Archive for the ‘love’ Category

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

Advertisements

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.

DOB

Posted: April 30, 2012 in brother, destiny, family, golden rule, grass is greener, love, me, rant

Being 38 years old and childless, there is a chasm between myself and mothers. My not being a mother was a choice regarding birth control for health that spanned decades and became a choice regarding my present and my future. Ask me today, I’d still have the 5 kids I wanted at 20, if I could.

I noticed the difference in me with my own mother first. My adulthood marked the beginning of her failing to relate to me. At 17, she was a high school drop out, a mother, and the wife of a 21 year old ginger haired musician. By 20, she lost her own mother. We hit the wall on demographic commonality before I had sex for the first time. But me, I never stopped looking for it. Or craving it. Empathy.

As my friends began having kids, there’s that phase of baby doll dress up, baby daddy drama, and them realizing the golden age of the mythical stay at home mom had ended. They were more tired than I was. Their financial resources went elsewhere. I felt like a braggart with my bars, boyfriends, nights in the city and 12 noon alarm clock setting.

Friends married, produced more spawn, I had a miscarriage. Friends divorced, remarried, more kids. I moved back home, switched jobs, suffered depression and often felt I was just surviving.

My brother married before me. Within a year, almost to the date, he had a daughter, my niece. I’ve never really told anyone in my family, but it took me 6 months to feel connected to her. Even through some testing and a trisomy scare, I was unaffected, apathetic and surprised at my personal coldness. She wasn’t mine in any way. And she surely wasn’t that baby that would’ve been her 8 year old cousin.

As I dated into my 30s,and saw my brother’s world and marriage unravel, I  saw parenthood in a whole new light, a masculine light. I saw my brother, a few boyfriends suffer the absence of their children. It was devastating. Their identity was replaced by their position as appointment keeper and automatic teller machine. Their children would cohabitate with strange, adult men that they didn’t approve. The women they dated, including myself, were judged as over bred harlots, or unequipped lowerings of the survival of the fittest, too flawed to breed.

My mind is now clouded by two decades as a spectator in the world’s failings and successes in parenthood. Yet every child that passes me, catches my eye. Every child I share words with or run my hesitant fingers over in moments of “they’re so cute” burn my heart and the cavity inside me that’s laid dormant for so long. I never made a decision that I didn’t want to be a mother. I never judged you if you did. The only thing that I decided, was that I wouldn’t become a jaded mother or grandmother. That means I’ll make my decision when I have a formidable partner I am looking forward to making that decision with. If that never happens, it wasn’t my life’s plan. I see 20 kids a day I can smile at, be kind to and preserve the Earth for. Don’t pity me. But don’t expect me to pity the plight you may have in being a parent. I won’t be jealous. I’ll just keep doing what I do. The world needs the childless just as much.

Have you ever felt compelled to thank somebody for loving you? A secret, dark part of me always felt that everyone should just DO that love me thing. Yet, somewhere deeper and even darker, I’ve always felt that no one has.

These aren’t the inner pinings of a narcissistic teen, twenty-something or a panicked thirty-something making a last futile attempt at figuring out who she wants to be when she grows up. It’s a desire older than baby teeth and the capability to physically produce the sound of simple phonics.

I can remember the void left “where love goes” far more easily than my first memory or experience of love. The fact remains, as a child, despite my best efforts to turn off the plain, obvious, total envelopment of love my life was, I passed it by or tuned it out like an Autistic Vulcan.

In aging, developing and coming into my own, my life’s trail is paved with the carcasses of self- inflicted denial, rejection and failure in the implementation of love. Like an amoeba, designed to live off as little as possible in the temporal world’s physical chaos, I existed and flapped my arms, at best.

Now here I am, ravaged, compromised, contused and stripped bare, and somebody loves me. Whether or not I was the heiress of a loving culture, family and inner worth, I now am left feeling begat of love, born of love and clueless. There’s another living, breathing, thinking, human being who voluntarily loves me. And, I’m more than okay with that.

