Tag Archives: girl

Given Dreams

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Given Dreams

Preparing everyday for you to go

Hopes taking shape of a lie

While I fall deeper into your ocean

With the passing of suns

 

Summer drew up like water into a sponge

Fall settling like dust again. While the

Whisper of your name withered upon

My crimson lips, my teeth biting down on its form

 

In my mind, you must see me, miss me

In my mind, I was a golden treasure you hoarded

I was a blaze you need to warm your bones

Let the forest burn, your decision worthy

 

But instead, I felt forgotten. Like the fog

Lost and thick among the branches of ghosts

Eerie and quiet and strange with music

Messages too old for you to understand

 

And yet, I sent my dreams to you, oh fox

Wanderer of histories, rogue of tomorrow

The dreams I kept in a box in my cage heart

The skin of my soul

 

I gave to you my red cloak, a desert wide

A sail boat washed ashore long ago

The fierce deafening wind, and my strange eyes

My perseverance.

 

I gave to you my golden wolf eyes,

My clever mouth and sharp ears

The stillness of the forest, the bugle of the hunt

My wildness

 

I gave to you my long dark hair, waves upon my back

My white dress among the mazes of trunks,

Just out of your reach, out of sight. A house in the wood

My innocence

 

But I woke to find my bed cold and large

When suddenly you were a stranger that held all

My secrets. And having given you my dreams

I sat empty and alone, wishing for tomorrow.

 

What more is there for my arms now, but time

Once filled with your smile and broad back

Now just the ticking of a clock too loud

Every moment turned from waiting for you, to hiding.

 

I’m supposed to ignore the ache of agony in my chest

I’m supposed to let go, since I knew it would come

Since I am a girl practiced at being grown up. No longer

Peter Pan, just wishing for the hook to slip between ribs.

 

And so the day goes on, it does not miss you as I

It knows nothing of the emptiness

What shall I fill with it? The quiet seconds of pretend?

What will fit in that space of sorrow for lost things?

 

You were never mine, so what rite do I have?

But losing you broke my heart, while I held

My breath, because the dead do not cry.

And I was just a hollow shell, full of the brine.

 

The absence of you became the pull before

The tidal wave, that crashed down on my heart.

But the pain was dull, for I had known that you

Were nothing but a distraction for my wandering eye.

 

I’ll get over you, perhaps tomorrow. But until then

I am stuck here in this longing. A longing so deep

For something I don’t understand. Why the wind

Keeps blowing people away but not me

 

 

 

What of tomorrow? What of today?

When my emotions are things I wished away?

And the terrible truth of my existence

Was something I created with persistence?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Darkness

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Darkness

The Night came closer.

And asked me why I loved you.

As it does every day.

 

It asked me about my fears

And the things that haunted me.

About what made you beautiful in my eyes.

 

I told it of my absence.

How you always loved another.

And like the fall, my colors would blow away in the wind.

 

But more than that I spoke of your wonder.

Of the sweet things I saw in your face

While the dawn threatened me with tomorrow.

 

I told him,

“His eyes are the deep abyss that I swim in. Black waters at night, in the ocean I float. Finding forever in the cool water, making my limbs light.

His eyes are the hunger of the tiger in the tall grass, begging my surrender, begging for the sweet lapping of water. Making me cry out in the night.

Universes hide in his eyes, the dawn of creation. the twisting of galaxies, sparking the dust of suns.So quiet and deep and brimming with a thousand lives and a thousand implosions.

A hollow made for the hoarding of gold, mountains of caverns lit up with fire. The singing of ages bellowing in its depths.

Obsidian inking, writing the shouts of warriors coming home upon the scroll hearts of history. Sweet words of lovers reunited, and another tomorrow to hold.

His eyes are the coat of the black wolf in the wood, feet light among the moonlit leaves. A whisper of journey on the ache of it’s voice, bounding out among the hills and calling me in.

A smooth stone in my hand, a treasure. Pulled from those swift waters of life, beating their path down the mountain, like the feet of time.

A raven on the wind, rising high on intelligent eyes. Piercing the darkness with his sharp wit and laughing call.

His eyes are the dark side of the moon, mystery and loneliness. A wisp of the coming light that the soul seeks to bathe in. The light of the impossible, waiting to breathe again.

Memory, how deep and dark that place is within him. That blackness his eyes behold and cradle. Laying curled in the confines of his mind.

The combining of color. The voiding of thought. The surprise of light. The haven of Home.”

 

And the night sat back on it’s heels

and blew a sweet southern wind.

And warned me of my inklings.

 

Because playing with fire was never safe

But playing with the dark.

That was from which some never returned.

 

And I looked up at the stars in wonder

How the light could love the black so much

That they froze themselves in his arms.

 

Even though with the coming dawn

They too would fade with him

Until nothing remained but the sound of their laughter.

.

Winter in July

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Winter in July

Winter has yet begun again.

That crispness in the air, the bite of the wind, the scent of wood burning off the chill.

I sit in front of the stove, pushing the stubborn logs into the mouth of the flame, and think of you. I think about these walls, how we built them together. How we laid and stained the trim. How we cut and nailed boards together. I think of how resilient it is, the caressing warmth from the hearth. It does not escape, it doesn’t leave as you do.

