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Helen Nov 2014
in between the weeds
and the cactus
and the ever roaming
stinging nettle
and the occasional
blooming flowers
is where I settle
tucked away
in the corner
the only human face
weathering seasons
from first to last
covered in vine
pretending to be
the colour
just another comical error
to perpetrate the farce
Helen Nov 2014
we found it where
the rubble lies
we found it beneath
such wretched lies
we found it when
we were both
so lost
we found it even
beneath the gloss

we found love
buried under the bets
saying we would not make it

but let's not forget

that everyone that ever
dropped their money in the pool
is financing their own divorce
and just look like a fool

because we found love
as two souls, separated
and not one persons
disillusionment
was ever going to take it
away from us
what we have is forever
we found love
*we found it together
26 years together, coming up to our  20th wedding anniversary Nov 26th... Yes, we were subjected to a dating pool, all those that betted against us are now divorced... Score One to me and my beautiful Lifemate :) Score Nil to the Haters!
Helen Nov 2014
I choose not!
because,
honestly?
what has
to be
got?
  Nov 2014 Helen
betterdays
i am made of...
thought...
ink and pen and paper... and so much more.
scribbled phrases on diner napkins.
post it notes stuck to walls.
scrawled doggerel in bathroom pens.
phrased ideology in lined notebooks.
spinnered words on lazerprinted A4.
scraps of inklings, on ripped butcher's bags and wrappings.
condolences in funeral books.
ideas capital lettered on cards,
pinned to cork boards.
epitaphs stonemasoned
into granite blocks.
fury arranged just so,
on parchment.
newsprinted with loose blurry, black ink on broadsheets
scribed by pointed stick on
firm wet sand.
notes on heavy cards, of love
and light bright shiny stuff.
discarded sentence startings, left crumpled, lost in a bin.
loss, written with red wine on white table cloth.
art, etched on vellum anciently old, suprisingly relevent.
tapped into tablets both stone
and techview.
blue and red markers squeaked onto white boards.
daubed on canvas with a fine sable brush.
tatttoo-ed upon ones flesh.
carved into wooden school desks.
pressed into moist clay by delicate fingernails.
marked so deeply upon a soul.
chalked to cement,
to stay for...
but a short season.
written for some very, (un)important reason.
courage to speak, sing, whisper, shout, cry, laugh, observe and ponder.
this is me....
i am a word written down.. any word, any word.
i am undeniable, desirable often incomplete
always open  always waiting
for some one...
......just like you ...
to open your heart let me in
to recognize a new start
to have a play, a scribble,
doodle, pen jive. to become
alive.... to thrive,
just begin with a single letter.....then another,
go on be brave...
..........grant me liberty....
Helen Nov 2014
sometime, last night, I wrapped the sheet that was trapped between our heat, around my slender hips, across my bared chest and I tiptoed across the floor, to the door, that took me down the quiet hall and into the kitchen, where memories of our last fight sat congealing on the bench and on the floor, in between the broken wine bottle and the knife standing on its tip, embedded in the breadboard.
Last night, my love burned to ashes on a pyre of self loathing and bitter sweet regrets as I undressed and laid myself before you like dessert, even though the meal was less fine, and you whispered over and over you're mine and each heartbeat, last night, was for you, each whimper borne from pain, from shame, without a name, last night, it was all for you...
Last night you broke me, last night you spoke to me in ways that will always remain my terror, where you are the demon, ever ruling forever, my secret domain.
Last night, as I ghosted through the door, wrapped in our sweat stained sheet, a whisper beneath my feet and my soul dragging behind me like a long lost sheep...
I entered the kitchen and ignored
the evidence of our last hope and reached out a steady hand toward the breadboard.

This morning, I am a brand new woman
Helen Nov 2014
Who cares
What path was taken?
What words were spoken?
What hearts were broken?
Who cares
What lies were told?
What truths were bold?
What beliefs were shaken?
Who cares
What road was chosen?
What mode of transport?
Or even what prize was sort?
We all end up in the same place
with the same certainty
and even the same face.
We all arrive at different times,
we go down with no sound,
into a ground,
so recently
*
broken
Helen Oct 2014
after stabbing you repeatedly
I tossed you out into my front yard
along side all the rest of the other
lying cheating *******!

*Won best decorated house for Halloween...
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