A fluffy skunk scurried across my path
Startled me greatly
if he could
he would have laughed
at the misfortune of the dog owners
who's K9s startled him
to the extent he startled me
enough to make him spray
all over
his putrid stink
coating the pups
who now so badly stunk
what a maniacal skunk
who seemed as though he had not a care in the world

Foggy, windy, madness,
beauty city.
Anything, and everything but calm,
yet I feel so at ease,
and I'm pleased to announce
that today I felt
happy.

As the fog rolled over the trees, buildings, and all that lay between
so very
effortlessly
and the ferocious wind allow not a thing to be still.
The moisture penetrates my bones,
seeping deep in my pores,
refreshing as anything could be.
The sun setting, a sight to see,
walking home with groceries in hand.
How could such moments not consume me?

Now, give me a moment to recollect
the depths of my perception,
what I'd experienced prior to my momentary consumption.
The wind kicked up,
my skirt blew.
I had flashed a silver fox,
he blushed,
as did I.
Much too soon for goodbyes.
We both continued with our lives.

Onward,
into the grocery store,
the cashier asked me from where do I hail.
Just how is it that easy to tell I'm not from these parts?
I never thought myself to carry tourist vibes.
I don't think that's quite it,
I think it to be this look I possess
of wanderlust and pride.
Perhaps my excitement and wonder,
upon observation of my surroundings,
it's all so vibrant,
so alive.
I don't ever want to lose it,
however long I reside here,
I wish to always see it this way.

However long I stay.
May I always feel this way.

Uninspired,
I lie a vacant, lonesome, callous shell.
When the wind hits, I am crumbled,
crushed,
dust in the breeze.
I am nothing.
I've left no trace,
no mark,
no meaning
in this world,
although still cursed with the audacity to plead remembrance.

I am sitting here broken,
angry,
and hurt.
Your words replaying in my head over,
and over,
again.
"I just don't care anymore."
And every statement that escapes your mouth is so far beyond me,
I cannot even begin to grasp
just where it is you are coming from.
I am here thinking back to every moment we ever shared,
where I lied naked in your bed,
drenched in vulnerability,
and tried with all I had to express to you the extent to which I cared.
How someone can so easily blatantly disregard every instance of such intimacy I cannot comprehend.
And for some reason, I still wish you nothing but happiness and success,
in all your life's endeavors,
especially romantically.

My vulnerability comes as that of water from a faucet.
I cannot deny the devastating droughts I've put companions through,
nor can I deny the massive floods.
There is no certainty,
no measure,
no average
of how much of myself I may give.
The drought undoubtedly got to you, because
you took a hammer to my clogged up,
****** up
faucet,
and pounded relentlessly seeking everything right then and there.
I don't see how one could have anticipated anything less than the broken,
spewing mess you created.
Now all that's past, without a moment of regret,
but darling, the damage still lingers.
I'm sitting here broken, a leaky faucet,
that can turn neither fully on or off,
waiting,
ever so impatiently,
for some kind plummer to appear with a wrench.

Now, don't be discouraged, as for now I am okay.
I've found a fellow to appreciate this mess for exactly what it is,
I've been given time,
affection,
void of obligation.
A fellow who cherishes every drop of vulnerability,
every drip,
drop
.
drip
.
drop
.
.

It's the thunder and lightning,
without the rain.
Striking hard, fast, loud,
I am soaked in anticipation, fear, loneliness,
everything but rain.
I am impatiently awaiting the water to drench me,
wash away the ghosts of lovers I've pushed away.
They are screaming at me,
guilt grows like weeds,
and I am in mighty need of a fresh start.
So where the **** is the rain?
Tell me,
what will wash away this pain?

Clarity,
it seems, almost, a rarity.
These days, I find it difficult to see things for how they truly are.
Being up on this island is soothing,
the ocean, every tree, is oozing
relaxation in the purest of forms.
Island time is slower.
At an elevation lower
than 4,000 feet, I find it so easy to breath.
I'd so much love to show you
a life that can consume you,
enthrall, relax, and doom you
to never want to leave.
Run away with me, to the Pacific Northwest
I swear I'm at my best,
and I swear we'll never look back.

I feel so empty, so numb.

I look into your eyes and feel nothing,
nothing but fear.
Fear for how bad it will hurt.
Hurt like your first scraped knee.
Kneecaps quivering like leaves.
Leaves that change color seasonally.
Seasons that change around me.
Me?
Unafflicted.
Me?
Empty.