I've not been able to stop. These thoughts, sentences, feelings. Not even for minutes. Even when I haven't been able to jot down every living, breathing, writhing word, they all wriggle freely in my head, against another, with another, becoming another. I try and fail to make any of it come to some sort of sense. In the odd quiet, I notice the quick clicks and clacks upon my keyboard. After midnight in the city on a Friday. No sirens. No yelling. No squealing of tires echoing on the streets. Nothingness of sound. I wish I was as void as that. Somewhere, not so long ago, in a dream, I pressed myself against you, a soft but firm embrace and you did the same to me. Together, we fell into the waking sleep of souls connecting and the electricity of the event brought us front and center, face to face - rather, face in face, body in body, and it was the palpable just short of physical melding of something so far beyond our scope for rationale and reasoning. I know this was a dream because it is fading fast as the light of what used to be Us. There is no longer a We, only a Me and a You. I am drowning in the madness of missing you. But is it that? Or is it that have I lost a part of myself and this is why my stomach turns, my head pounds, my hands shake...I am going into shock because there is an integral piece of what Keeps Me Partially Whole not in place. I would like it back, please. Pack it up, wrap it gently - or not, leave it in a paper sack or store it in a gift shop box, I could care less how it finds its way home to me. I will happily and immediately give yours to you because I aim to cut any and all cords which bind. I was not made to carry you like this, alone and without solid promise for reunion. I don't fool myself into believing that you are suffering the same. You have your way to escape and hide from any and all things unpleasant. I do not. I have the eerie stillness of a Friday night in the city, the clock ticking, the branches outside my window rustling tip-toe soft as to not disturb the quiet, my fingers tapping away at this rant which you will never see. I have myself, my resolve, and what's left of what I thought was Real. And I have the strength to walk away.
Category: Life
When
When Breaks are Break-ups and there's no running from the truth When the love is there but neither has a thought on what to do When they try and they try because they don't want to lose it When the writing's on the wall but they plumb choose to refuse it When the words have lost meaning and silence becomes queen They leave each other, along with what could have been
Pretty
"We can't help that we are pretty." "You have known this all your pretty self." "You have been granted leniency in life because you look the way you do." i am pretty? i would think i would have known this were it the case in fairy tales in movies in life pretty is saved pretty is revered pretty is respected i am not nor have I ever been pretty pretty has leniency. the old mans hands shriveled fingertips nicotine stained rough and peeling pretending a game up my timid and frightened 5 year old thighs i should say no but this is only a game and i want to be a good girl Leniency the friend of an uncle who is "family" beer breath against my neck scratchy scruff scraping my cheek in a whisper... I Am Becoming Such A Beautiful Young Woman and my 13 yo self wants to kick him in his gross hairy everywhere and run away BUT i want to be a good girl Leniency the entitled groping ass slaps tit grabs forced wet sloppy lustful hopeful kisses against unwilling flesh while i play dead nerves flinching muscles contracting an anxious stifled spasm of my soul i want this to end i am not feeling pretty no pretty has leniency i am the malformed monster seeking refuge in the dark
Fine wine
We banter years have done nothing to whittle away our love It isn't what it once was We are older Far more tired than not Seasoned We can laugh at our former follies Joke about the flaws Compliment the qualities Mutual respect and appreciation An anomaly Old friends who became lovers Old lovers who became enemies Old enemies who became friends We've come full circle And as you console me with words which could have been used decades past when you last broke my heart words which are rolling off my back and doing almost nothing to stem the wound left from this most recent journey into Love's thorny territory I know I'll be fine. Friendship lasts longer And you and I have aged like fine wine.
