To my grandmother, the woman who took twenty years to-for lack of a better term-get her shit together. You are a gem. I love you:
I am not waiting for the day
That I have to pull on
That black, black dress
With its sullen, drooping mouth
I am not waiting for the day
That your smile doesn't trigger
The biggest grin on mine
I am not waiting for the day
That you are no longer there
To wipe my stained mascara and smudged lipstick
And tell me that it'll be okay
I am not waiting for the day
That your slender fingers
Don't find mine in the winter
I am not waiting for
That final goodbye
But I am waiting for
The next beautiful blue dress
That I will dance in with you
The next laugh that triggers my giggles
The next night that I rush into your arms
And you wipe my mascara and lipstick, telling me that it's okay
The next winter that we lay together
And intertwine our fingers like promises
I am waiting for
The next hello
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This is the very first in a series of poems to my dysfunctional family and crazy-amazing friends! Maybe one day I'll work up the courage to let them read it themselves. Until then, I'll keep them locked under my alias and hidden from their eyes.
