Tag Archives: heart

Dragon of Heart



These portals of fire

Lit up with sun

A thousand tries

Each fire growing dimmer

A sliver of smoke escaping from my skull.


Burnt out on Love

At once ignited

then die in grey

Each fire burning hotter

A memory the only wisp left over from Passion.


This ache for the strike,

for the flaming

An itch down low

A summoning in my chest

Peel the flush away to reveal my ashen heart.


It is but coals. willing

To be fanned

To find flame

To writhe under your hand

Dancing to your rhythm, biting and twisting.


Pyre leaps in air



Hunting for my sweetness, you tear me open

Red flesh and heart made of sparks, hiding from the wind that will carry the ash away.


Your hands so gentle



Your knowledge astounds and you draw me out

I am but a hart in your path, raised on a foot to dash, smitten and subdued by arrows.


How sweet you puncture me

A harpoon

A sting

It keeps me paralyzed within your grasp

Smiling sweetly at the blue heaven with golden skin, delighted.


Wash me in your surrender

Strong creature

Brass creature

Enchanting me, summoning me to meet you

Your eyes deftly pulls the strangeness from my mouth, an unwilling cloud.


Pour your gasoline



Knower of its liquid depths

Casting your spell of warm disease, the pleasure of the mind.


Sear me with your fingerprints

Keeper of skin

Whisperer to soul

Love, where have you brought me?

A fire to be lit, a fire to be enflamed, a hunger to dine.


We are but children



Our matchstick houses built in hope, held no reprieve

Water comes gently to our eyes as the house falls down, as Love consumes our bones.


It is but a portal

One of fire


Love is the dragon of the heart

It is borne in flame, and there it shall breathe, hunger and die.


The Hurt of Him

The Hurt of Him

Life has got me down.

Okay, not life. And not down.

I’m frustrated. With me, with situations, with thoughts plaguing my head like wild bees.

I’m struggling lately. Gasping for breath under the water of my mind. A world that’s contained, like a fishbowl, but not easily spilled. So, the tide rises and it gets harder to tread and be strong and patient.

I hate that I feel like this. I feel weak. There are plenty of people with worse situations. And I don’t even understand myself and why I act like that. Why I think these things.

I’m tired.

My computer is broke, still no job, still seeing my funds slipping before me, and feeling inadequate. Still somehow breathing.

I work to do my best but I feel a constant backslide of my ability to keep up and my emotional capacity to stay bright. More often lately I find myself starting a task mild or even a bit smiley, but am soon overwhelmed with myself and frustrated that I don’t know why. The weather has been perfect, the days brisk and inviting for a walk. But my energy is sapped. I want to sleep all the time. This afternoon I was irritated. Irritated I was woken right after I finally was able to nap (I find this difficult during the day. I blame an energetic mind). Irritated at the work before me, my temper short. I raised my voice to my dog as I tripped over his attempts to sit at my feet while I was cleaning. He looked at me pleadingly, those intelligent brown eyes wondering why I was so upset. He just wanted to be close to me. I cried because I suddenly felt so alone. I wanted someone there, just for me. He licked my face.

I want him to show up. I’m waiting for him to come home from work. I’m waiting for him to shut the car door as I bolt to the window. I’m waiting for him to message my Facebook. To smile his smile and flood my senses with his scent. I’m waiting for him to look at me with fiery eyes, burning into me and telling me I’m wanted. I’m waiting for an invisible person.

I have to stop reading novels. They make it seem perfect. They make it seem like you might know when The One arrives. They make it seem so beautiful. I read one recently (don’t judge, it was werewolf based as usual. One of those novels you read almost guiltily). People were taught to expect that they would have one mate. One person who would fit them completely. One person who would know immediately that they were yours, would see no others, and be in love with every part of you, even the frustrating parts. The men protected their women and felt the need to provide her with not just physical and financial but most importantly emotional need. They were connected. They knew you, and yet discovered you. They were just yours. And the women vice versa.

I want someone to understand me. To be like me. And love me without a hitch or a comment buzzing on their lips. I want them to be drunk on their love of me. Maybe that’s stupid. Maybe it’s naive. But, it’s what I wish there was for me. Why do we have to live in a world without that happy ending? Why is it so hard? In a book, you’d flip four pages and the adventure would start. Life can be a long wait, days lining up on end like dominos ready to fall down on you. There’s no playful and sudden, and maybe ignorant, meeting of your other half. It’s a search. It’s Craps. A roll of the dice. A chance. Waiting, and trying not to let our hope fly us too high so that we have a long drop back down off of “love”.

And on top of it, I burn every time I see him. I ignore him on purpose. That’s how it’s always been between us. He barely cares and probably likes it better that way. Too clingy. I will always burn at his words. At his actions. At the things that his naivety and arrogance made him too blind to see that he was doing to me. And that’s implying he’d care even if he knew. If he knew how much hope I had. If he knew how much I knew. About the other girls and his business-deal-like treating of me. If he knew how much I wanted to believe he’d changed. How happy I was to have someone more like me. To maybe be seen as beautiful. If only he knew. If only he would care.

I was wrong again. I thought he had changed. I thought he was more. But he’s still just a boy, hiding in his father’s jacket. Wearing his father’s shoes and putting on a deep voice.

I replay his words and our time together a billion times, my personal demon. I feel like an idiot. I was so foolish. I swore away too much before I realized what I’d done. I lay in shock. What could I say? I’m too polite. I should have screamed in his face. I should have cursed, the only language he seems to understand. And then I’d scrambled to retrieve it, looking half-crazy as I did. He didn’t want me. He didn’t love me. And that’s what hurts the most. I could play off my other choices. Not this. Not that brutal and fragile and vulnerable giving of myself that was crushed. I cannot forgive him. Yet. I cannot forgive myself. I dug a gouge in myself that burns with a fire and never heals. How he twisted my words. How he broke me like no one had. And I let him.

I hate myself for that.

My mom says I should forget it. She’s trying to help me move on, but her words turn in on me and I feel stupid. I can’t help it. I don’t know why I won’t let it go. I feel the lick of fire in my belly every time I think about him. I want him to eat his words, as awful as that sounds. I want him to take his judgement and experience it for himself. I used to have a lot of assumptions. I had to experience them to learn. I tell myself that I don’t care. I don’t care if I see him, I don’t care what he does, I don’t care what he says. But I do.

And I hate myself for that.

I know I shouldn’t. And I know one day I’ll get around it. But for now, it’s a crack that seeps. It’s a cry that rises up in my chest and never makes it to the surface, trapped like a bird in an iron cage. I told myself I wouldn’t talk about it. But I can’t help it. I must get it out.  It’s my truth. As a woman. As a person.

So, I guess that’s what’s been eating me. My dreams are haunted by him, a ghost just like his real self. Fake. Imaginary. A falsification of personhood. I want to yell in the dream. Tell him to get out. But it plays on without me. I think it but never get it out.

This is his hurt. This is his story.

I want my him to come and wash it away. Wash him away. And wash me in his love.

I’m tired and worried. I should sleep. I should have eaten dinner. I should go for now, my soul spilled, and write again tomorrow. Something more inspirational. Something more joyful. I will make tomorrow my search for that. I will find something better to be than this. Better than this regret.

Gotta love my mom though! Always trying to spice up my day, hug me while I cry, or cheer me. I’ll be on the right track if I’m half the woman she is and has always been.

(I can’t believe I wasted such a great title on him)

Hello, my other half..whoever you are..Vol. 1


Dear you,

Today I thought about you all day, even though I don’t know your name or your face. I don’t know what makes you passionate. I have never heard the timber of your laughter after I say something that you think is funny. I have never memorized your hands or your back. I have never shared secrets with your heart, while your soul nods because it already knew we were destined. That it already knew we were the same. I thought of you, though I don’t know you. Though we have never met.

