He wanted a strong woman
a capable woman
a fierce woman
a loving woman
He wanted the fire
the warmth, the mystery
the ambition, the fight
the kind of woman who did not suffer fools
a woman
who knew who she was
who had stared into the depths
of her soul's mirrors
and faced each and every
hideous malformed self-reflection
to find the truth
the bareness
the sacred simple seed
of her
genuine most
unblemished self
she did.
and
she became
formidable.
she had reclaimed
her birthright
her authenticity
her feminine
her masculine
the soft
the hard
the petals
the thorns
the things she could be
and shouldn't be able to be
the ever encompassing
All
And he offered her
the seeming
safe haven
from the world which did not appreciate
her Kind.
He did this,
knowing
his truest
Want
He wanted a woman Perfect
but Not
Perfect for him
Not for others
He wanted a woman who could
and would
carry the weight of his world
on her shoulders
without complaint
despite the heaviness of her own
already attempting
to cripple her posture
chipping away
at her will
to move forward
a will
which renewed
at each
rising sun.
He wanted such a strong woman
that she could handle her own
travesties
alone
And still nuzzle her face against
his indifferent chest
at night
He wanted Athena
Coatlicue
Freya
Kali
he wanted all of these
and more
in her
of her
about her
a swirl of interminable
ferocity
cloaked in clouds
of beauteous gauze
knelt before him
curves draped
in the
silkiest finery
and ankles gripped
in the heaviest shackles
bejeweled as they could be
he wanted her
made up and bound
bundled tidily for him to keep
as a prize
as though she were
a conquest
a gift from the universe
albeit unearned
He wanted a strong woman
forgetting
that they do not remain
the shelf trophy concubines
of weak men
so imagine
his shock
and surprise
when he awoke
alone
the bold electricity
of her aura
having left his home
silent
and cold
he'd find the evenings
just as barren
and the next
and the next
and the next
every day
eyes fluttered open
the mind awakened
the clock
ticking its tocks away
into another
quiet
solitary
empty morning
he'd still blame her
for
being
who she had always been
and whose light
he never
deserved
All because
He wanted a strong woman
until her strength
became the sandpaper
to the thin delicate skin
of the ego
he had been cradling
for decades.
He wanted the woman who didn't suffer fools
except for him
He wanted the woman
who could catch other people's
deceptions
except for his
He wanted a woman
who didn't need anyone
except
for
huh
him
A strong woman
is only as resilient
as her partner
and he
was lacking
On an unassuming
autumn day
much like
every strong woman
who came before her
during their
own seasons
on their own schedules
of their own volition
she left
carrying
So much less
than before
Tag: writing
This Is Not New
It never hurts less. It never "goes away" faster.
The gnawing knot burning in the bowels of the belly
Is that where the heart has fallen? The heat of the unrequited effort
a molten lava organ
searing its way down to the epicenter
of the soul
the stomach sickness
the churning and twisting
the absolute agony
of every memory
every sweet word
every cherished fingertip graze
half-smile
soft snore
cute quirk
all are sharp echoes
stabbing
and
stabbing
and
jesus christ am i bleeding
it never gets easier. familiarity does not bring speed to healing.
the emptiness a hollow of a wound deep and dark with no suture available
or even capable
the gaping pit heaving and undulating, whimpering and whining
crying and spitting
and hands grasp the outer folds
trying to bring it shut
clasp it together
self-soothing
tears in the darkness
while scrambling for anything
to seal the cavernous
maw of pain
so indescribable
fading in and out
how pretty the haze
it helps
remembering when
remembering when
remembering when
head on the lap
a quiet afternoon
the swell of new love
the surety
this is it
we were lost
we have been found
we are everything.
late movies,
staying in bed
curling bodies
big spoon little spoon
face to face
interlocking
unyielding closeness
the screaming and ripping torment of sentimentality brings everything into focus immediately.
but had it stayed that way...
had it stayed that way.
this is not new, but i wish it was.
i could fool myself into thinking
"it will be over soon."
Regression
I had been going back and forth for a good long while and it didn't matter how much love I had for him in my heart, I remained solidly... unhappy.
And every moment with me, I could see him trying. All the efforts to please me, the gestures he thought would put a smile on my face, earn him the recognition of "Doing the Right Thing" - there I remained, lips tight, body tense, powerless to tell him to stop, as I witnessed each and every attempt fall flat *splat* at my feet.
The feet he would caress every morning when he awoke before me. The rough and dry, sharpened skin of his hands, a contrast to the softness of his tender touches. A dew drop of a kiss on the tips of each toe.
I couldn't take it anymore. I loved him in the grown, adult, mature kind of way that women my age do. No pretense, no tomfoolery. Only truth and the matters at hand. I knew, without a doubt, I was the red flag. And he would continue to love me regardless in the same patient and kind way he had been loving me this whole time.
I had to let him go. And not because I wanted to. Not for a lack of love and desire. I had to let him go because I was yet still too unhealed to properly accept the unconditional goodness, faith, and affection that someone was giving me willingly without having to be begged.
I was hurting him. The way I had been hurt so many times before. I was the villain this time. And I couldn't stand myself.
He listened quietly. He didn't argue. He didn't try to talk me out of it. He mostly maintained silence as I spoke and although I wanted him to disagree, to argue against me, to fight for the relationship, he did not. Because he knew I was right. We both knew I was right.
I am not meant for the beauty of his soul. I truly wish I was.
Haiku for a fool
Her cries to the sky
Agonizing against
The aching goodbye
Too Much
Brilliant and glowing
A star
A Sun
And you,
blinking,
wandered towards the warmth
the brightness…
this was new
and for a minute
you were happy
But the heat
The sweltering heat
What once soothed
now scorched
What once gave soft light
Now blinded
It was too much of what it was
And not enough of what you wanted
Stars burn until they don’t.
And one
cannot hold jurisdiction over stars.
the rain
it’s raining and i miss you.
i wish you knew how extraordinary a thing that is.
the rain talks to me
softest pit-pat of drops against the glass pane
like
a gang of cats jogging across hot summer pavement
too quick to count
slightly silent
save for the rhythm
a staccato in unison
what a paradox
but it’s singing to me
and i think of you
your voice
(sweet songs kissing my ears)
your words
(drowsy mumbled love notes late at night)
and echos of
your laughter
(the happiest of dreams)
it’s raining and my arms feel empty
(where are you)
my hands restless
(i need to touch you)
the gnawing ache in my stomach
(i am empty)
my body is in a frenzied disparate hunger
one which cannot be easily sated
appeased
quelled
so
alone
i listen to the wind
whipping water
at my window
imagining
it’s you next to me
speaking to me
singing to me
whispering to me
instead of
the rain
Damned
I didn’t want to talk to you.
Receiving your messages before, I shrugged them off.
Curtly. Succinctly.
And I owed you nothing. Not a damn thing. I didn’t have to call you back.
But I’m not built that way.
I’ve spent far too many nights reaching out to empty bottles and lonely walls echoing my wretched breathing and the staggering pace of a sickened heartbeat.
I’ve played the part of functioning human while all were none the wiser to the inner cataclysm that just seemed to be on a never ending loop of emotional implosion.
No. I didn’t want to talk to you.
But I didn’t want you to be lost in that all too familiar gaping void of isolated solitude, either.
Begrudgingly, I did what I had promised myself I would never do again.
I let you back in.
Gods curse my caring heart.
Imprisoned
Pouring regrets,
mistakes,
guilt,
into this
rocks glass
*neat please*
it’s the way…
the road
to perdition
a constant
hell
of one’s own making
exoneration
is a
pipe dream
as lucidity fades
culpability
becomes
a
faint tendril
disintegrating into
the dawn
forgiveness
teasing
with the
rising
of the sun
self-delusion
as it
diminishes
returns
to the
blurred
and sloppy
self-loathing
as the
exhaustion
of BEING
becomes a dense,
thickened, hairy
weight
on the
soul
all that is left
for respite
is sleep
only to
repeat
on the morrow
Dominoes
The ones I loved
The ones I wanted
The ones I lusted
All could give a
flying fig
for me
a history of
chasing men
who had been
nothing but
back alley
beggar boys
sneakily dressed
in much
fancier clothing
just
(faintly squint)
a tiny bit
too large
for their
diminutive
frames
all whilst
my woman’s heart,
devotion,
and
hunger
had remained
far more feeling,
staunch,
and ravenous
And like dominoes
I kept queuing
them up
Each had
been
placed
and
balanced,
precariously
forming that tenuous line
of repeated
fowls and
heartaches.
the fickleness
of the foolish
a test of my
patience
Until I
came to realize
this was
far more trouble
than it
was worth
weary sigh
head tilted
my finger gave
the smallest
poke
to the very first
pip
and
The quiet rhythmic
clacking
soothed
the
*click
*click
*click
of each
falling into the
other
closure,
leaving
a flawless
mess…
a pile
of ivory rectangles
pieces
with no
discernible match
Gingerly,
with care
and reverence
I placed each tenderly
within the case
This was a game
I no longer
cared to play.
Final Vice
I rebuilt myself
I kept the good
Dropped
*an anvil thud*
everything else
Almost.
I gave up dairy
and the smokes
the bourbon
at late night dives
the wine
while vacantly
watching
the telly
pisssssing
away
time
No more sweets
snacks
mid-afternoon donuts
as breakfast
and lunch
sometimes dinner
stopped talking
to the sociopathic
ex
listening
to their
false promises
drenched in
candy covered
shit
The Fair weather
friends
Whom I’ve bled for
While they never
broke a sweat
for
me
I let go
of my past
the mistakes
the self-loathing
the doubts
the hammering anxiety
at the weakening
bark
of my being
I did all of this.
*improvement*
*progress*
*growth*
But there’s still you.
lightly
Heavily
subtly
Obviously
Tearing it all apart.
