Saturday, June 16, 2012
Only during hard times do people come to understand how difficult it is to be master of their feelings and thoughts.-Chekhov
Like, I'm gonna crawl back to you, live again where only shadows lie. Yeah, I'm familiar with
that place where I fawn, excuse, deny.
But, oh my, I'm growing now and
appealing as that sounds, there's something about the bright
freedom grounding me.
I just trip in your cast of gloom and my legs-
they want to
I trembled once at your touch- it was all I knew.
then all that waving nearly knocked me over and I learned to fear.
If our bodies are vessels, then I carried you.
You've broken free.
Why can't I?
No, a fresh start cannot possibly mean I enter the crypt of your new found glory.
I can't compromise
my soul to give you safety.
Boulders lifted away become stepping stones where
with each foot placement, I'm lighter.
I want back a heart of flesh,
of equal rights, a solid body of strength and wholeness.
Imagine me a willow, but still.
Covering my own damn heart this time,
branches hanging, beauteous and protective.
The weeping-healing. Letting go lamentations,
convulsing to purge but silent are those tears,
shaking body but
Write an elegy of what
black and white means nothing to my movement.
mourning the theft but rejoicing the gift that's left
and seeing myself a widow.
I'm a tree unto myself, away from that brush of bullshit.
I'm fixing my hair a different way, viewing a new reflection.
that I can't
call your bluff
is a vapor of what you knew before and audacious
to say the least.
Our corona became a noose and your latest proposition, a nail in the proverbial coffin.
Circles do not have points - at least I know my shapes.
Sling mud- it doesn't stain.
I'm spotless once again.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
and I have words, plenty but not enough…or not words, right.
So, I’m hunkering now in supposed safe haven, watching my own back
cause who else will?
Split rhymes with spit, which is sort of how the word sounds, wrong
somehow. Split heart, split tongue, split home, lickety split
More than a crack – a chasm, cataclysmic. But not really, right?
Happens all the time.
So you think
there’d be words….and I suppose there are, but insufficient to touch
They’re words you could eat.
The crash, the smash, the wrack up of the
tumble, of the final word which says, too
robotically, there’s been a
failure…. in the system, in the program, in the house.
So there you have it, get a new one. These things happen,
folks. Chisel out the cleaving, then the leaving. Clinging like ivy to the
tearing asunder. It makes no sense. But no one said it
A bond more than bruised-broken, there’s no mending. The pierce of that
edge we can’t escape, the point of that no return. It’s there we
stand, surveying options, knowing now they’re
And yet, the end is only a term for this one thing. There’s a beginning on
some verge so maybe it’s best to just not draw this out
somehow. I haven’t been beat and you didn’t lose, we’ll
call it a tie.
Yeah, there’s a glow somewhere on the other side of this. Maybe that’s
Crumple the papers but me, I’m
“You have to hate someone to hurt them with lies. Insincere talk brings nothing but ruin.”-Proverbs 26:28 GNT