
the very fabric of her being implores her to “know thyself”
she prays silently to no one in particular to remove the painful nails
that suspend her on a thousand crosses…
the time has come to become like the albatross and fly
before she dies broken in her loneliness & fear…
-randini-
Randy E Welch
That was then
But not now
She finally had enough
Of all that crab
Those walls she had built herself
To guard her oft-broken,misunderstood heart
Came with a price that she refused to pay any longer
So she took the scissors
Cut off her hair
Let one side fall to the ground
While she stared at herself
In the mirror
As she twisted a handful of curls
In her right hand
And cut off the rest
Leaving a mess on the bathroom floor
In doing so
She opened up
The door to her soul
The less hair she had
The more she smiled
The weight of other people’s expectations
Fell away
She had learned long ago
Not to confide or confess
A cotton picking thing to anyone that just might turn around and use those things
To try to make sense
Make her change
Send her on a guilt trip
Bury her in shame
Make her fit into some cubicle
Take away her natural sensuality
God given spiritually
Inclination for mystery and magic
Just so that they could be satisfied
With what they thought she was
She finally felt as if she had just enough
Of all the right people standing along side
Filling up her cup
With all she wanted
Much of what she needed
She had prayed
Night and day
In her own way
And in doing so
She found the courage and the strength
To pack up what she couldn’t live without
Kick the rest to the curb
Lay claim to what is rightfully hers
Walk right inside her very own door
Breathing in the sweet scent of freedom that comes from
Doing what makes her soul dance within
Her well loved, well worn imperfect body
With a single stone cross around her neck
She was not lonely
Never had been afraid
She felt such purpose and peace
As if this was exactly as she had prayed and wished
Way back then
To have now.
👣💙Jeanna’ Mead
8 33 a.m 3-10-19
Www.jeannasoul.com
Wake Up Dead
One day I received a text reply from my friend and it said, very simply, “Take care of yourself or you’re going to wake up dead.”
Wake up dead.
I laughed it off at first but then I started to reflect on those words and what it meant.
Wake up dead.
Just imagine that you wake up dead..Just like that..and all the things left behind, left unsaid,left undone….
There’s a Paulo Coelho quote that I love that says,
“One day you will wake up and there will be no more time to do any of the things you wanted to do…do them NOW!”
And yet…I’m so guilty of not doing the very thing I’m always telling others to do.
I have a long list of things I want to do and places I want to go.
I have words to write and words to say.
I have things to give and things I want to receive.
I have people that I need to spend more time with and people that I need to have a heart-to-heart talk with.
If I was to wake up dead, there would be so much left unsaid and unfinished. There would be chaos and clutter for anyone that tried to make head or tails of all my drawers and closets,my books and papers, and the way I’ve done things but…..
That’s the way I am.
However..I don’t want to wake up dead that way..I just don’t.
While I know good and well that no one is promised tomorrow and only God knows when number of our days, I know something else,too.
Life is precious. Life is beautiful. Life is meant to be lived fully, lived extravagantly and intentionally, lived with love and generosity.
Because one day, just like my friend said, we will wake up dead.
Gone to glory.
Dancing with Jesus.
Standing at the pearly gates.
Passed away.
And just like that, it’ll be over and done with.
With this in mind, I decided to go through my drawers, my closets, my attic. Organizing all the stuff that I’ve accumulated over my lifetime…letters and cards, drawings from my children, handwritten recipes from my beloved Mema and Mom, books I’ve highlighted and written in, journals and notebooks filled with my poems and prayers, my painful memories and my beautiful reflections, blessings and curses that comes from the living life on ragged edge.
I want to make sure that when that time comes and I wake up dead that there isn’t anyone left wondering how I felt, how much I loved, what mattered to me.
That’s right.
I’m going to say what I think and what I feel.
I’m going to apologize when I should. Raise Cain and Abel when I get riled up. Sprinkle kindness like confetti all over creation. I’m going to whisper “I love you” and shout it,too. Dress up fancy for no good reason. Drink chocolate milk from wine glasses and wine from plastic tumblers. I’m going to dance with strangers and those that I love. I’m going to say “YES!” when I want to and declare “NO!” when I don’t.
I’m going to make time for what matters to my body,my spirit,my mind. I’m going to make plans and not excuses. Find reasons and ways instead of obstacles and barriers.
Because one of the days I might wake up dead and I damn straight want to be sure that I lived.
I want to give people something to talk about when that day comes,too.
I want them to say things like this.
She sure did love with her whole heart.
She felt with both hands.
You never had to wonder what she thought about things. She spoke her mind with truth and grace.
She was a damn good listener even though she was half deaf.
She gave as much as she received.
She loved surprising people and getting surprises.
Lawd have mercy, she loved to dance.
She couldn’t carry a tune to save her life,but she sang anyways.
She was strong as a bull and stubborn as a mule.
She didn’t always have the best but she made the best of what she had.
She never gave up on people,no matter what.
She loved cowboy boots,faded jeans and pretty lace underwear and worn them from the day she lived till the day she died.
She was smart. She was kind. She was beautiful in her own way.
Yeah, that’s what I want people to say about me when I wake up dead.
But I also want them to say it right now while I’m living and I want to make sure I say it,too.
I don’t want to hear that someone I know and care about woke up dead and I hadn’t made time to talk to them.
I don’t want to gather at a funeral home wishing I had another chance.
I don’t want to have a long list of regrets;of cancelled invitations, turned down dates, missed opportunities, unspoken words,unwritten letters,untold stories and untaken pictures.
That’s not my style,not my desire, not my choice.
So here it goes….this year is winding down and a new one is about to begin and I’m making a list,checking it twice, kind of like Santa Claus, of all the things I want to do,all the people I want to love on and the places I want to see and the dreams I want to come true so that I can start checking them off, doing it all, living my life with passion and love, giving and receiving beautiful things.
From now on.
Just because.
As long as I can.
Until the day comes.
When I wake up dead.
👣💗Jeanna’ Mead
8 59 a.m 12.6.18
Www.jeannasoul.com
These Two Men
These two men sit
Outside with me
Comfortable and at ease
Talking about the past
Things they did
Places they had been
I sit there
Looking at them
Reading their lips
Knowing full well
I’m missing some words
But still
I know enough
These two men
Bring me along
Include me in
We have a past
Present and future
I have no doubt
These two men
Hold me close
Don’t leave me out
Remind me of who I am
And when I wonder
If it’s enough
I think about the way
These two men
Sit and talk
With me
And I feel the love
That comes along
From being known
And knowing well
These two men.
👣❤Jeanna’Mead
8 18 a.m. 8-16-16
Www.jeannasoul.com
For Jim and Benjamin..these two men…..
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