Tag Archives: culture

The Window

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The Window

As she passed, the brightness of her eyes took in the window scene. She stood, frozen, looking into the depths, breathing in a heart ache.
It was tangible and real in her eyes, but the cool glass protected it from her. Fingers imprinted onto the smoothness, the etching spiriting away as the pads left them.
This was every wish in her heart. This barrier like a net.
How mocking, how cruel.
So she passed on, broadening her shoulders for what was ahead. Every movement, an ‘if only’. Every step, toward a stone. Every word, breathing out. Every touch, toward oblivion.

She passed and thought it all a lie. That beautiful lie in your eyes.

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The Romantics’

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The Romantics’

The carousel keeps singing, the longing of goodbye.

A childhood spent spinning, left a dizzy dragonfly.

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Time may fly, but we made attempt to cut off its tender wings.

To stop the future coming, a youth drawn up on strings.

Oh what a twisted puppet show we all try to perform.

Convinced that it’s our freedom, for which we’ve gone to war.

*

Fight fire with whiskey, try to douse melancholy of the soul.

And pray the heat absolves you, and somehow makes you whole.

The wickedness of broken hearts, the shallowness of depth.

To give my all to something until there’s nothing left.

*

When desert sun burns skin, to which no one gives shade.

The same for those who love alone, filled up with weary shame.

But still it keeps on spinning, that tinny mobile circus.

I hold my head back, dreaming, a beginning with no purpose.

*

I’m back again, sweet lion, your mouth in frozen triumph.

The horses brightly dressed, beside the tiger are defiant.

Unicorns and elephants, all a handsome roux.

We foundlings, distracted by color, ignorant and new.

*

Why does the alcohol not wash my memories away?

Why do I stand objective, unto its power play?

Perhaps it’s memory too strong, and loves lost along the way.

If only someone had turned around and decided that they’d stay.

*

All you need, it may be love, but a sinister of sorts.

To make me choose between the air and a love that hurts.

But it’s a phantom pain, a limb long ago severed.

Like the singing carousel, a mirage of things remembered.

*

Perhaps the heart misunderstands our diligent rebuilding.

Lost in the field in scrutiny, dirty with the searching.

Behold and take these broken hands, these nails abrupt and wanton.

They worked at love and begged for freedom, but were left forgotten.

*

Their only use remains upon the grasping of the frame.

Of the metal menagerie and the memories that remained.

Around. Around. Around. On autumn winds we spin.

While the pain glows ever brighter and the light grows ever dim.

*

Wishes are just lady bugs, swept on a wistful breeze.

Little delicate emotions that hide among the leaves.

Now comes the part where we pretend to not notice each other.

While the fire burns at one end, and we play poker on the other.

*

Meanwhile, my heart won’t quiet so my thoughts can gather round.

So they come out in my smile when thoughts of you abound.

What a strange contradiction that the joy upon my face

Is not quite reflected in that dark and hidden place.

*

For I am just a passenger, upon this dizzy parade.

For hopeless romantics, was the art of dreaming made.

 

Entry for A Snowy February

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Entry for A Snowy February

So, stepping away for a moment from the more creative aspect of my writing, I’m just going to vent a moment.

Naturally, as things get to going in forward direction, something happens that causes me to gather the blue back around me. For my family, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve my frustration, and at times I find it hard to control.

Things are going great really. I am fulfilling my dream of sight with an appointment for a Visian implant to fix my vision. I am about to start my practicum and not only get experience, but see the halfway mark in my journey to possibly incredible happiness (or at least a really fun, new adventure). And I have taken matters into my own hands in order to continue the line of my beloved dog through puppies. So many dreams coming to a culmination. And yet, I find myself in a hizzy last night. As cool and collected as I am at work, and as much as I pretend I have everything together, I can be a mess at times.

And why, you ask? I suppose it’s very similar to where I was almost seven years ago. Desperate for a way out of my lovely life because I was feeling so lost and alone and misunderstood that I was willing to end that life altogether. The difference now being that I’ve grown out of that time when I thought death would fix things. Doing things fixes things, not giving up. And doing things has done me a great service in growing myself and getting me to this point in my life. But that bleak feeling is a beast I still haven’t conquered all the time.