Mostly, I remember. I remember some closeness, some strange endeavor of the heart. Walking in that cold wind, the snow drifting and filling, measuring time like delicate frozen grains of sand in the world that was just ours. So far from everything, from our beds and our lies. It seemed more real somehow. More real than those sweltering summer days that followed.

But you’re gone now. Perhaps that’s for the best. Perhaps it was all just a fantasy. A world of snow trapped in a globe. Perhaps I will find something more real than you. More real than my thoughts of you. You pace. You walk away with a whistle on your lips, singing some song that I can’t hear, or don’t recognize.

Off with your tail in the air once again.

But I think this time, I’ll let you go.

 

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.

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.

Sexxx

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Sexxx

This can be a touchy subject for some people.

Some people can get offended. Or opinionated. Or have any number of reactions.

But the fact of it is, whether you have it or not, it’s part of life and a part of us. And it complicates everything, whether you do it or not.

But if you’re particularly sensitive to the subject, please feel free to scurry off. Don’t want to burst anyone’s bubble or rub anyone’s fur the wrong way.

——-

Sex. Intimacy. Banging. Procreation (oi). Making love. Screwing. Copulation (that sounds odd, do they call it that anymore?). Eff-ing. Fornication. Sleeping around/together. Fooling around. Mating. Nooky. Intercourse. Going all the way. Whoopee (really?). The horizontal mambo. Getting laid. Shagging…whatever.

SEX.

It’s one of the ways we connect. We look for love in it. We use it to fulfill our needs. We do it to solve our problems. It’s our drug, and we dose as we see fit. We sell it and we buy it. We have a million names for it. We use the internet to watch it and we read about it. And we often abuse it.

And I want it. Badly.

I don’t know about some women. I mean, I’ve heard we get a bad rep for having a low “drive”. But whoever they’re getting this stereotype from, it wasn’t me. I want it. Very often. Badly. Which seems to be the issue while being single, trying to be responsible, having a lack of a social life, and having my hopes dashed when Mr. Interested is about as savvy as a rock. I have a very high drive, bordering on obsessive. Even when I was getting some action daily, I was still very..hyperfocused. I don’t know why. I can’t help it.

Often times, as a single mom, I feel like there’s an unstated rule that I’m neither supposed to want, have, or feign interest in sex. I’m not supposed to act too desperate (which includes stating that I want it), but I can’t be so uninterested that I turn guys away. It’s a balancing act. And I hate it. I want sex, and that doesn’t make me sleazy or cheap or easy. It makes me human. It makes me real. I wish I didn’t sometimes, so that I could seem less desperate (and save myself from aching). But I can’t change it.

As a single mom, I get stressed out. As a mom period, I think that it’s a given to be stressed but when you have no one there to help you…it’s tripled. I only have two arms! But as soon as a waiting list comes out for extra bionic limbs, I’m going to be the first one in line.

Back to being stressed out…I am. And the more stressed and frustrated I get, the more lonely and incredibly horny I get. I have no one there to help with my baby problems and I have no one there to help me with the loneliness that keeps growing lately. There’s no one to fill my mind and my time with smiles and little flirty gestures, or something better. I have all sorts of fantasies about solving my noted impulse to get laid out, which is not helpful. It’s not helpful 1. because I have no way of quenching it–not the way I need at least (some things just need another person)–and no prospect within the forseeable future, and 2. Because the closest person who could be of “use” is someone who I definitely should not be considering. *Shut up libido, you’re not the one who’ll be left crying.*

Now, some of you out there may say that I could go out and find a “willing participant”. True. I could. But I just don’t work that way. I need more. A connection. A relationship. At times, considering my aching desire, this seems like a foolish notion. But my heart knows I’m doing the right thing and warns me of the residual pain if I move forward and further adapt my principles to fit my needs.

Some things just aren’t worth the aftermath.

Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling it.

And (unhelpfully) it’s been everywhere lately. In my face like a steak in front of a dog, taunting me. You’d think with all the Christmas specials going around, I would be able to avoid it. No such luck.  And I can’t help thinking, *Aaaannnd, you’re the devil*, every time I see something particularly..”mouthwatering”, let’s call it (cause somehow “stimulating” just sounds a little…south).

Before you lose your virginity, there are all sorts of opinions and stories about what sex IS. Some people say that it’s fantastic, others that it’s sinful and should be avoided (or worse, that it’s just meh). They boast at the beauty of such a deep connection, and it being “right”: an emotional, physical and mental bonding. It’s freedom. It’s a pure spiritual entwining. And then some treat it as an animalistic action, like running or cooking dinner: something that you do, have fun (sometimes), and then get on with life. The movies paint it to be glamorous, all candles or rain-soaked passion. Perfect.

Life teaches it differently. In life you lose your virginity in the back of a car, or on the bathroom floor, or at a party. It’s often quick and unadorned with any of the miraculous ideas or beauty that you imagined beforehand. Yay life. Yay you.

It often doesn’t matter how you were raised, what you were taught, or what you promised yourself you’d do, we’re people and we make choices that change our lives. Whether bad or good.