My past inclinations to run, sabotage, victimized myself or manipulate have disappeared from my bag of tricks. I don’t even WANT him to love me. I simply have to accept it. Raw, simple, genuine, uncontingent, not even offered, just there for the taking, LOVE. And somehow, I’m functioning, in the stillness of it all.

In the wee hours of the night, I dissect it, carving it into tiny, emotionless, lifeless pieces of things “not-me.” Every morning, I wake to it fully assembled, fully functioning, smiling at me and reminding me it loves me. And, though I think it would look fetching in a straight jacket, it’s there. It’s real. And smiling.

Whether my thirty-something years of loveless childhood are fancied or real doesn’t matter. The reality I live in, this state of lovedom is thick, warm, and as safe as the womb, legend has it, I once escaped from. How in the world am I expected to handle that?! It appears, by just being what I was designed for: love. Much to my scowling chagrin, all the accoutrements of my survival are blessed little attributes. So, I give up. He wins. I guess that means I win too. Hopefully he’ll help me figure it all out, or  remind me I don’t have to.

coalescent

Posted: April 21, 2012 in destiny, love, me, poetry, sex

lines so soft
gentlest curves
no borders
no wars
union
tone tonality
wafting white whispery
downy delicate daring
skin
communion conforming comfortably
suggested sultry substantiated swoons
no lips
no words
no floors
no walls
no ceiling
stars twinkle in my tingly toes
sand stirring the friction of forms
firey flirty femine fumes
exhales
exits
existing
hearts beating til there’s only one
one
two
me
you
us
us
us

biopic

Posted: April 14, 2012 in love, me, poetry, sex

tiny fingertip tingles
laughing licking kisses
brushes of stand up hairs
prickly lipped tastes
falling rising loved up lungs
sparkling aromatic darkness
on and on and on and off
each breath begging
a curl slid left
an eye twinkling dew
interlocking souls
carried away by passionate giggles

signature

Posted: April 8, 2012 in destiny, facts, hope, love, poetry, sex

warm exhales against my neck
arm strewn across my abdomen
lips soft against my shoulder
i am wrapped in confident comfort
afraid to sleep
fearing movement
the dream is now
in wide eyed alertness
sealed in skin
preserved in persevering promises
held in hopeful heartfelt happiness
i am imagining this, immortal
no, it is now, near, nestled
here
in real time
actualized
my everyday
ordinary
extraordinary
love

cradle

Posted: April 3, 2012 in destiny, hope, karma, love, me, poetry, sex

i shed myself of shackles
binding my trueness & freedom
then i ran to you
steadfast in my resting stance

you stood stoic, cold, so numb
not weak, not strong, just still
i took my beating heart out
and rubbed your soul with its warmth

you bled away pain
inhaling the life i have too much of
with arm wrapped necks we flew
to safety, sunshine, home

breathing each other alive
i saw the you past, present, now
forever golden in my mind’s eyes
forever mine, forever you

the ground met our feet
lands of tomorrows, waters of today
the breeze of fossilized forevers
what has always been, perpetuated

bauble

Posted: March 23, 2012 in destiny, facts, hope, love, me, poetry

there hangs a heart from my neck because i’ve always believed in love
though i’ve felt self-convincing
ive fought to keep the hope
then you were just there
first a friend and soul mate
then holding my hands
now your kisses burn me
chest full of fire
just below my dangling heart

red

Posted: March 19, 2012 in alone, clarity, destiny, hope, lonliness, love, me, poetry

as i sat there
once again
with what was left
or wasn’t left
of my identity
and dignity
my heart hardened
or buried itself
underneath dead lungs

all i ever wanted
the only thing i asked
leaving with that
that which i came with
a suitcase of life
three boxes of happy memories
confident trust
a beating heart
two working lungs

but i didn’t
yet here i am
still blinking
heart throbbing with love
lungs swollen with hope
so thank you
all of you
leaving with nothing
pushed me towards everything

i walked in with nothing
unless you count me
and before i knocked
the door opened
the mat said welcome
and i was handed a key
tied with a ribbon
shaped like a heart
there’s no place like home

uncharted

Posted: March 13, 2012 in clarity, destiny, facts, hope, karma, love, me

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.