So, I went to a concert this past Friday. Andy Grammar. BEST concert I have ever been to. I’ve seen the lights and the fireworks and the even the acoustics of Red Rocks. But I have never seen an artist so in love with his work. The venue was perfect, and very intimate in a way because it was smaller than normal venues. I watched in blatant awe as he played a selection of instruments and even did a little beatbox, singing in perfect tune and interacting with us like he had been here countless times before. But more than that, why he was really good, was the way he sang. I have his music. He’s on the radio and when I first heard his voice on that download years ago, I loved the sound. He’s grown since then, as have I. But watching him do it, being there in person, was…magic. The fun songs are full of energy and you can’t help but get excited. But his deeper songs, my God. You can FEEL them. Every emotion, every strand of hurt or wonder or love. It made you wish every song was about you. That you could make someone feel and sing and express himself like that because of you. His voice penetrates in such a beautiful and daring way that you perk up and listen. I can’t explain it. It went into me. It was amazing and invigorating. A true artist. A legend in his own right.

That night was like an adrenaline rush. I felt so invigorated after the performance and happy as if anything was possible. And then something twisted, like when you bend the wrong way and strain yourself. That thought, unbidden, returned. It didn’t even voice itself really, I just felt something was wrong. Unable to let things go, I sat and tried to analyze it. By the time I figured it out I was full blown mad at myself for letting the blue back in and the weak feelings return after a while being fine. I guess it’s a learning process and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. But I can’t help but feeling badly for feeling like I might need something when I have so much.  I want love. Not just any love but the right love. I’ve been alone for almost two years now. Not even a sniff of anything real. I want someone who sings those songs about me. Who can feel so deeply that his voice might carry it. I long for someone to share myself with and build a life with and speak to about my secret feelings. My family is so amazing and we are building in our own future together. But there’s that hole there. Little, like a snag in a sweater. Some little thing you keep messing with and is at the back of your mind all the time. Do I need to fix the tiny hole? Need is a big word. I do need it in a way, but I’m good alone too. Strong and capable and good. I want to fix it. I want to feel like my sweater is seamless and stronger than it had been.

The closer I get to thirty, the more I feel as if the tick of a clock is getting louder. I feel my life becoming a Lifetime special, or else I’m becoming a confirmation of a societal stereotype about the modern woman who breaks the secret code of life’s order. Everyone keeps talking about freedom as the kids get older. That I’ll only be in my early forties by the time they’re grown. But to me, that seems so far away. That seems so much older than I want to be when I have time to find someone special. But what’s your option when you have your kids alone and young? I’m not finding someone for just me. I’m finding US a special someone. And that worry is very real.

There’s a worry for single mothers. About finding the right someone to not only be a partner but a model for children. That the love you find will be the example for how they pick their own partners. And how can we accomplish this? How can we bridge the Grand Canyon?

I wonder where God is in all this. I feel so alone sometimes, yelling up in vain on a silent tongue. I feel at times as if I let him down. I had a ton of potential and I squandered it on men, and got responsibility as my reward. It was what I needed at the time though. I needed something to make me make decisions and get up out of bed when I just wanted to die. I probably wouldn’t be where I am today if it hadn’t been for birthing two little responsibilities. I would have taken longer to wake up, to fight for what was right, to ask for what I needed. He knew what I needed. Those kids saved my life.

At this point, I suppose it’s a waiting game. I need to grow myself and learn as much as I can in the interim. I will have to try to not find myself down, and if I do get down then to pick myself up more quickly every time. Waiting is no easy task. But if I can find the kind of love hiding in Grammar’s voice, then it will be worth it. It hurts so badly some nights, but many woman have it worse. I was one of them once.

On the bright side, this venting helps. And the darkness has faded to blue. Back to the drawing board. And the bed so I can forget it all for a few hours.

Goodnight all.

 

 

Dear you,

I am sitting here and wishing it wasn’t without you. I’m sitting here and wishing I could turn to you and get your opinion, your comfort, or show you something funny. I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me. How much I need you here to understand me. I want to talk to you about my crazy theories about the stars or books or the spectrums of the mind. I want to hear your darkest secret or about that time you felt the dark creeping up against you. I want to hear how much you love pasta or ravens or first person shooter games. I want to laugh about that time we fixed the sink together and got all wet and laid on the bathroom floor joking about the gnomes in the pipes. I need your touch. I need you to tell me that everything will be okay and that it’s alright that I ate cream puffs for dinner simply because I didn’t feel good. I need you to tell me I’m beautiful when I need a shower. I need you just to talk to me about nothing or rub my back. I’m sorry I’m so emotional during certain times, when the memories return and I can’t stop the tears. I’m sorry I hate washing dishes. I’m sorry I don’t know how to act when it comes to a “normal” relationship, I’ve had to be the “man” so long I don’t know how to do anything else.