What they don’t tell you is that sex is like crack. Yes, crack. That white powder that people get hooked to quicker than crows on deer carcass. I suppose sex is also kinda like potato chips, or whatever snack food you fancy. It’s deathly hard to have “just one”. Either way..Once you open that door to bliss, you cannot shut it. It’s open forever. And your mind is eternally changed. All the jokes you didn’t get, innuendos made incognito in your presence, or the “wrestling” pictures you sometimes see 5 year olds making (much to their parents embarrassment) are suddenly illuminated. It’s like an understanding takes place, a communion with the universe. A huge cosmic laugh and an “ah ha” later, and VOILA!–you’re never the same. Suddenly you can’t stop it. You can’t stop thinking about it or wanting it or getting all knotted because of it. 

It’s awful. They should have told me. But I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have listened.

They also don’t tell you that it opens up a door to your heart. That sex can wiggle its way in and hurt you. That it fuses to your emotions and your dreams and your hopes. That it becomes a part of you, like one of those ugly spider-egg things from Alien movies–sometimes it just wants to burst out and eff someone up (though I’ve never actually had the urge to kill everyone I see, I do feel like something is eating its way/bursting out of me).  

I’ve had it good, and I’ve had it very awful. I can’t remember if I’ve had it beautiful. But I want it.

Badly.

Some nights it feels like imploding, others it’s a dull hum, and still other nights it’s imperceivable.

Being single is hard. But being miserable is harder, so for now I’m considering it a better choice to just be craving something I’ll one day have (hopefully I won’t be 40 before the next time around), than living the day-to-day with the Ex or the Him from earlier.

Will it stop me from fantasizing? Unlikely.

So for now, it’s just me….Imploding. Desperately imploding. Dying. And wanting it. Badly.

Not So New News

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Not So New News

News..that Breaks

THIS WEEK IN BREAKING NEWS

RACHEL’S CONFIDENCE WAS ARRESTED SOMETIME LATE IN THE NIGHT FRIDAY, AFTER A BATTLE WITH OLD DEAMONS AND A SPECIFICALLY HIDEOUS STATEMENT THAT LEAD TO A GUN-FIGHT. OTHER SUSPECTS, INCLUDING LOVE AND STUPIDITY, ARE STILL BEING HELD.

          Rachel’s lawyers say it was an old statement that sparked the dispute, creating a heinous scene of frozen limbs and insecurity. The plight started the previous night when Rachel was speaking to a friend. It was said that she suddenly was reminded of something the previously mentioned “him” had said formerly, causing her to fall silent. After many attempts to revive her from the stupor with her name, she returned but was unable to continue the conversation. She was excused from the conversation with a “Gotta go, my parakeet has bowling lessons”, and hanging up. Afterward, she sat silently in a dark room and cried. But, in hating herself immediately for another win to the insecurity gang, she hastily swiped the tears away as if to say “no I wasn’t”. She thought it amazing at this time that one person’s words could render you broken, comparing them to drops in an endless sea of awareness and speech. Though she did not want to reveal the person sending the decidedly mindless and arrogant statement, she did give us a brief synopsis.

             “[He said], ‘The reason you suffered was because you are crazy, and no one else would take you. No else wants you. You are so low.’ And on top of it, his statement was dangerously close to combusting as it sat in proximity to ‘If you would have just taken it slow I might have graced you with my presence a while longer, but I’m still going to ‘eff’ you cause I can.’  I didn’t know what to do, I was stunned”

After a brief pause, the woman continued, eyes sparkling with an unnamed strength.

                “I like to think I deserve to be happy. Crazy thought right? Some don’t seem to agree with me. Imagine that. I’m smart, funny, talented in some things. I’m fun and loyal. I have an okay smile and I can do the “smolder” like no one I know. I like animals and kids in general. I’m hard-working. I can do elementary math. So, what did I do to deserve that? Ask for more? That was my crime? Not settling for less? Okay. Fine”.

At this time, confidence got wind of the statement and hastily advanced on the subject, thinking about it all night and into the next morning, at which time he was arrested for conspiracy, distribution, and murder of pride, dignity, and trust. It is not yet clear how confidence received the ammunition in order to complete his task, but numerous anonymous tips have pointed to “him”, lord of all things arrogant. With her confidence in full custody and awaiting trial, Rachel expressed concern for her safety and health, but did not find it prudent that such feelings existed. Love and Stupidity were also arrested for questioning as to their whereabouts during confidence’s arrest and the events leading up to the crime.

“We will be fine.” Was Rachel’s only comment on the case which is quickly spreading through word of mouth.

After her statement was taken, Rachel was hastily rushed to the back of a car and driven home, where she promptly curled up into a ball. She reiterated her previous claim that she did not how it came to be that her confidence was arrested, but posted bail. There will be a hearing on the 24th in order to determine guilt, but the trial may be postponed a month in order for the authorities to gather more evidence.

+++++++++++===========+++++++++++

I’m still almost-slightly-not-exactly struggling with thoughts of the “him” I was speaking of earlier. Lucky me. Special me. Stupid me.

In case you couldn’t tell.