 Today,  I silently imagined your fingers filling the spaces in mine, staring at my hand. The spaces that cause tears to spill out like holes in my red-sailed boat. Today, I ran those fingers through your hair, closing my eyes as you held me. Today, I half-laughed ’til I cried as I thought of you playing with The Kid in the grass of a smokey mid-morning outside my house. I dreamed of you holding his hands and the smiles that you two would share. Today, I sat in the green armchair just to feel as though you were here holding me, the arms of the couch will have to suffice.  Today, I prayed for you. I prayed that you would grow and hurry up in finding me. That I would have the patience to wait, and that you would make me fall in love with you. Tonight  you will be with me in my mind’s eye. We will talk a movie into submission, making jokes at its expense. We will sit, smiling and charming each other with jokes and stories. Today, I thought of saying something and having you there, barely containing your desire to discover every little intricacy about me. Excited to know all of me. Today, you rekindled my hope and gave me yourself freely. Today, we bantered in my mind, bouncing wit off each other and making me beam. Today, I moped and I knew you wouldn’t approve, but I feel empty without you.

So, please take the next train to my small town. Say that you need a vacation. Say you needed a break for a couple of days. Say you just had to stop in on your way to some far off destination, traveling down our lonely highway. Then walk in..to the store, or the bookstore, or a restaurant. Find me, so that I can fall in love with your eyes and you can listen to me. So that you can help with all the talks I’ll have to have with The Kid. I don’t know how to explain life to him, I don’t know how to tell him why. Why his dad doesn’t live with him or isn’t around, in a way that he’ll understand. I don’t know how to tell him why I’m sad sometimes or why I’m not married,  like other kid’s parents or other adults. Or answer the questions he’ll have that hide an empty spot inside him. I need you to teach him how to pee standing up, and have “the talk” with him.

We can talk all night, about nothing or everything, and you can chase away years of my tears until they come back as laughter. You can tell me you love me and I will cry and know that the prayers I was scared to pray where I could hear myself, were answered. That my mother was right. That He knew, and now smiles at me as if I’m a child who thought Saturday would never come. “Silly girl” He’ll say, “he was always coming for you. I made you. Who couldn’t love you?” And I’ll grin and know He’s right.

I promise not to let you go. I promise to look at no one else the way I look at you. I promise to listen. I promise to be there when you wake up. I promise to grow and create a newer me everyday, one you’d be proud to know. I promise to make you laugh, with my bad dancing, ability to care plants to death, my love of silly songs and obsession with autumn and stripes. I promise to always cuddle with you and kiss you. I promise to never get tired or annoyed of your rantings or your love of me. I promise to believe when you say you love me. I promise to love your favorite shirt, even if it’s not my favorite. I promise to trust you and respect you. I promise…


Please hurry. Please come. I love you. I’m waiting.

Waiting to hear “I love you”


Sometimes, you want to say something important. Something insurmountable. Something precious. But, words seem to bring it down a shade in color. Like bright green splashing gracefully across expanses of earth in late autumn, its splendor only diminished by the lens of a camera trying to catch it.

“I love you”

It’s so important. Yet, I feel it can never express the feeling right. It’s more than words on a page or a breath I spill on a brisk night, coming out as my own personal cloud.

It’s…oxygen, coming in and out. It’s living.

We hear it all the time. We say it to each other and it’s everywhere: movies, music and television. We watch dogs say it on Youtube. We can make it known with our hands. We read books where the characters express it with poise or unbridled exuberance. Children learn to say it early. And some never do, or it’s never spoken in their home, but somehow know its importance.

It’s understood. The meaning, the broad spectrum of love that it covers is perhaps what makes it so attractive. A love says it and you melt, heart fluttering up to some otherworldly Utopia where we eat and breathe love. A parent says it, and your heart sends out tendrils of life, clinging to their essence and soul, remembering. A warm feeling of home. Or a sudden sense of surprise followed by understanding and relief. A sister or brother says it and you feel a sense of camaraderie. A knowing. A playful smile growing (or maybe even awkwardness that your playmate has turned into a grown-up). A friend says it and it feels like a realization. A connection.

