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  I was snorkeling one afternoon in the often-murky waters of my hometown. The visibility was as hazy as ever. I swam among the usual schools of fish and took care to avoid the Sharks, Barracudas and little Pricklyfish that can be so annoying if they brush against you. As I swam over the top of my favorite reef,
A most beautiful light caught my eye ...

  In the murk, I couldn’t see what it was emanating from ... but without a thought, my fins pushed me  straight towards it. Gliding over the flat grassy bottom between the reef and the shore my heart began to race in disbelief ...

  There ...

  Swimming just under the waves ...

  Looking at me ...

  Was a Mermaid ...

  When you stop laughing, I want you to picture how I felt. I couldn’t believe it, and I knew no one else would either. But my fascination wasn’t the fact that she was a Mermaid at all ... I was awestruck by the light that shined all around her.

  It was amazing. It wasn’t any one color ... It was all colors ... and no color at all. Its radiance and sparkle were absolutely captivating. I couldn’t look away from it even if I had wanted to ... And I didn’t want to. If she had turned out to be some kind of ocean going huntress in search of her next meal, I would have easily been her next victim. I would have willingly done anything to be shown in that breathtaking light.

  Lucky for me she was harmless ... at least physically. I had to remind myself to take breaths as I tried to get closer without scaring her away ... Like I said, she was looking at me too. The light continued to lure me ... I was held there, completely helpless, in its grasp. As I gazed into it, I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

  At first, I thought it was her smile. Then I thought it might be from her eyes ...
But I was wrong on both counts ...
The light was coming from her ...
I could feel it around me like a warm breeze on a balmy Florida night.

  I wanted to stay there ...  

  Forever ...

  Forever in that moment of seeing this wondrous spectacle for the first time. But time is persistent and often cruel. And the moment left me. I was distracted by shadows that appeared in the light as I got closer. My emotions swirled like an eddy in a tidal pool as I realized what the shadows were ... Her light had attracted many other swimmers and as I looked at their faces I could see that they had been attracted to the light, just like me.

  I didn’t know whether to be jealous or feel sorry for them ... after all, I still didn’t know her intentions. I watched them staring into the light ... I knew how they felt ... But in that moment I also felt what they wanted. I began to recognize some of them as Sharks, Barracudas and Pricklyfish ...

  Part of me wanted to chase them off ...
To defend and protect her. But I am a live and let live type of person. Besides, out here in the ocean, if you let your guard down to save someone ... you might just find yourself as the meal instead. I chose to keep my distance and watch her. But to my overjoyed amazement, she spoke to me. I didn’t understand her language, nor she, mine. But we were able to communicate enough to begin some kind of bond. It was all I could hope for. It was all so quixotic.

  That first encounter ended all too soon. After all, I couldn’t stay in her world for long ... and, I would soon find out, she couldn’t stay in mine. Everyday I would return to that area near the reef. I couldn’t help myself. I could see her light even when I closed my eyes ... it had, for those first few days become part of me. Its grip was warm and welcome.

  With each visit I tried with all my might to teach her my language and to learn hers. There were many moments when the frustration from lack of understanding pushed us apart. But, I was so enamored with her, that I not only braved the Sharks, Barracuda and Pricklyfish, I went and got my license to scuba dive so that I could spend more time in her world.

  She seemed to appreciate my efforts, but the first few times I tried to bring her to my world, She changed her mind or something drew her back to the sea. I would walk up on to the beach and turn to see her reaction to its beauty, but she was gone. I wanted to hold her hand as I swam towards the shore but I’m not like that. I needed to know that she wanted to come to my world. That was important to me and I felt like maybe that would help her understand me better ... More frustration.

  One evening on the third or fourth try, I found myself alone in the surf again. I was convinced by this time that she didn’t want to come to my world. She always seemed appreciative of my coming to hers and even eager to come to mine ... but each time, I walked up onto the beach alone. I walked along in the sand that night ... My head slightly hanging. I didn’t know whether to be mad or frustrated.

  Our communication hadn't improved much in those first few weeks. I turned to look at the Moon, as it set, big and orange into the ocean. I looked across the waves for her light but it wasn’t there. Sadly I closed my eyes as I tried to think of what I should do ... And there it was ... The light ... it washed over my face with a smile ... her smile ... my smile ...

   I wanted to let it go, but I couldn’t. I stood there for what seemed like forever and basked in its warmth. But the thought, or maybe the realization that she was never going to come to my world, made me open my eyes ... And, the moment left me ... briefly ...

  To my amazement, there she was. She had walked up out of the surf while my eyes were closed. I looked at her and for a second I thought the light was gone. I was wrong ...
It wasn’t gone ...


