Days Gone By

Clouds linger in this ghostly void

Haunting

Winged rhythms nest

Faint upon mountains of smoke.

What flew in these whispers

Was but a name,

Purple

Blue

Long lost to the shadowed sky.

Saying goodbye

Trudge bitterly under black boiling rocks
moments ache asking for you
gone are those heady shows atop your bed
drunk dreams tell me the road I must take from here.

My heart

Occasionally I forget my voice and get lost in my thoughts.
Today is one of those days.
I drift silently through the day wondering where I belong,
and why any of this matters.

To be faceless in a sea of people waiting to be seen.
My eyes cast down, my mind in the distance, searching.

I have a heart and I want it to be seen, to be shared.
No man wants it.

They want my heat, and my flesh,
my moans and my writhing.
my tongue and my mouth,
my legs and my hair,
my hips and my ass,
but not my heart.

And not my voice.
Unless it's sounds of passion.

Most women would stay to feel needed,
I have to feel needed to want to stay.

I tire easily of casual exchanges of passion,
they don't get me going like they used to,
there was a time I needed the release with a man I cared nothing for,
but now it just leaves me tired,
and bored,
knowing I can do better,
and they probably can't,
and don't care, because these men have no goals,
no desires beyond Friday night,
no need to yearn for more than their paychecks
and the life they already have.

I need more,
and not because my life is unfulfilled,
but because life is about more than what's in front of us,
more than what is at our fingertips.

Words from another

Sometimes someone else says what you're feeling more clearly than you could ever do yourself.

A Renewal by James Merrill

Having used every subterfuge
To shake you, lies, fatigue, or even that of passion,
Now I see no way but a clean break.
I add that I am willing to bear the guilt.

You nod assent. Autumn turns windy, huge,
A clear vase of dry leaves vibrating on and on.
We sit, watching. When I next speak
Love buries itself in me, up to the hilt.

In awe

Out of the forest,
after the moon,
our skin met beneath your crested ceiling,
our breath and blood fogging the window,
that moment...

Far gone now is that time,
we said goodbye last night,
you too apathetic about life to make a stance,
me too desiring of true companionship to let myself be content with what you had to offer,
which when we broke it down, wasn't much.

So here I sit
my skin soft from a shower,
naked, truly,
reading and writing poetry
and wishing for a moment when a man will look at me with a twinkle in his eye,
one that doesn't mean sex,
but one that means love.

Eventually all secrets come to light, unless it is a secret shared only with yourself. I'm no good at them, never have been. Secrets create deep rifts the longer they are kept. I will not forgive secrets, but I will forgive mistakes in judgment presented to me with honesty, hell, I'll even forgive events that weren't mistakes but scenarios created by intrigue and passion...as long as it's not kept from me. I'm an above ground sort of gal. We're all human, and as long we all respect each other as such I'll let just about anything slide.

I recently learned the truth about a matter that occurred a couple years ago, a matter that I had accurately guessed at mind you, but the fact that this secret was kept from me, by two people I have loved for great periods of my life, has ripped me up a bit. I will not act out in anyway, even though I want to, but my heart hurts. I will never be able to trust a certain friend again, ever. She recently expressed to me how happy she was we are in each others lives again, I can honestly say I don't know if this will continue. As for the other person, it's only one more fucking count against him, one more reason to despise the fibers he is made of, one more hit against me, telling me five years of my life, my love, was built on illusion and fallacy.

This is why secrets are for cowards. I will live proudly every day knowing that I am an honest person living with integrity and respect. These people live in card houses not knowing when the winds will change and their realities will fall.

Winter Wind

The air is thin and frigid, the consistency of sharp barbs. I feel like this place, this time, is slowly turning to mist and all I can do is give my already tenuous soul to it. With nothing to hold to I find my thoughts straying to other moments like this; ones in which I was cushioned from the frailty of the world by my reluctance to become tangled within it. There is a feeling within me, a pressure, a void, a vacuum. It's other-worldly, giving me continuous pause. I question my journey, my path, my past, my present, my unforgotten love and my desire to be whole again. Time stills, and hastens in the same instance.