“I love you”

No matter how we say it, or where, or to whom, it’s one of the few things in life that are understood. Like that the sun will shine (as long as it isn’t night, cloudy, or the end of the world), or that it will always rain after you wash your car..like math (bad joke, I know, considering  that the Greek meaning is  “things understood”)…It’s understood. Like hope, or faith.

“I love you”

It’s unoriginal. Where did we learn these words, this feeling? People have said it before you and they surly with say it after you. It’s a quote.  We will use it flippantly or carefully, savoring our words or have them fall on deaf ears. People may mean it more or less, possibly, than you do. We might not get it back, or we might not give it.

And yet…this unoriginal statement; This overused phrase; This ridiculously cliché sentimental set of three words, causes us to fall to our knees and beg for mercy. Beg to be lifted up and filled up and find home. We long to hear it. No matter what people say about it, or how we put it down, we desperately desire to hear those words spoken to us. We need it.

“I love you”

We repeat these words over and over, and somehow they never go out of style. We say them so much, and praise their affiliate with art, lyrics and words, both spoken and written. Love Love Love. We whisper it to each other like a secret and scream it to the world at the top of our lungs; raging toward it like fire, demanding its attention or stroll calmly beside it, holding hands.

We think, ‘someone loves me! What a glorious experience! What a wonderful world. What a dream I have strayed into, to be blessed with such rare treatings. I love you too! How amazing that sounds…’

If you haven’t been told in a while, you realize what you’re missing out on. You realize how precious every person who loves you is, like a lost necklace that you found. Or a song you finally remembered from long ago, when times were sweeter. Some of us may not register our “I love you”‘s. They may fall silent and unanswered. But most importantly, they were shared. Love is a gift we give one another when the other person isn’t looking. An action. True love, cares not whether you love me back, but that I am loving you. Inside and out. That somehow, somewhere, I found a part of you that I found amazing. I took a small smile from those qualities I found in you, and put it in my back pocket to admire later. I saw something in you. Something that’s essentially you. Something I love. Whether it be a little quirk or habit, fantastic blue eyes, a crinkle to their smile that lights you up, a giving heart, or even a reflection of my Father…I found it. In you. And it became a part of me.

We can’t let others taint this love. Taint the “I love you” we gave. Love is pure. Don’t pressure it to be more with Shame or Doubt or Selfishness. Love is simply perfect and it demands to be expressed. It won’t be quiet (though it may whisper quietly, so you’ll listen) or just seen, it won’t be worried about others opinions, it won’t “be a good boy/girl”..it’ll break out in dance. It’ll belt a song, maybe badly, as it walks down the street. It’ll color madly outside the lines.

So, go out there and tell someone you love them. It means the world, and creates many more. Deftly or messy, without reproach.

Go. Seek. And most importantly….Love.

Because someone’s out there..

Waiting to hear..

“I love you”

Your task is not to seek for love….


“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it”

So, it seems that lately, Love has it in the books for me. Every novel I try to read, song I find, or movie I watch is full of love. People searching for the everlasting connection we all crave. The connection that warms our bellies with an eternal summer that flushes our cheeks and makes the butterflies soar. The connection that makes us crave for the closeness of another’s touch, causing us to tingle as lightning ignites our soul’s fire.

And there I am, thinking I’m safe, sitting on the couch and watching a movie. I feel invincible as the beginning credits roll and the movie starts out. Thoughts of men and relationships and love are far away. Then, I see it. That character. My character. The actress portrayed exactly how I feel, how we feel, the reality of it. She was perfect, as she stood alone in a crowd of couples at a show. She looks around slowly, taking in her surroundings, painfully aware of the romancing couples but trying to pretend as if she didn’t notice (or worse, didn’t care). But, as a particularly charming couple nuzzles into each other, holding hands as the music takes a slower turn, she visibly shrinks, glancing down and away, and takes on “the look”.

I have taken on this look all too many times. At the mall, walking in the park, in the movies.

It’s the look you get to hide the ache. To hide the pain of aloneness. Not solitude, which is a beautiful singularity of a long walk in the woods or a morning outside, a blanket draped around you as you drink hot coffee. No. Alone. Alone is lost in the desert of emotion and people. Alone is a dark hole and falling, deep into the swallows of prickling and poking anxiety and unknown lives. Alone is invisibility.

