the first thing people would say upon our engagement is show me the ring like some bling is an ode of your love to me. i am not a homemaker i am a homebody. i excel in colombian coffee and monday night pub specials and cheap wine with expensive labels. i excel at being one of the guys and by being one of the guys i mean not being your wife. i filled the crevices you scraped in me like some kind of sculptor smoothing over past mistakes like being your wife was some kind of placebo pill i can sweat out with half-empty pizza boxes and grease stains on a couch that was never mine. when i first tell people about us about what i've done they say
but you two fit so well
but i liked you together
but you were going to get married
but but but
but they don't see your knuckles almost shaking hands with my jawline or the time i stared at you deadpan i'm not scared of you and i think that's what scared you that i'm no battered wife that i'll take you all bleed you dry then smile from the corner.
i am no battered wife like the woman who raised you
whose christmas-gifted blanket i'm currently curled under but whose 4 a.m. whispered words i cherish more he can't make you forget what you felt like your lies would forge me into the fucking crazy bitch you christened me but what i felt in your booze-stained breath amaretto-sweet words ice-diluted eyes was i am no battered wife
i am no laying next to you in bed at 30 with kids i couldn't convince myself to want and bruises that fit your fingers on my ribs. i'll take my tuesday tequila and too-loud laughs, my scrounging for quarters for just one more cup of coffee over your stability smirks.
I shiver with the thought of him,... rushing through my mind. It feels like a cool breeze on my skin, making my arm hairs stand on end, sending chills down my spine. Just the thought of kissing him, our arms wrapped around each other with fingers tracing outlines, his breath on my neck... I could stay this way forever, he knows what he's doing to me. This is only the beginning.... how I hope it stays this way. One day everyday, you might be thinking maybe after awhile it won't be as exciting as it is today....or maybe just maybe we'll make it stay this way.
All good things take time.
If you see him and your heart-
doesn't feel like there are butterflies in it
give the caterpillars time-
for time will tell you
what really matters.
I feel the cold of the morning
And I know of your heart's longing
You wanna roll with me?
For that's fine by me
How about we do this all day
Forgetting woes of your yesterday
Drying wounds and tears
Far away from your fears
Making love under the rain,
To ease your soul's pain
For sometimes life is happiness,
Even within one's weakness
That in the arms of a darling
forever is never changing
With just a glance, it seemed as if I knew,
Everything about her, but my predictions were far from right.
She saw through me, my soul, and her faith in me grew,
But, I made her a promise, in which I broke without a dose of regret that night.
No hope, surviving in a world without noticing my one desire; happiness.
But, my heaven sent an angel to change my unworthy heart.
Yet I made the mistake of taking her kindness for granted.
God, she was a piece of living art.
Underneath the constellations, is where love stood and pain was felt,
And so much love was there when she confessed a terrible truth.
Cancer tangled in her cells, and as blue tears fell from her eyes,
I knelt on one knee and asked her hand in marriage.
In days, I no longer saw a never.
My angel, who returned to heaven, left behind, a forever.
was a curious old man
who lived deep
within Elderwood forest.
Everyday he'd gather
branches and boughs
to cook his dinner
and warm himself
inside the drafty,
he called his home.
I clearly remember
the night he invited
my wife and I over
for biscuits and tea.
We left our car
at the entrance
of the single-file
footpaths that led
into the darkened
shroud and stillness
of his forest.
We sat at an ancient
wooden table covered
with the inscriptions
of hundreds of writings
from decades past.
I remember his wrinkled
trembling hands as they
set down the tea
he had dried for us,
I believe it was chamomile
with a hint of lavender.
We talked about a great
many things, but nothing
made his eyes light up
like when he told us
about his wife, Percilla.
They were ministers
at the old baptist church
until they retired to their cabin
in Elderwood forest.
Young lovers again, they'd
lay under the trees and laugh.
He showed us her picture
and smiled remembering.
I could hear in his voice
the sweetness of their love
and a longing for reunion.
I don't remember much more
than his words that echoed
in my head as we drove
back to our modern day
one another's hands:
'Don't let one thing
come between you.
You are one flesh,
you are not two.
Don't let children,
or money, ambition,
or your vocation
come between you
and the one God gave you.'
This is the memory of
Tumbling up and down the aisle,
Idling in front of the ice cream.
Crying about how that one flavor left,
Letting you hang and dry on a bucket of ice.
Ask yourself, "Is it really worth going through?"
Turn the corner and plunge face first in
Fishy residue that kinda tastes like glue.
Glacial grandmas clogging up the aisle,
Eyes subdued by pretty colored boxes.
Nod yes, "This is what my momma says I want to do."
Hurdle over tantrum throwing toddlers,
Tell yourself how they'll never be like you.
U-turn into some pickled shallots,
Shattered shards ticked gently between your toes.
Ask yourself, "Shouldn't I expect more?"
Slip and slide past the yellow caution sign,
Sigh and shrug as your feet begin to leave the floor.
Fly over registers of frustrated heads,
Heading towards the front door and into the trash can.
They say, "No, no. This is what living life is for."
Dumped properly in a swamp on the corner.
Corn bits and bran flakes filter through your nostrils.
Nothing's been gained from this whole ordeal,
Or maybe you're not destined to enjoy it.
Thinking about the condemning of a woman in the news for up and leaving her husband and older teenage children...
Growing up alone was not difficult ...in comparison.
You don't speak of things that happened in that house.
Knowing what neighbors and even family have said despite your innocence stops hurting long before you mature.
You learned to live with the fact that you'll be judged and sentenced based on the decisions and mistakes of the one to whom you've been bound.
You understand, though sometimes in shock, that you've given your entire soul, your very breath to others.
Others who will show no appreciation for the life you have surrendered.
Then after decades of giving, trying to understand why you can no longer hold your head up, it becomes clear.
...what's maddening, what's killing you, is being surrounded by people who've no understanding of you or what you have sacrificed and realizing how truly
lonely you are; while never being able to have a moments peace.
Never think you are alone