Intention
my mind wandered as the knife sliced clean thorough efficient through the pungent onions the stubborn carrots the sound of the blade brought satisfaction crisp against the celery i readied the stove flames medium the aroma of care permeating my home the once solid bacon drippings melted in the cast iron pot small bits missed from sieving sizzled crackled my heart sang the song of the women before me all the heartaches the miseries the mistreatments dissolved like animal fat over heat the ballad of my forebearers fell on me and i felt it as i had before this was love a calming daytime lullaby a melody only heard in my kitchen and i thought of you in the peacefulness of that moment what we had spoken of laughed about agreed upon intention every dash of salt shake of spice slow stir of whatever was bubbling simmering coalescing a rhythm notes being played subconsciously and through intuition i could dance all night to the music i cooked and for the quickest blink of a millisecond i missed you
A Kind of Naked
my eyes grew smaller by the minute i should have been sleeping instead late night conversation next to you side by side in my bed fully clothed head to toe while we stripped down to the vulnerable nudity of our souls the soft cushions of the longed for hopes strewn haplessly unorganized dusty but present unearthing past dreams hidden under blankets in the corner my secrets and your demons whispering to each other co-conspirators partners in crime tendrils of one coiling towards the curls of the other linking intertwining unifying and i should have been sleeping yet there i was naked in my truth marveling at the stark authenticity of yours modesty is overrated
Godless
I don't believe in god or give credence to any religion created by fearful men in efforts to oppress and subdue those they felt were beneath them instilling the thought process that all were unworthy except for themselves no religion is not for me yet I still pray my boots smoothly pack their prints upon the snow covered walk my breath soft, steady, serene it would be silent save for the gentlest sound of my steps as I head home the prayer is small a quick word with the Universe a telepathic memo to the stars a devotion to the moon once I'm home I light a candle white for cleansing I hold the wallet-sized black and white photo of my great-grandmother so close to my heart and whisper to it as though she were right next to me hugging me consoling me reassuring me loving me and I murmur an invocation "give me strength give me patience give me kindness" I do not believe in God But I believe in the woman she was Mighty Imperfect Determined and filled to the brim with all the Love and Fortitude only a cruel life could gracefully gift as penance No weight has been lifted Problems are problems I know I am still wavering However my faith certainly isn't After all I believe in the Universe The Stars The Moon and my Bloodline. And those are far more real and powerful than any variation of what is being sold as God.
My home, My heart
As I'd been tossing the old and unwanted
parting with the objects
which no longer served me
did not bring joy
were not useful
had no purpose other than
taking up
much needed space
I remembered someone saying
or maybe
I read it somewhere
but
A person's home is a reflection of self.
I stopped
took a moment
The books
the plants
the comforts
the oddities
the weirdness
the normal
the art
the pictures
the colors
the colors
the colors
the kitchen still fragrant
from the previous night's dinner
stems rooting in
plastic water filled
shot glasses
on the sparse countertop
coffee pot
half full
still hot
splashes of bright red
dried chili peppers
microwave
mixer
I took a seat
at the hand-me-down dining table
canary yellow tablecloth
with the floral print
greens, blues, purples,
complementing the artwork ridden
walls
and mirrors
all the mirrors
to reflect
to deflect
in the stillness of the waning afternoon
splashes of the setting sun
upon shelves
filled with cookbooks
horror novels
rocks collected at parks
clay dinosaurs
molded by
children
young and inquisitive
I appreciated the warmness
and assurance
of the small space
I had created for myself
of myself
A brightly pleasant
curio shop
of the soul
I know
maybe
it's not for everyone
but the right one
will find it to be
a haven
The Universe Sent A Memo