It feels like mocking.

Having to watch people kiss or be cute in front of you while you’re single is like personal torture. Like having shoots shoved up your nails. My chest aches with the very thought of it, clenching around the tiny ball of hope still left in me. This ball of light struggles to get out, escape, and never return. It’s a daily struggle to not let it go.

Keep hoping.

Now, some days I’m completely fine with being single. Happy to be “chainless” and cynical about love and how much it stinks. And then, other days, I find myself laying back against my bed and feeling. Feeling someone there beside me, stroking my hair and breathing sweetly against my neck. Closing my eyes, to find a picturesque scene of laughter in the grass of the park, looking up at the stars. Of twin bodies, curled against one another and reading silently in the early morning hours. Of a rain-soaked kiss. Of fragility and tears and a heart bursting with love, like a flower in one of those time-lapse videos: suddenly bursting open in a flurry of bright colors and sweet pollen, surrounded by bright-green waxy leaves and facing a golden sun.

Alone is an awkward, most painful feeling. Like half of you is missing. And as a “single”, you’re constantly aware of it; like walking around with one eye and knowing your world is only half as big and half as beautiful. 

Some days I find this notion ridiculous. Half a life? As if some man could really fill that hole…as if I’d need someone to fill that hole. Stupid. But, if you really break it down, what else is there to life? Love is what makes the world go ’round. It’s what makes us take chances, make sacrifices, change, and become the person we always wanted to be. It makes us dance and sing and write poetry. It makes us whole. We write endless songs about it, from the Beatles “All you need is love” to the enormous ever-growing list of pop-love songs and to the deep, emotional classical confessions using violins and pianos and trumpets. We have millions of novels covering this topic, from people who experienced it and people who wished more than anything to simply taste of the real thing. Every molecule, from a young age, yearns with it. Be, and be loved. Our motto, unspoken yet true.




And it’s only later that we develop the Fear. The wariness of age, of experience. A warning, like a little red flag, popping up to stop us from being vulnerable. Self-preservation. We call it instinct in animals, but for us it’s developed. We don’t want to be the first one to say “I love you” or have the other person think we’re clingy because we need them, want them there. Are we so afraid to give our all?  A choice made in fear, anger, or revenge (even a revenge against love or hope) is no choice at all. It’s leftovers.

Can we really look in the face of tomorrow and wonder, if we would have just given all of ourselves to that man or woman, would we have made it? Would things have worked out if I’d just given my all? I have to say that after my second experience with “adult” love, I had the idea to never give all of me again to a man. But, just as quickly as I think it, I dismiss it like a scorned grade-school student. It will help no one to do so. Not the guy. And surely not me. That’s giving him control. The control to say, you’ll never be the same. I’ll ruin you. I have all the control.


I will not build a barrier against love. Something inside you dies when you do that. I will not build walls, and if my heart builds them while I’m not looking, I will tentatively dismantle them. Brick by brick, I will raze the fortress of my heart. Some days are slow demolition, some days are dynamite in a coal mine, and still others are days in which I pout like a spoiled five-year-old, letting the walls construct themselves under dark humor. But, something in me tells me no. Tells me I don’t mean what I say. Tells me to try again, and that I will. I’d barely need a nudge to do so, and I’d be off…relishing in the bright blue, cool waters of soothing love.

So, let us not find ourselves afraid in the darkness of loneliness. Too afraid to move on and let love into our lives. We cling to ourselves, the one we made after Sorrow wetted us with her tears. We cling to the “me” we created, after all, it is the one constant, the one thing we KNOW and can predict. But, we have to learn to let go. To let our wings out for a stretch.

So, let us not seek for love, let us simply be open for when it finally shows up. Because, it most certainly will call on each and every one of us…then it will be in our hands whether we’re still on the phone with doubt, fear, or the wrong man and therefore giving love the busy signal.

And really?…

Love’s a better house-guest.