  It had become my light too ... or maybe she had finally let me stand inside it with her ... I’m not sure to this day which. Those few precious hours with her in my world meant more to me than I could ever say. The look in her eyes and the way we communicated that night made me feel incredible. She shared so many things about herself; her world and her life with me that I felt honored and even privileged to be enlightened with such insight about her.

  I found myself effortlessly sharing some of my innermost thoughts and emotions with her as well. By the time the sun came up, She was curled up under my arm as we slept on the floor. I was sure when we awoke that she would have to return to her world ... but to my amazement she actually asked to spend more time with me! I was overjoyed.

  There are those that have said that too much of a good thing is bad. Even a hedonist like me can agree with that. But I would have given anything to have more of those moments with her.

  They were incredible.
  
  They were without inhibitions ...
  
  They were without tension ...
  
  They were without stress ...

  But more than anything  ... They were without motive.

  We were two glorious beings ... both quite different ...
Both quite the same ... sharing a few timeless moments together; neither wanting any more than a deeper knowledge of the other.

  It was beautiful.

  But perhaps it was too much for her … being out of her world for too long. She had told me she’d not left it in a very long time. I was glad to help her come out of her shell and look inward on herself a little. She had done the same for me whether she realized it or not. But let’s face it, my world can be a little overwhelming sometimes and I think she had had the proverbial “Too much of a good thing”.

  She almost seemed to panic. Her mood was one of aloofness and anxiety. Her statements started to become irrational and I found myself feeling not only frustrated ... but also guilty.  I was asking too much for her to spend so much time with me.

  I know ... It was She who had asked for the extension of our meeting. But I should have said no and let it end on a good note. After all ... Time is persistent. I had all the time in the world ... or so I thought. But, like I said earlier, I would have given anything to make those few moments last forever. She was wonderful. It turns out that those were our last moments. I took her to the beach and watched her as she waded back into her world. I begged her to let me come back to the ocean with her but she refused. Something I’d said or done had made her think that I now had a motive of some sort. I couldn’t convince her otherwise. I tried, but it was futile.

   I watched her slip under the waves and she was gone ... And so was her light. I was so confused ... I didn’t know whether to be relieved or hurt ... blessed or angry. After a few nights, her light returned in the form of her siren calls from deep beneath the waves ... I would lay in my bed late, late at night and listen to them.

  They were confusing at first, but when I realized she was hearing me as well, I became at peace with the whole thing. I was thankful for those few precious moments and sad to think that our inability to understand each other had pushed us so far back into our own worlds.

  I guess there’s some comfort in knowing though ... that time is persistent.

 I think of her every time I smell the ocean.

     ~Jeff Gaines
Port Richey, Florida.
             2002

eu costumava sonhar em me tornar o mar
imenso e vasto como tal,
com a mesma selvageria caótica
que é viva e dissemina a calmaria

e se eu puder ser mar
receber-te-ei como um dos meus
que banham-se em meu colo
enquanto se libertam das âncoras mundanas

às pressas de escapar desse não-lugar onde me esconderam
me vi na areia, em mutação
preto no branco gritando e a natureza fundindo
eu me vi fruto da miscigenação

eu me tornei mar
e agora tenho um amante
que queima em meu horizonte
mas se esconde ao anoitecer

na manhã ele retorna
e logo põe-se a iluminar
todas as almas pretas
que ainda procuram um lar

escapei do esconderijo
que era um tipo de prisão
pra que ninguém mais seja preso
longe da escuridão

por isso enquanto eu for mar
te deixarei livre, na leveza de existir
te emprestarei meu amante
pois sei da tua vontade

vai ter calor no teu corpo em todo amanhecer

felizmente hoje eu sou mar
então recebo-te como um dos meus
e lhe convido a nadar

As hot as he was under the collar,
Pilate kept his cool since he had nothing
gain by losing it either way. He was a cop
and it was his job to keep the peace
and he intended to do just that and only that.
He got his orders straight from Rome
and Rome’s orders were to give the Jews
whatever they wanted and let them choke on it.
That’s more or less what the Jews were doing—
strangling themselves with a mish-mash
of violent crime and corruption.
The only thing Pilate really had to worry
about was the persistent gossip on the streets
of a Jewish Savior. Something like that
could really cramp the Romans’ style,
not to mention eat into their revenue stream,
which more or less amounted to the same thing.
My kid brother James still lived with our mother.
I knocked at the door about sunrise
and he came sleepily scratching his ass to the door.
The place was a two-story hacienda
where he eked out a living as our old man
had done as a carpenter, the old man having run off
with a prostitute years ago, leaving the family high and dry.
“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, “I thought you were doing time.”
He was genuinely surprised.
I came in and said, “Where’s ma?”
He kind of shrugged and kicked the dirt,
saying, “She ain’t here, man.”
“It’s the crack of dawn. What do you mean she ain’t here?
Where are the kids?” I said looking around.
The place was a dump and he was apparently living there alone.
“She hooked up with a guy.
You know—,” he stated with a shrug,
sort of embarrassed. “The kids are with them, I guess.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that she’s your mother?”
“Don’t seem to bother her any.”  
Mary, my mother came from the same house
of whores as Magdalene and old Miriam,
the busiest cat house in Nazareth.
The house was run by a big-boned Mistress
that went by the name of Aunt Annie,
though all of her girls were called ‘Mary’,
partly for convenience sake since that made
it hard for the Romans to get a line on any one of them.
But the centurions all knew Annie.
Her graft was good and reliable
and she’d been in business for years.
The story went that our mother was a virgin
when I was born. Don’t ask me how.
I never quite got that part of the story myself.

January 15th
I write a letter to my school
Asking why, after 5 years of hard work
I am still beaten down and abused
By those who put in minimal efforts
I ask, why do you think its okay
That i can lay down in a field
Bloody
Broken
Alone.
Under their "care"

January 27th
I write a letter to my parents
I apologise for never being good enough
For being a borderline alcoholic
For squandering the life they gifted me
For doing drugs
For being sad all the time
Not everyone can be strong
For the strong to exist
So must the weak

February 1st
I write a letter to God
I ask him if he intended for this
If I'm part of his plan
If all this torment
Is simply a part of something beyond my understanding
But i know it isn't.
I begin to ask grander questions
Dear god, why is it that the thing
That makes up everything
Is the very thing capable of turning
Everything i love into dust.

February 15th
I write this from my room
Not to god, not to my parents, and not to my school
There is no return address
This letter is to you.
Each and every one of you.
It reads as follows:
"Dear You, and you know who you are

We live in a vile universe
Filled with people who want to hurt us
Uncaring governments
Weapons of Mass Destruction
At any moment, the paper you read this on
The hands you hold it with
The eyes you read it with
Will all turn to dust
So heed this advice
Don't squander your time
Don't sink it to the bottom of a bottle
Don't suck it into a syringe
Find happiness in yourself and people
People who will not harm you
People who love you for you
Find yourself
With the best of humanity
Farewell."

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

it's official
it has been
a month

a whole,
wild month
but still a month

a month of
countless words
and
hundreds of views

though the question is
what is the point of this?
i've been here a month
and i'm still not sure

do i write here
just so
i have an outlet?
to get these feelings out?

am i here
to seek acceptance
to find people who feel like me
or who appreciate my thoughts?

am i just here
to feel wanted and understood
to hear praise and
watch my views climb?

is this a way for me
to say things to people
that i don't have the courage to say
in real life?

or am i here to help
diffuse my anger
and dull the pointed edges
of my soul
and try to put together
the shattered parts of me
by accepting them myself?

You  cut  me
    But I'm not mad
You  stabbed  me
    Who can blame you
You  shot  me
    But really it's my fault
You  hung  me
    As I am dying
You  pushed  me
    I realize
You  poisoned  me
    I gave you my trust
You  crushed  me
    And you used it to
Kill  me

We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to get to know what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves sometimes
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we look like
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love

digest to understand,
then shelf it.
I once read my father's
suicide note --
thank god it remains only a draft.
it's weird touching my skin
knowing I was one pill,
one bullet to head, one tight knot away
from ever existing.
i'm not quite sure which one
it would have been,
as I never intend to ask;
I will leave that to my imagination
(something i've learned he cannot be released from)
I am the daughter of a man
who is tired and afraid of
the voices in his head;
and every day I pray
I am louder.

I dealt death today.

I know it’s a part of the job.
I know I’ve seen it too many times to count.
But today,
I felt it.

I left the room long after their family did.
There was no where I could go
To escape their

Roaring grief.

They were long gone.
And I was left with their precious baby.
I curled his arms and legs up
Closed his eyes
Wrapped him up gently.
With love and respect
Here he’ll sleep forever.

And oh,
They are so thankful,
That it was me
That I understood
That I was so careful
That I spent the time with them.

And you’re not supposed to take it with you.
You’re supposed to leave it
When they walk out the door
With one less goodbye.

But I took it with me today.

The way they felt before
The way they felt after
The long quiet goodbyes
The man in a suit on his knees weeping
The mother and son making a cocoon
Sheltering their dying baby.
The solemn face of the woman who plays god.
The green death.
The last breath.
The heaving of the living as he gave his last.
The waiting.
Slower rhythm.
Quieter.
‘He’s gone now’.

I watched the clock
The same way I had
An hour before
Waiting for death.

Soon as I could
I fled out the door
Ran into the street
Tried to outrun it

Instead I ran to you
I dialled your number
With shaking hands

I know I’m not supposed to
But all I wanted was you
Your voice

Ringing out
Thankfully
I wept alone.

Today I dealt death
And I found I am not strong enough
To sustain this
Alone
Or for long.

I found I still consider you my haven
Deep down
But that you are not my haven anymore
Or should be.

I listened to the silence
After the call rang out
And decided

You were fascinated
by the way my mind worked

And maybe by the blued song
my soul played

Still wasn't enough
to get you to stay

You moved on
   I am still here
The implications of that
could not be more clear
      A pragmatic brain
tells an idealistic heart
        what it refuses to hear

Thought you were real deal
Could have sworn it was magic
Dust settles on the pages
of a sweet story
                turned tragic

Loss moves in stages
I'll write a new book
Heal with each chapter anew
dedicate it to  
                         you

It will never be published
      I know this much is true

I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.

The comedian is depressed—
Irony at its peak.
People cannot see the lies
Whenever she starts to speak.

The comedian is depressed.
Her smiles are not her own.
Day and night pass by and by,
Her house is not a home.

The comedian is depressed,
But the audience cannot tell.
In the end that's all that matters,
That, and if you perform well.

The comedian is depressed,
Head filled with gray and blue.
You cannot know the full extent
Until you acknowledge that it's true.

The comedian is depressed,
Each laugh is fleeting, at most.
Original thoughts inside her head
Tied her to a whipping post.

The comedians are depressed,
And more are going away.
How much longer till people think
To ask if we're okay?

I hope we are all
more than who we
thought we  are

I

Alone

Under
Stars
And
Sky

Night

Tastes
Of
Melancholy

Old
Remembrances
Colored
Gray

Some
Dreams
Don’t
Die

No
Matter
How
Hard

You
Wish

Some
Dreams
Won’t
Live

No
Matter
How
Hard

You
Cry

Under
Stars
And
Sky

Alone

A­m

I

I hope that you will always remember
it’s not that your father
deserved better children
It’s that you deserved
a better father
my love

I'm tired.
Tired of everything.
I just want to sleep,
And never wake up again.

No, I'm not lazy,
I'm not running away from life.
I'm just tired of the world and myself,
And too tired to change anything.

If you are a suicide survivor
Inbox me your name
And I’ll add it to my tattoos of others

You guys mean the world to me
And I have my own name on my arm
Because I too, am a suicide survivor.

Sometimes you have no reason to stay,
and realize that's a perfect reason to go.
And that taking an entirely new way,
is the only method to grow.

If your washed-on abeyance's bight,
and you feel decision's heavy heft:
To go to the left where nothing's right,
or the right where nothing's left.

Remember it doesn't matter where you proceed,
or which mountain you want to ascend.
It does not matter whether you succeed,
it is the journey that matters in the end.

.
.
.
The rain is falling faster
Every second
Like so many past metaphors.
.
.
           ...theprettypoems...

It’s okay.
It’s okay that you constantly
Ignore me, never text me,
Purposely refuse to answer my phone calls.
It’s okay that I spend my nights in tears,
Trying to fathom your motives,
Never finding solace in sleep.
It’s okay that you never listen to me
When I speak, that you always
Cancel our plans,
That you don’t seem to care about me
Anymore.
It’s okay.
I guess I was never good enough.

thunder,
a soft rain
sits outside
and does not move.
For once,
I do not mind the
grey sky that hangs low
nor the breeze that slips
through the window
and wraps itself around me,
cool but not chilly.
As much as I love the sun
and her steadfast ways
sometimes I need
the calming of the darkness
the Earth's slow call for a rebirth;
a cleanse of all that I am.

the smell before it rains and the taste of that first sip of tea in -20 degrees

the slow untangling of your thoughts with every beat of the drum, the way the wind blows right through you just enough to move you forward and never enough to blow you down

the sound of typing fingers when you know you're onto something good, the feeling of your own, and finally not his, skin

the seasons are changing and baby so are you / six senses are helping you develop into someone new

The sea is resting now
after a long day
gnawing at the edge
churning in deep hollows
ever so slowly eroding
this peaceful coast

Sand is the issue
of this marriage
sea and sky
combining to
make the land large
in its retreat

A handful of sand
to the winds
my life
to these tides

don't gain weight, they say
do you want to look like a pig?
but it's ugly if you're too skinny,
no boobs and no ass, what are you so proud of?

society's standards, everchanging and everflowing
from the desireableness of being just bone and skin to having big tits and an ass
our society that can't decide what it wants
our society that thinks it can control what is perfect

perhaps i shouldn't conform to society's standards after all

My voice is but the sound
of a poem in waiting.
I am the girl vocalizing
love to proud clams wanting
mechanical sex.
I am the pearlescent
sheen of meat
inside of him. I am not
a pain body. I am
stenographing all 5
skandas as Russian dolls.
Bliss does not decide
where I chose to reside.
I have been called
mighty in reference
to some one I have not met.
I will meet myself one day.

Sara Fielder © June 2018

We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.