Archive for May, 2012

purge

Posted: May 28, 2012 in alone, lonliness, me, poetry

a look in the mirror
revealing little more than projection
sultry silky savage lies
creep through the crevices left by false smiles
below the candy coating, fire
like ever warming patient dragons
they burn my ears intellect & instinct
the false reflective smiles & trusting eyes persist
as toxic vicious & no better than yours
no longer wondering why
i use them to rock myself to sleep
forgetting whose is whose

half of twelve

Posted: May 26, 2012 in alone, lonliness, love, me, poetry

screams executed as inhales
faulty and failed
words too full
lips clumsy from the weight of tears
soggy dripping fear drench brain
soul deafened by the silence
where heartbeats once danced
paralysis victorious and merciless
a single thought resonates
help
help
help
help me
help you

reward

Posted: May 19, 2012 in destiny, hope, James, love, me, poetry

unity’s return
sealed by a goodnight kiss
our hearts return home

adrift

Posted: May 16, 2012 in alone, clarity, facts, lonliness, me, sex

my soul has memorized you in every way
with words not yet uttered lest written
each lash sigh touch tastebud inhale
and here we are
you me us
and the widening abyss
that’s whispering……….
forgotten

uncharted 2.0

Posted: May 13, 2012 in clarity, destiny, facts, hope, James, karma, lonliness, love, me

Since the day I wrote this, a lot has happened. But nothing has changed. It was a hard day today indeed, but sometimes love is hard. I’ve still never been mad at you or hurt by you. I love you MORE today.  Because… you’re still the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’m still here baby. I’m just waiting for you. Hurry, okay? I miss you… and we have plans.

I promise:

Not to make my bad day more important than your good one. Or your ordinary one, for that matter.

To never fill in the blanks. I will ask. You will answer. Honesty. Faith. Trust.

I will always say thank you. Even if it’s just your way, I will be grateful.

When I say I love you, or I’m sorry, I’ll mean it. And I’ll never treat either as a polite or expected retort.

To shed my cuts, scrapes, bruises and scars. I have no choice. I’m safe now.

I’ll always evolve, change, hope, dream, have goals, and look to the future. But never at the cost of our moments, experiences or days.

To stay me. If you like it, I can’t help but love it.

To let you be you… amazing YOU.

Be kind, understanding, a quiet listener, a vocal expressor, patient, loving and consistent. And all the mixed up blends and proportional balances.

I’ll hold your hand when it’s cold. And/or wrinkled.

To deserve you.

sinking before you learn to swim
crashing before you learn to fly
defying reality in hopes to control
or prayer to be swept away
outer body out of your mind
delicious sleep just never comes
forced to instinct you sink
how could you know anything else?
eyes and heart battle scarred
you disappear
inside of you
no longer in me
its death a wilting
no pomp just circumstance
distance perceived as shrinking
all is heavy
all is dark
truth evident in the temperature
cold and invisible it consumes you
you are not here
youve faded
slipping through the hand extended
fingers missing that touch of life
as blackness grows strong
the light now extinct
memories
hopes
givens
promises
sunrises
smiles
faith
truth
gone
all gone
without explanation or justice
eyes turned to the away i must walk to
drowned in their own tears
i am not here

yang

Posted: May 11, 2012 in destiny, facts, hope, karma, love, me, poetry

breath sucked from chest and lung
time merely a parable of love actually
blood circulating the grand design
that this is the spot futures sprout
a moment one moment the next moment
all there is, is this
salty sweety buttery melted skin
halos caronas and flitting wings
my earth my heaven my center
axis at the turning point of my life
i began for you
i died for you
i took your breath
you gave me life
and a strong warm hand
that simply dangled patient for the bravery

terminus

Posted: May 9, 2012 in clarity, destiny, hope, karma, love, me, poetry

billowy pillowy inhaled fuming love
new acquaintance
old soul hand hold
buried in the past of futures
untold memories laying lifeless
looks locked leering lustfully
muffled i loves you
telling their secret fears and fames
ethereal endless effervescent
everythings emulated enumerated
eternities ever entering my heart
i love as he was, is, and shall be
never anticipating
expectations eradicated
he is he who is
rolling and roiling
deepest depths of determination
destined dusty duly doubted
damn near destroyed
in my palm heart and mouth
forgiving forgetting forging
my forever love
my daily reflection and reminder
love exists
love lulling in tired ears
promising tomorrow will come
and so it will go
just as it came
innocently dedicated
the manifested promise
never spoken
simply understood

   I’m often told I look about 10 years younger than I am. With the life I’ve experienced, genetics have been my preservative and the bane of my existence. I can offer no explanation for my youthful looks and disposition aside from that reason coupled with insane and inexplicable optimism.

  My non-matching appearance and age, along with the Cougar Phenomenon, have changed the demographics of my dating life. I attract youngsters. To no avail, I disclose my age as a deterrent, yet find myself twisted up with younger guys. The late 30s sex drive, not having children and my high energy level make these matches fairly logical and comfortable. But I’m still floored these guys seem to pursue me harder when they’re informed of my age.

  I have a theory. It’s my opinion, that the Cougar trend comes from these guys being the first generation of men who were raised my mothers who worked full time. “Mommy Issues” are the new “Daddy Issues.” While little Madison has gold poles and red shag carpet waiting with her name on it, little Cody doesn’t. Well, not usually.