But most of all. I love you. And I miss you. And I am praying everyday for the man you are and the man you need to be. I’m doing my best to grow everyday to become the woman you need for us to be just as great as we are in my head. I want to be capable of doing whatever it takes, and I know I am. I am waiting for you. And I’ll be looking out the window for you to come.

 

Up Love Springs

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Up Love Springs

I am immune to the others

Like pale-colored stones

Rocky and moved underneath my feet

They are smooth, yes love, they are cool to my touch

But you are the rare prize

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Up springs love!

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You are the glimmer in the river

Your eyes, deep pools,

Drowning my thoughts, absolving my heart

Your skin a warmed beach that I lay my eyes upon, my hands

Bathing in your touch, the space of your back, the curve of your waist.

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Up springs love!

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You are the rolling of waves in my hair

The caress on my skin

Without a touch, making my heartbeat leap

Like the salmon in the spring.

You pull me in, cradling me, lifting me up and moving me around.

*

Up springs love!

*

Take me to your river and wash my soul

I am but yours, only a collection of limbs

Moving with your wet fingers

Placed upon my neck, my thigh

Silent, floating, out into the surrender of twilight

Weakness

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Weakness

Little moments of stolen joy,

Forgotten lives crawl upon my face

Itching it up and into a smile

White teeth bright to blind anyone looking deeper.

*****

Oh, how weak strong can be,

So tired and weary from holding it all up

Like Atlas, world upon my back

Weeping and sweating with the weight.

*****

How can I be brave?

When I never learned to fly

Only falling for every sly ploy

A piece of sky shattered onto the ground.

*****

Legless traveler, reach on

Out into the world with heartstrings and joy

Finding your innocence with blind hands

Taught not to see your beauty.

*****

Eyes close, slipping tears into my pillow

Smugglers of sadness out into the abyss

Leaving me empty in the daylight

Free to smile again.

Cracks

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Cracks

Oh the cracks in my soul

Filled to brimming with latent desire

How they burn and bleed like scars

Shooting stars stinging their jellyfish trails into the night

That look upon your face reflected in my mind

Open. Reaching. Already needing more skin

From the crook of your neck and the line of your ribs

***

The heat of your skin is a memory that snuck into my bed.

The strength in your back is the silence of eyelashes brushing my cheek

The press of your fingers is a symphony played on the waves of my hips.

***

Oh the cracks in my soul

Filled to brimming with wanton destruction

How they burn and bleed like brands

Hot stakes in my flesh, probing the wet reaches of emotion

That look upon my face reflected in in my hands

Open. Reaching. Wishing for more to fill the emptiness

From the gaps between your fingers and the hollow of your neck.

***

The pain of the curse of love.

The sorrow of beauty.

The joy of misery.

And the fullness of empty hands.

Battlefield

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Battlefield

The rumble from that distant cavern,

Black eyes, and streaking night

I fell upon the wolfen sword

Sharp and gleaming bright.

****

Hear the drumbeats calling war

Hear the harken shield

The clash and growl of steely tools

And the ravens on the field.

****

The sky run dark and streaked with blood

Of fallen men at arms

The fire blazing high with smoke

A call of macabre alarm

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I watch it pass in bleak surrender,

A witness to my fate

To watch as they fall down in blood

And Valkyries elate.

****

The pound of feet breaking down the beach

Swallowed by the tide

The crumbling walls of pride and valor

Falling before my eyes.

****

The passion within the eyes of those

That make the gleaming cut

Upon the heads of other men,

Like animals in rut.

****

They thrash within their armor

They howl within their skin

They rush with muscles taut and learned

They beat you from within.

****

All along these weathered soldiers

Seek to strike fear in our hearts

They are the symbols of our struggles

When love does pass or start.

****

Love may be a battlefield,

But upon it we must rattle

With shields and fates and broken swords

That ring out like a gavel.

****

Perhaps love is a baying hound,

A searcher at the call

But instead of bloody fields,

With grace it traps us all.

****

So rush out to the battle grounds

And try to hold no fear

There is no triumph in ancient wars

But your glory could be near.

****

And if you perish upon its fields

Fear not the mourning dawn

You’ll be taken up to higher places

Until the pain is gone.

****

Pain replaced by intoxication.

Distrust for divine.

Anger for celebration.

Part of the grand design.

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