the wick almost gone what was once a robust flame would soon flicker out
Category: poems
Cord Cutting
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.
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
crumbs
i left a crumb of myself behind followed by another and another and another every few steps in plain sight for you to find your way back i remain hopeful despite the dwindling of the light the dark is infinite i've dropped the last morsel the smallest bit left i wait don't idle long, my love the birds are circling and they are hungry
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
I’ll Cry About It Tomorrow
I'll cry about it tomorrow I don't have the time for it today Too much time deliberating Whether or not to walk away Dangling like a carrot Promises you don't intend to keep I'll worry about it tomorrow I need to catch some sleep I'll cry about it tomorrow No time, No time today I'll cry about it tomorrow When nothin's left to say I'll let it all out tomorrow I'll try and carve out some time Too busy drowning my heartache In this almost empty jug of wine We've said our peace, nothing's changed My heart can't bear this weight I'll think about this tomorrow Hopefully it won't be too late I'll cry about it tomorrow No time, Just no time today I'll let it all out tomorrow When there's nothin' left to say If I could have just one more day I promise, I won't make a scene I'll have dry eyes until tomorrow Just to hold you close to me Almost morning and the bed is empty Light slowly seeps in from dawn Tears flow to soak my pillow Tomorrow has finally come
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
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
But Otherwise Fine 