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Tag: blogging

I will not be beautiful for someone else

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I am tired. I am broken violets in a vase that hasn’t had water for days. I am cut at the base of a very long stem – growing bent under the weight of others’ sins carried on the wind. How do you grow up when you cannot see the sun? Cannot feel the heat on your leaves? No warmth in the day? No moon at night?

I die. My roots growing further into the earth trying to bury my alive. When I am hiding perhaps I’ll survive. Only dirt is seen by the naked eye, but I…

I grow silently beneath the soil. I wrap all my limbs around rocks that told me I couldn’t and hold them so tightly. They anchor me. I tell them my secrets hoping my stories will bounce back with an echo of truth I don’t already know. I am only a seed below.

Scattered. Like dust. Shattered. Like someone just put me here and expected me to be something beautiful. Something for show. A feature in a building they call home.

It’s a house made of aging bones and hollow noises and records that play on too-loud speakers because why fix a thing that isn’t completely broken? Yet. It’s only a little out of shape. The music is still in time. In time.

In time. My heart no longer beats in time to the right rhythm. Broken violets in a thirsty vase asking for questions to be asked. Why keep them if they’re dead? What if they rot?

I’m not saying they’re entirely ineffectual – I’m a conversation starter at least. What will they speak about with a flowerless mantlepiece? Will they even miss me?

Not planted or picked for display. Just somewhere. A seed. Growing my own way and looking for the light.

Do not go gentle into those empty lies

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Please stop coming to me in my dreams. Please stop curling up defenseless with me while I’m asleep. Please stop filling me with your memories. Please. I can still feel you. Move. Please.

I’ve moved forward; I’ve moved on. I’ve moved so you wouldn’t find me standing still. I have spent all this time being unfrozen, melted to stay away from you. Running. Running water. Free flow. Free. Free. You freeze me. Hard.

I have found value in soft, smooth strength. Slow. Not stuck fast. Slow down, baby, and find yourself. Find your fears in your own night’s sleep. Befriend them – know them and you will know yourself.

Dreams rest between terror’s teeth. Get up close. Tremble with its breath on your neck. Stand up straight. Hold your head high. Do not go gentle into the lies you’ve become comfortable telling yourself. You are done with these, love.

There is nothing left for you in those lies – there is no you left in those lies. Life. The simplest adjustment and you’ll come into so much… more… without me. And that is what is best.

You belong to you. I belong to myself and my own dreams and sleep and peace, and you do not need me. It’s okay.

For the first time I don’t feel guilty for you walking away. I’ve drowned my doubts in those dreams. I am enough without your memories.

I wish you well. Now sleep.

Dreams and beasts burning hotter than the stars

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She is alone. This has been her fear all along. It is dusk on an open road and mountains and unmoving turbines and the moon.

There are more miles between here and there than she cares to admit. She won’t admit anything. The abandonment. The inadequacy. The wedding that shouldn’t have been. The affair. The family. The abuse. The divorce. The abandonment. The abandonment. The child in her arms that isn’t hers.

There are many beasts that walk these streets – bigger and burning hotter than the stars. The scars on her hands show how busy broken messy busy broken she has kept herself. She has kept herself. To herself. Toward herself. Away from herself. Abandonment. Tired. So tired.

She is alone. Alive but alone and what is living when you can’t hear another heart beating?

Come with me and we will borrow time

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I fell asleep looking at a photograph of your face – your eyes like a slideshow of our lives. Together, we are not awkward like chalk against steel – the squeal of metal.

Rather, our bodies are turn tables scratching at the grooves in each other’s skin – a symphony played by an orchestra of pleasure. The strings pulling our hips; percussion making us swing.

Our tongues as two crossed fingers – folded around each other like tubes of brass bearing the weight against our lips. This beauty-full bassline belts a love that no one will understand.

There is air pushed from our lungs slowing down the clock; seconds match the rhythm of our breathing. Your breath: a fingerprint on the atmosphere conducting ructions when our bodies shake in perfect time sparked by what happens if I did this longer-harder-faster.

And there’s a fine line when it comes…

to borrowing time, so we lock thighs and grind. You sigh as my hand that knows the curvature of your spine guides the glorious climb till we are two tightrope walkers taunting the fragility of notes.

We are high up, but deep inside. Think and jump. Thrilled and terrified.

If you look for us, don’t look up for you will find us below, buried between each other like sheets. This is where my dreams sleep. And I will wake to you like waves stumble effortlessly upon the shore. We will sway day after day – an endless ocean waiting to sink its teeth into the Sahara.