This morning, my ex-husband came to pick up the kids. Ever the hospitable host, I mentioned I had one croissant left. Would he like a breakfast sandwich? Never mind that I had not eaten myself. Of course, he said yes. There I went, off to the kitchen as he sat at the dining table with the boys. And as I idly tended to the cooking and plating, I felt the strongest sadness in myself. This is who I am. This will always be who I am. It doesn't matter how shitty someone will treat you, you will never complain. Never fight. You will always care. You will always err on the side of kindness and consideration, like a chump. And I hated myself for that moment. I wished with every molecule in my body that I could be the spiteful and vindictive type, but I couldn't. I can't. I fed him. Made small talk. Hugged and kissed my kids goodbye. Felt the emptiness set in. I thought of all my exes right up to the most recent. All the men I've loved more than they ever loved me... you're fucking pathetic. You will never be enough. I buried myself under blankets and tried to hide from my own self. I didn't succeed. I went into work later that day, devoid of spirit. A fraying husk of a person. The whole evening, nothing but a handful of people. One regular, going through his own relationship woes offered commiseration. I was on autopilot. I smiled and responded with the most generic platitude I had at the ready. "Oh, you know. There's somebody for everybody. I just wasn't his somebody." I was ... blank. At some point, I realized I hadn't eaten the whole day. It was going on 9 pm. I forced myself to have a slice of pizza knowing that if I didn't, I'd get sick. The cook was rightly worried - I wasn't eating. I was always eating. Why wasn't I eating? I think I ate that one piece more to appease him than to put something in my belly. Another regular asked if I would do a shot with him. I usually don't. Drinking behind the bar isn't my gig. But I said yes. Out of spite for myself. I messaged a friend two short sentences. I am losing my defiance. I am losing my will. "You are stronger than that." I am not. "You. Are. Sure you're allowing yourself a moment of weakness, but you are." I didn't feel that to be true. But I knew arguing would lead nowhere and didn't bother to message back. Then, I once again stewed. I ran through all the times I had met adversity with my chin up. Shoulders squared. The countless instances I turned the other cheek. The ridiculous amount of pain and heartache I had suffered through thinking that in the end, it would be okay. As long as I continued to put good out into the world, I would be okay. What a fucking crock of bullshit. I felt the war within myself. The battle against becoming who I once was, who I strived to never be again. Cold, cruel, indifferent, unfeeling. Stone. By this point, everyone had left. It was just me and Johnny. Not everyone cares for him. He's a talker. In the grand scheme of things, he's not an angry drunk, he's almost always polite, and despite his tendency to have an opinion about everything under the sun, he has a good heart. There are far worse customers. I am not bothered by him. He called to me as I was cleaning, said he wanted to gift me something. He pulled that something out of his wallet and from where I was standing, it was square and shiny. For a second, I thought, There is no way this dude is trying to give me a f**king condom. Still, I was curious and walked over. It was a flattened chocolate wrapper. It had obviously been sitting in his wallet for quite some time. "Now," he started, still holding it gently in front of me. "it's not what it is, it's what's written on it. I'm going to show it to you and I'll leave it up to you if you want to take it. You can tell me 'No thanks, keep it' or you can have it. No pressure." He laid it down on the bar, some cheesy inspirational quote. On a tiny piece of foil that he had been carrying with him for who knows how long. And in that moment, I felt my eyes welling. I swallowed to clear the lump from my throat. Quietly, "I needed this. Thank you." He gave me a hug. Through a muffled sob, I managed to mumble, "It's been one hell of a week." There it was. The good grace of the Universe reminding me that kindness is necessary. Compassion is key. I remain soft. With no intent on changing.
coping mechanisms
when i was younger heartbreak devastated me in the worst way i'd slip away into late night dives drinking to forget picking up strangers just to feel wanted pretending they gave a shit even though i knew they didn't never being able to stand my own reflection the morning after fortunately times have changed i don't find solace in self-destruction the way i once did i suppose i've evolved lately i like to read old love poems the ones i wrote when the future seemed certain and promising i read them to remind myself that it has happened before it can happen again just because i've always been slow to trust when the time came to lower the many bridges to my soul's heart i did and i have continued to love unconditionally truthfully loyally always kindly. while my stomach is sick with the churning chaos of another paramour removed i take the time to acknowledge the moments where it all felt real new forever even if it doesn't feel that way at the present
But Otherwise Fine 