  I’ve written a lot of Cougar jokes. “I’m so dedicated to being a Cougar, I only fuck guys with a dead parent and have mastered the chocolate chip cookie.” Funny? Maybe. But, really, these guys need a hug! They go from momma love anorexia to girlfriends and wives who will never ever be enough. In adulthood, they are still maintaining the child’s ignorant hope that mommy will put them on the tit and apologize for all the pumping and formula. Since mothers are people of the guilty cloth, I’ve become certain they don’t really know how neglected their own son felt and feels.

  These are the same mothers perplexed by the mistreatment of their sons in a sad, steady, predictable beat. Doing too much for them in adulthood to make up for childhood conditions these boys are going from affection starvation to being over-loved. So in turn, these poor souls accept their girlfriends being detached, unappreciative, and failing to reciprocate.

   These are the same girls whose mothers left them for work too. Their model is a frustrated, exhausted, either independent or codependent, emotionally tapped woman who is usually doing the best she can or at least thinks she is. They’re also, more often than not, single. The frosting on this cake of disaster is the complete ignorance of a relationship that runs on something other than dysfunction.

   While my boyfriends have been running around serial dating and attempting the Houdini-esque Build a Bear: Family Edition, I was  giving up on finding my dad in others and hopes for any semblance of family, let alone a healthy one. The natural course of action on my part, you’d assume would be to mother my boyfriend. And there in lies the ruinous rub. I’m not going to. Unless it came from my uterus, an expensive purchase of a human or an animal rescue, I’m not raising anything.

  It may seem cold to think such a fragile man, void of maternity and often paternity, is capable of matching me in an adult-like manner, but society dictates my unrealistic expectations. My absentee father was at work or in our basement, not across town with a new family. My mom only worked out of absolute necessity or to busy herself. She was present, involved and supported by a guy whose mom stayed home and raised him.

  The dynamic in my relationships end up being a sort of Frankenstinian hybrid or a mutated abomination. Neither of us know our role. The pendulum swings from societal feminism to societal masculinity, inside of both of us. Oedipus would drop his jaw and wonder the whereabouts of the humanity in the situation.

  The only hope we have as a pair, is to define for ourselves, the meaning of heterosexual coupling. This often means I kill spiders, help switch out an alternator and take my place as big spoon while he listens to Adele, uses cucumber melon bath wash, and runs to the store to get my tampons. My lovely, energetic, chivalrous young man is often the sensitive cherry in my shit sundae day. I am often his grounding point and welcoming bosom.

  I read things online, hear on the news and eaves drop conversations about gay marriage, interracial relationships and divorce rates. Constant debate, stigmas, and busy body government have smashed any hope of the world loving love. If anyone deserves to be jaded, it’s me. If anyone qualifies to judge, it isn’t me. Besides, I’m too busy being in love. Yes he’s younger. Yes we’re both damaged by the destruction of families, Nosey Nellies, and the search for the key to life and loves codex. Yet here we are. Man and woman. Unified. Whatever that means. To US.

segue

Posted: May 7, 2012 in alone, destiny, insomnia, lonliness, love, me, poetry

on stormy nights
i think of your lips
and how they taste
after kissing my tears

i see your eyes
when i close mine
and thunder becomes heartbeats
lighting illuminates destiny

yet i lie alone
cool sheets filled with breadth
absent of your warmth
empty handed and pining

patience is the virtue i damn most
on nights like these
id give my soul
for one saltless kiss

There are parents who put their kids in front of the T.V., my parents, mainly my mom, put me in front of the radio. My love for and addiction to music has always existed, without fail, without choice. Though my dad, for all intents and purposes, is a musician, this hunger and appetite comes from the woman who loved him. It is the biggest gift anyone has ever given me.

My mom once said, “I know you’d go crazy without music. That’s why I always made sure you had stereos and radios.” And she did. From transistor walkmen to turntables to boom boxes to shelf units, she’d supply the needle for the vein in my soul that throbbed and begged for the sticky, thick, melodic dope. When I’d stumble out of my self-constructed fortress of musictude, I’d be in the midst of hers.

Cleaning, cooking, driving, showering, sitting. Music was her white noise. I’d see her moving about in the trails of her mundane activities with a look of warm, emotional, vacation. What was she thinking? Who did she miss? Where was she? How did she end up here? Very often, my dad would be simultaneously concocting his own cacophony in compulsed madness just ten feet below us. Though you could hear it, we didn’t. Not really.

Life had dragged her and I over, around and under the country, following his dream. Seedy bars, dirty hotels, Colorado ski resorts, Ohio beach houses. It’s rumored I slept in a mostaccioli box in the back of van. Kentucky commune, faceless roadside motels, lake cabin in Wisconsin, all interspersed with stays at gramma’s, music watched over our souls.

My dad’s dream never came true. Or so I assume. Everyone grew up. We started staying in one place and sleeping in our own bed every night. Music keeping it’s position,  yet now more of a follower than a leader.

I once read that music activates the same brain activity as math. Math being a thing I excelled at without effort, I attributed science to my attraction, just like any other junkie looking for a justification. But that’s a lie. Music is my mother’s milk, my history. It is the home movie chronicling a love story. The story of two teens who fell in love, got pregnant, got married, chased after and ran from each other, leaving their blue eyed, towheaded baby in the care of what brought them together only to tear them apart.