Grey Eyes

You're only passing through: A phase in my long and lonely sequence of men perfected by my imagination.

There's so much that I don't know about you and that I'm convinced I don't want to know about you.

My hopeful desperate mind prefers to fill those gaps as it pleases... adding shine and glamour to the void left by the unknown.

Without the heart to allow me a chance to discover your truth, I'd rather dwell in the peace that comes with imagining you are perfect.

So I dwell.

I dwell in the perfection my mind has made you up to be.

And in those brief moments--those false and non-existent moments that are ever so present but only in my mind--I am happy.

Unbeknownst to you, I have married us off and put one child in your arms, while the other kicks from inside me... eager to meet the father I've created for him.

We are drunk in joy and life suddenly has meaning.

But then you send one of those purposefully short text messages that annoy the crap out of me.

I'm suddenly on a fabricated beach, playing wife with another man and 4 toddlers my mind had constructed in his image. I lay on my back and rest my head in my palms, marinating in my vengeful prowess.

Today you were sweet again.

As I felt my belly enlarge once more with the pieces of you I knew I always yearned, I stopped to think that I didn't miss the beach and those toddlers didn't feel as much a part of me as this belly that my mind drew so perfectly round.

This is what I feel that I should be carrying...

For now.

Poets and Paradoxes

Photo Credit: science.howstuffworks.com

Déjà vu
A blank sheet and
an aching pen
thirsty for the truth.

Déjà vu
A God so kind
but a spineless mind
I only write 

what I should do.

Déjà vu

Time has passed
but pain, it lasts
‘cause a poet is but a fool.

Déjà vu
I’ve no life to wheel
so I write to heal,
yet my world never improves.

Déjà vu
My words have changed
but they mean the same:
My world is blue.

Déjà vu

Mediocrity

I'm experiencing suffocating degrees of comfort.
But I'm struggling to understand the cause of my cozy respiratory failure.
My heartbeat is certainly present.
In fact, in the many moments I'm frozen still and staring into a space before me that isn't there… my heart knocks louder than the noise I left behind.

Perhaps I can breathe and I'm just choosing not to.
Yes. I'm holding my breath.
I'm waiting for something.
I don't know that I'd know it if it came but, I feel the need to wait.

I don't know that I ever want it to come because, I just want to wait.

Something is missing.
But I'm comfortable waiting. 

Only waiting.
Yes. This is fine.
I know how to be this.
I don't know how to be that.

I probably shouldn't keep asking them to love me for being that...
That which I am not.

I'm afraid of being that.

No. That's not it.

I'm afraid of failing to be that.
And if I succeed, I'd be afraid of failing to stay there.

But I'm terrified of staying as I am.
I don't want to be this.
I want to be that.

And them?
If they need a reason to love me, then they never will.

I want to be that.

But not for them.
I want to breathe for me.

I Found in Me

The dust settled;
the wind no longer blew;
and I found in me,
what had grounded me
but, to my surprise,
it wasn't you.

Eloquence.
Punctured only
by streams of sunshine
and the soothing sounds
of intricate drums.

Fear.
… infused with faith

and peppered with love

for the simple pleasures:
sips of coffee interrupted
by glances at pages
of leather-bound treasures.

Romance.
A firm obsession
with sincere expressions,
and an utter devotion
to hope.

Kinks and curls
of a story to be told,
by an independent voice
of a woman...
daring to be bold.

These are the things
I found in me.

It Is Written

The pen politely asks my wrist to dance.

I wrap my parched fingers around its neck, and clench my fist to quench my thirst.

My mind never outgrows the delusion that my two realities are really one and the same because it finds comfort in the idea that it can escape one to embrace the other. As though it can never belong to any world without ever getting the feeling of simply having had enough. So I succumb to the promiscious pen and we tango down a line, as I lose my mind to gain what is mine:

...freedom only found in pages. 

With this barrel of ink bleeding past my fingertips, I lay you down: the manipulative, confused and confusing of my two worlds. I've lost my freedom to you but today I gain it back because, I bleed in colors and textures you can never wash away. I bleed blue and black, I bleed front and back, cursive and CAPS…

I bleed intact.

Looking Glass

To a girl I used to know,

I saw a beautiful portrait this morning.

She had sad eyes, but her smile maintained a sense of airy simplicity. I examined her elusive presence and tried to breathe her in, but all I could see was you. I couldn't let go of you enough to embrace her; so I stood there staring vacantly.

They always said you were the naive one. I suppose to some extent, that is true. But your sensitivity to what others find mundane and your ability to appreciate what they take for granted is not a lack of sophistication; it's wisdom. Sometimes the world is more accurate through the eyes of a child. I miss that about you.

You think you're restrained by your fear of what you cannot accomplish; but I now know that you're restrained by your fear of what you can. In time you'll learn that while you crave all the comfort in the world, you are at your best when you are far from it. You shine when you are in turmoil.

Never give out of obligation. You think they're grateful, but you'll have missed the point.

Your most life changing moments will be when you are most exposed. Embrace the humility.

That man. He's not for you. Walking away doesn't always make you a bad person; sometimes it makes you a wise one.

The day you learn to invest in yourself is the day you will have understood that you are most deserving of your own time.

That man will come again.

And again.

And again.

You will see his core doesn't change. His essence doesn't change. And he will always be attainable. He may not be as tall, as dark, as handsome, or nearly as well dressed; but when the time comes for you to receive him, he'll be what you need.

Watch those shoulders. They're starting to get stuck behind your ears. Loosen up.

The end will always terrify you. It's not because your soul is misguided. It's because you have attached yourself to the footing of your happiness. God is so real to you that you see His face in the life around you. Don't work so hard to uproot your fears. They're necessary.

Be great. If you fall short, try again.

Live each day with purpose and on purpose.

Buy all the quirky mugs you like and don't let a blank piece of paper out of your sight without jotting something down. Write for me. I need you to speak. I need you to process. But live past your pages. Live in spite of your pages. Just live.

As those sad eyes began to water, I broke contact and took a breath.

I was never meant to let you go. I'm meant to embrace you further.

You're not a girl I used to know. You're a girl I'm getting to know better.

Photo Credit: flexwi.com

Flying Dog

She's silent but violent,
so he allowed her to settle;
... then choked her with one hand
while the other clutched metal.

Photo Credit: ridistributing.com

She was sweating profusely,
like something is brewing inside her,
but she kept herself calm;
she's a lover, not a fighter.

She stared back and waited
bubbling but jaded,
until her head flew off and she was open wide,
for the wild man to suck her dry.

He glanced at her body,
though briefly, he'd loved her,
then stood up and walked off
to ask for another.

Muse-ings

Somewhere…
amidst the clouds of Memphis,
A muse, bemused,
she came to me

On turning sheets of blanks unbound,
she pressed my ballpoint tongue and found,
the pulse I had watched leave.

Spoken Word

I'm conversed;
I'm well versed
in small talk, being all talk, dirty talk, and "need to talk"s.
I mean, I have coffee stains in my memory lane
that make papyrus sheets look (oxy)clean.

Photo Credit: altamontbrewingcompany.com

I've been talked to, no doubt,
talked for, talked about,
talked at, and talked out.

But for the first time in my life,
someone spoke to me today.

She stared into the light,
gazed right past me,
extended her arms
and directly addressed me.

Her eyes darted about,
watching every word escape her lips,
skid off her finger tips
and pinball violently around me.

I danced around the room,
like supermario for his dame,
catching the 1-UP mushroom points
to this nintendo game.

... but I intend (for) no game,
only to click my fingers as she walks away.

Never having seen my face,
someone spoke to me today.