Swishing

I won't be her for you. She's not me anymore. When i took you back in my life it was with an adult's eyes and understanding...

And it's been better. It has. I've learned to re-see you and focus on positives I never knew were there. But you beckon her back...with your uncareful words and baited breath - you fish for her and she stirs in me, swishing her tail like buried secrets do - misplaced and mishandled.

Secrets don't need air to survive, only a host.

Feeling her stir is like waiting to feel symptoms from a prescription. But you have them memorized. You learn how to maneuver....

The 1st symptom: A melancholy fog overshadowing everything. TACTIC: Change the subject, leave the room.

Symptom 2: Lack of air, flushing of skin. TACTIC: Change the subject, leave the room.

Symptom 3: Eyes filling with tears. Memories flooding back in technicolor - TACTIC: 1.Feign illness. 2. speak up for yourself 3. Leave. Run. Go.

You WANT to be and encompass #2 but this is reality and that looks more like #3.....

After the temporary terror has left, one resumes their un-swishy ways.... you calm down, have a coffee/wine and remember to breathe... you think about all the wonderful things in your life, if you don't have them then you make them up...

Then you remember your life isn't hers. It never was. She can go back to her swishy - dwelling entirely, and as long as he's in your life you must remember, she is too....It's a package deal.

But another day is coming. If you sit very quietly you can almost forget she is even there...waiting.

Pop!!

The past can creep up like a fifty-fingered foe yanking us backwards. Names tangled with images attached to balloon strings - undeterred by the sharp objects lining its path...

Indestructible.

Some are heavy filled with burdens of emotions we can't name or don't have the tools to dissect....

Others vague, but remarkable for their continuity in our lives. The unwavering fortitude of events

Gone

Awry.

Riding with Wrath

I reasoned with Wrath. I cut him half my apple (being bitter will work up an appetite). After he clawed my arm i gave him a manicure and slapped on a band-aid.

We rode in a two seated cycle through Paris like Renegades - I let him speed up at the jay-walking pedestrians (but dodge them last minute) I admittedly shared in his smirky grin. We ate corn dogs on a grassy knoll and played checkers with bugs until his Termites beat my Cockroaches. He lectured me on the evils of the world, I agreed with some and then bought him cotton candy. His mood lightened a bit...

At the crest of our evening, he muttered some half-ass apology about my arm and rode off in the two seated cycle only holding one. I watched his figure getting smaller down the road and i suddenly felt utterly surrounded in the loneliness he left behind.

Lying

To linger in a laugh, tell vanilla truths - marinate in the birth and have it be enough. I wish it were... I wish humor and truth would feed a couple forever. I hope someday truth could announce itself without fear or anger. I wish honesty were enough (it's not). One needs a myriad of dreams to pull fulfillment from -

Boredom creeps up like an angry foe. Who invited that? Well, there you are. Now what?

So we dive and delve into possibilities to keep from drowning (they're held against us as I'm told they should be.) We lounge in shallow waters of generality until our souls slowly disappear - We make better what we can and mend the obvious wounds at bay and dangle still in that grisly grasp of unrefinement- because only US noticing isn't enough, and the terrible, hard truth is: It never was.

Diamond

The Azure sky has wrung me dry, words flow free like drink, the blanket wrapped around my bones is woven in glitter and ink -

I bought dreams from a peddler and laughed with the crows, Smiled at secrets no one else knows, Saw a woman in silver boots at the store, she escaped from a comic book wanting more-

Tickled keys of plenty, set idle too long, cursed myself for never composing a song. I rebel-roused with my cat, she was victorious again (don't tell her i threw it - she likes to win)

I dreamt of a beauty far away, and kissed lips i knew deep down couldn't stay. I clasped tight the diamond, to then open my hand -

And found nothing but air
And sparkly sand.

Polished

Perhaps my words aren't polished to shine,

And I'll never be paid to scribble and rhyme,

My rejection letters could cover a floor,

Yet still i doodle

and doodle more -

I shall remain a scribbler for scribbler's sake,

And be realistic in a writer's shaky fate,

A tried and true masochist to the T !

With noone to make happy but little old me.

If I

If i had a child, I do daresay..
I'd be careful and honest, encourage their play- but I'd teach them the power of thinking things through, and what good can come of it when you do -

I'd warn them also life can be tough, and there will be days when you've had enough. I'd say, "Look for the details in the rainiest day, because big muddy puddles are the most fun for play."

I'd explain death early, read them books every night, tuck them in with a kiss and shut off the light. And while they were sleeping i would worry and fret, that all that they needed they don't have yet. I'd think of their future, grow nervous again, then find a big puddle to jump in and swim.