tatum-obrien
I aspire to make the most of my nine lives. Poetry is a passion, one that intoxicates the soul. I am not a master of words, but I am a speaker of the heart's truth. Different facets of life keep me busy, different faces the world sees. When my soul is drunk, I can be honest to myself.
Five hundred and fifty...
that's how many square feet I have,
all to myself, the kitty,
and the dog, but there's no bath.
Yet, there's plenty of room for solitude.
It seems to be the easiest thing to resume.
Not saying hello is socially rude,
but what they don't know, is that it feels like doom.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Feel vulnerable,
and I mean that in the best way possible.
Let me confide in you,
and tell you secrets you would never guess.
Secrets that I keep from myself.
Allow me to need you.
Not forever, but
at least for a moment.
The moment after I throw my arms around you.
And then you hold me,
and let me crumble into you with out restraint.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
What hell it is to live and breathe.
However, I do love this hopeless recital,
of throwing myself off the nearest cliff, and live.
Only to be disappointed that it did not hurt.
That in fact, I had not felt a thing.
Sure some time wasted, a taste of dirt.
Oh, pleasure in my sheets, but no hearts ring.
To feel that rush again, of falling!
Swiftly, sweetly, almost sickeningly.
A fantasy. Characteristics of you, my darling,
is what I fall for, each and every time. Jokingly.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
"Since when do you have,
a tolerance to alcohol?"
I grimaced, but you took it
as a smile. Misunderstanding,
as always. Quit.
I have been noticing.
How much love hurts,
when only one gives.
And receive less in return.
I have taken to supplement.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
Come sit beside me here on this beach.
Take off your shoes, throw your jacket awry.
Lay beneath the sky and put your arms at widest reach.
Beauty most profound,
Take a breath that starts from your toes,
and makes its way up in your head in dizzying air.
And let it go so softly, that nobody knows.
Beauty that goes uncrowned.
Our mother knows how to comfort us.
She sings in tunes we recall from childhood.
Love her, we must.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
The ceiling fan goes cn-ch cn-ch cn-ch.
Light through the blinds highlight dust motes.
The cat sits by the door, eye on the finch.
Simple things catch my thoughts.
I imagine your finger,
oh your fingers.
Running down my back,
and across my hips.
Gently brush my buttocks as
they slide down my thigh,
and cusp the back of my knee.
Tugging me closer to you,
drawing my knee above your hip.
I smell your skin,
it smelled like I always imagined.
Embarrassed of the intoxication of scent,
my hair falls over my warm face.
My knee is left cold,
your hand cradles my face for a
moment.
Pushing my hair away, I can not help but
be stayed by the passion in your eyes.
I sighed.
And finally opened my eyes.
The cat stares across the studio.
The finch had long flown away.
I stare at my empty bed.
**** these thoughts,
and **** the inability to cure them.
I know I could, but I would rather
have you do that.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
I share my time;
Often with those who do
not share their time.
A second or two,
if they are feeling generous.
I understand.
We all have our own time,
to live and breath,
to fight and forgive.
But you never take the time to notice.
Notice what?
Anything, anything at all.
The floor boards.
Some are missing inches on the side,
leaving a ravine for dust to gather.
And others have been stained
By time in the sun.
Silverware never goes in the wash,
instead you do them by hand.
Blue ones go in the cup, the rest in the drawer.
I never bothered to ask,
but I noticed the quirk.
I notice the sugar crystals
on the counter top next to the coffee ***
You had set the spoon there,
instead of the sink. I did not want,
to say anything.
I wanted you to think
of me first. Selfish of me I know.
I wanted you to notice
my mannerisms and habits of home.
But you have never taken the time.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Oh! Anxiety,
wash over me.
Coat my body,
in hot chilly sweat.
My palms are waterfalls.
My feet are ice.
My armpits are needles.
Anxiety,
watch over me.
Forget the. . .
apparently it wasn't worth remembering.
Speed to where I need to be.
Ah ha! I recall what I forgot.
In order to be where I needed,
to be.
Anxiety,
listen to me.
And to the whispers,
that taunt and harass me.
Wait,
Listen to them first.
Then me.
Anxiety.
Please leave.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Who was she?
What were habits,
and quirks?
That made you smirk so softly
at the mention of her name.
Do you still see her?
As you drive around town, remember the past places
that you and her both occupied.
Do you take me to the same places?
Who was she?
And who am I,
except a girl who has come to realize.
That maybe it's not me that you like,
but the similar mannerisms that I have compared to her.
Who am I?
Am I the rebound?
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
What is it that which we do,
makes no matter which way we go,
a harrowing event that falls to the wayside,
destitute and broken, filled with blight.
Roll over and shun our own self.
Reject I, that am all but gone.
Pity self, pity selflessly.
Then reject that too.
Look at the sky,
past the buzzards circling the ravishing corpse.
Once there was more,
and there will be again, a New World harks.
Time passes in longevity,
yet in the blink of an eye-
it becomes the past.
Always so long ago.
Ravines fill with raging rivers,
rushing without respite.
Not realizing that it takes time,
all the energy at once can not change everything.
Not at once.
Lay fallow, heal our wounds.
Rise again with elegance,
or at least determination.
And do it all over again.
From start to finish.
Break down, over and over again.
And do it with finesse.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC