beatrice
American
I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full. ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
I am reborn.
Rejuvinated.
Renewed.
Sailing in a
Small boat made
For two.
And for once,
Uncharted waters
Seem ok.
Let's float along
And see where we go,
But most importantly
Enjoy the soft
Gently rocking soothing whispering
Of the water
Surrounding us
Taking us on our journey.
Great "unexpectations."
New word,
New life.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 10:29 AM UTC
and I'd rather sit,
pretend you're still here,
than let any memory of you,
disappear.
Oh it's cold,
and somewhere you are too,
but there's a pill for that.
and a pill for me.
maybe two or three.
We'll see
how many I take
before I'm able to be
me.
sans cold.
sans memories.
*We'll see
how many*
can you/I will take
before I'm/you're able to be
me/you.
Tell me it was worth it.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 3:11 PM UTC
You'll send me someone.
I know, so young so soon.
Books make fine company,
Other distractions and such,
Until rain comes.
wash it away, away
run away, away
stuck in place, still concrete,
nailed to the floor
What a pretty statue.
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 9:23 PM UTC
i think i'm ok now.
i think i'm
going
to be ok.
new territory, more thin ice.
but it's ok.
i've survived.
time to repair.
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
I'm doing everything
We said we'd do
Together.
(What a horrible word, together)
Taking the trips,
Swimming in the lakes,
Yes, I swam in a lake.
More like a river...
But I did it
Without you.
Visited Mt. Scott,
Saw the longhorns,
Drove the exact same routes
As last spring.
Without you.
Funny how fate is so cruel
That I'm thrown back to
Exactly where we were.
Were.
Still past tense, still painful.
Still facing ghosts, still facing memories
Exact replication of what was.
Here I am, stuck in the in-between.
And you, where are you?
Gone, my ghost. Off to haunt someone else.
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 9:33 AM UTC
I believe that
Memories turn on themselves.
Just like the subconscious.
It takes what you don't want
To think about
Flips it
Skews it
Presents itself in a most appealing
Adam and Eve type manner
Then pulls it away.
This is for hands left unheld
For days left uncelebrated
For calls not made
Words not spoken
Dreams not lived
Tears shed when no call came at midnight.
Tears shed.
This is for falling down
That spiral that you swore
Was not for you
Too bad you don't get a choice.
Tick tick tick
Time is slipping
You're wasting time
Can't you see that time is
Melting through your fingers,
Falling through the cracks because of
The heat that pounds down on you
And your uselessness, your waste.
Your memories will turn eventually.
They were once shiny and new.
Appealing. Hopeful.
Now, they crumble like
Decrepit walls, abandoned homes,
Like hands left unheld.
Blowing away in the wind,
Nothing but ash.
Something so beautiful turned to
Something so, so hated.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 11:13 PM UTC
Last night I dreamed of you.
I dreamed you came to me,
Slid your arms around me,
And whispered your apoligies.
"So sorry I'm late. Don't know what
I was thinking."
I used to remember dreams.
Fantastical images in vibrant colors,
Crazy plots that could
Frighten or entertain.
I haven't dreamed in
Three weeks.
"She wants him.
He wants to die"
Is enough to push her to
Never dream again.
She does not want to see
What she saw last night.
Is she not drowning enough?
He makes uninvited cameo appearances
In her head, and she,
Only she,
Is full of cold, choking anguish.
Grieving, they all say.
Grieving what?
Oh, right.
"He wants to die"
This is how the story really goes:
"She wants him
He wantED her
He leaves, lives
She withers."
Strange twist of events.
She will cling to those nights
Where sleep comes for a few hours
And she clings to the mirages of him.
Personal torture, knife turning in stomach
Windpipe suffocating, immobilizing
Absolute heartache,
But at least she can see him.
And at least he is happy.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC