"Double, double toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble."
You know this rhyme, have heard it prior
But now, hear this - my verse to mirror.

A foolish child, to do such wrong
And string your minions, too, along
Your violent acts, and words of spite
Have earned you this most sorry plight.

The shots were fired, stakes were claimed
With such conviction, smeared my name.
And all for what? So I would leave?
Ah, what a pretty web you weave.

A novice, true, but you did try;
I'm twice as cunning, thrice as sly.
Your dues unpaid, and still you reached
So, let me practice what I preach.

The coven black has since convened
(Your kind is not the first we've seen),  
Determined what the price shall be
You know your crimes, as well as we.  

The modern witch is not betrayed.
What reckoning we'll see this day!
A sickened child, a woman not
Let's mind your place, as you forgot.

You think the eye I've turned was blind?
That I'd not return your work in kind?
Behold, my dear, the rule of three
All that, with nerve, you've done to me

Will come back now, and triply well
In this, my carnival of hell
You've paid admission, in advance
Forfeited hope of second chance.

There is no hiding, though I'm gone.
But I'll allow your victory song.
I possess, you see, your DNA.
And so the distance does not weigh.

The balance calls for consequence,
So new endeavors now commence.
Step right up, come right this way!
You've stirred a game, and now we'll play.

Your god is dead, but devils live
And just when there's no more to give
Again I'll strike, my darkest work
And still again, until you've learned.

Do you believe in magick, girl?
I'll let you peek our secret world.
We know no limits, no restraint;
The power here, not for the faint.
  
No mercy here, nor bargains made;
Your debt to us will soon be paid.
You still may beg, but per decree
Blood calls for blood.

So mote it be.

Trouble in a suitjacket,
Tailored as his words were
When he cornered me
That night.

And here I thought
Horoscopes
Were all but *******,
Yet I met him
Exactly where
That ******* article
Said I would.

I started to pray.

He started to prey.

Darkness in his eyes,
Danger on his lips,
Destruction in his mind.
Hell's very finest,
Promising to overthrow
My sworn solitude for
This new year.

Come Friday night,
We step beneath
The world,
Into romance infernal,
As my resolve
Goes up
In flames.

Father,
Forgive me now.
For I know
That I will sin.

She learned to dance.

Frivolous tutus and
Twinkling tights
Soft pink slippers
On hardwood floors,
Young, dear, unadulterated.
The centerpiece
Of a music box.  

A poor melody,
Indeed,
Does reality play.  

Pirouettes don’t show potential.
Relevés don’t yield results.
Interest doesn’t pay interest.
Submission for survival.

Piercings…poles…provocative.
Glittering ensembles,
Sensuality in smoke,
The scandal of skin.

Little ballerina,
Her audience awaits.
No time to be shy.
They want her,
And that
Is what she always wanted.

She learned to dance.

Though she has your number,
She does not call.
Though she knows where to find you,
She does not come.
Though she knows that you try,
She does not care.

She is indifferent.
She is blind.
She is half-hearted.

She leaves you hanging,
Leaves you wanting,
Leaves you unsatisfied,
And you want her.


Chasing after someone who won't
Spare you the time of day,
Craftily eluding someone
Who would give you the world.  

She is The Other Girl.  

The Girl good enough to ****,
But not good enough to date.
Not who you would hold at night,
Or hold in thought for more than seconds,
But who you might wander to
When all else has failed.
A solid backup,
But never first choice.

She is temporary.
She is background.
She is white noise.

A quick fix,
A rushing high,
A biting jolt
Just strong enough
To carry you over
Until your eye captures
Something beyond Her.  

Your moments together are brief,
Fleeting.
Disposable to you,
Consequential to Her.

You return again and again
Because She cares,
And She is fool enough
To let you.
If only you could find Her,
In anyone but Her.
If only She did not wait
For what will never come.

If only the world turned
The other way.
If only the sun rose in the west,
And set in the east.
If only the tides
Pulled the moon,
And common sense
Were a louder guide
Than the human heart.

If only reality,
Were not reality.

But that's not how the story goes.

Is it?

Don't you know
I adore you?

Not so much as a whole
Because really you are a half,
My better half,
That fifty (or so) percent
That I was missing
Without quite knowing
(Or seeming to need),
But more so as
Segments,
Fragments,
Pieces,
Each making up
The whole half
Of who you are.

The tiny, least of all insignificant
Compartments
That comprise you,
Little details painting
A bigger picture,
A work I couldn't
Even have dreamt
In my most restless,
Vivid, unconscious state,
Much less imagined that
I would lay
My eyes
And hands
And heart on.

Little things.

Your hands running
Through your hair
As you speak to me,
The way you send
My mind running every day
With thoughts of you,
The way you sent
My heart running
The day I met you,
When I knew, somehow,
Who and what you were,
Who and what we would be,
Even as everything else
Faded away around us
So that I could see only you.
Where my scope had been
So broad before,
Now narrowed
And tailored
To the emotion of your eyes
And the honey of your voice
And the warmth of your touch,
All betraying you as a man
Hurt so many times,
So deeply,
So ruthlessly,
So relentlessly,
That opening up again
Was your only option,
With what left to lose?

Significant things.

Your eyes upon me
With emotions I cannot read,
Only speculate,
While you observe me as though
I am the only woman
You have ever had, ever known,
Though I know you have had
And known many
Before me.
You look at me as though
I had come to save you,
When I am no superhero
Like the ones in your comics,
And could never aspire to be,
But rather, a normal citizen,
Come to believe in you, to
Hold you, to
Care for you, to
Show you the sort of
Gentleness and compassion
That you have been so starved for,
That comes so naturally to me
When you are in my presence.

Passionate things.

Your hands in my hair
And lips at my ear,
Hot breath raining
Seduction and fire,
Scandalous promises
And blatant temptation
Upon me,
Endearing only falling
From your mouth.

Your body and mouth
Against mine
In a fever
In a thirst
In a heat
We cannot seem
To quell,
The only sickness
For which there is
And
For which I want
No cure,
Tormenting me
In beautiful, twisted ways,
Turning wrought iron
Into tarnished silver,
Dimmed to the rest
Of the world
But just beautiful
Enough for you.

The things you have done to me
I cannot speak of.
The things you are doing to me still
I cannot run from.

God help me,
I am so enamored
That control is beyond me
And sense is without me
And a fire whose embers
Were all but doused,
Consumes me,
Is everything I am.

What was first instinct to run
Is now a reflex to stay.

There is something
About a man
Who changes everything
By staying exactly the same,
Whose mere presence,
Still as water,
Shatters your reality
And opens a chasm
In your world
Of proportions you never
Believed in,
Much less expected.
A deep fissure
Not to be filled,
But for the two of you
To jump in together,
Knowing that neither one
Will come out without the other.

There is something about a man
Who almost wasn't yours.
And that you somehow are allowed to hope
Will always be.

There is something about a man.

Something about mine.

"I don't want you anymore."

"I don't love you anymore."

"It's YOUR fault that we're here. YOUR fault."

"Someone else can deal with your crazy."*

Do you remember saying those words to me?

Because I do.

Despite my efforts to forget,
I hear them always,
Resonating,
Still echoing within
The confines of my mind
Months later,
After I ran from
And pushed off
And drank to
And finally faced
The kind of pain
We only imagine we can experience
Until it becomes that brutal
And humbling reality.

Do you remember cutting into me
With your careless words
And malicious intent
To deflect responsibility,
To blame it on me
That what had been hit head-on
And swerved around
And left on the side of the road to die
Was finally dead?

Because I remember feeling them,
Ripping at the tendons of my heart
Hollowing out the center of my being
Until I finally knew what it was like
To be a shell along the shore,
An article of emptiness
Aching for someone to pick me up
And put me to their ear,
So they might listen to
The cresting and falling waves
Of my suffering.

And do you, by chance,
Remember
The thanklessness with which
You returned my belongings
(But not the wasted two and a half years),
The blankness with which
You looked at me,
As if you hadn't taken the last thing
I had had to give,
As if you hadn't walked me to hell and back
With your insecurities
And irrational fears
And low self-esteem,
As if you hadn't broken
My indomitable spirit
Over and over again,
Until I thought I might finally
Be left with nothing?

Because I do.

Do you remember that little voice
In the back of your mind
That tried to be heard
As you spat those hateful words at me,
As you threw away everything
That meant anything,
As you looked at me like a stranger
Intruding on your personal space,
When you had come to know
Just about everything about me...
That little voice that murmured softly -
Albeit falling hard and fast on deaf ears,
Not unlike how we had -
That one day you might regret
Walking away?

No.

You suffocated that little voice,
Smothered it with your pride,
Your tender,
Delicate,
Obnoxious pride,
Pride in nothing
To be particularly proud of.

You suffocated it
The way you suffocated me
With your arsenical tongue,
Sweet on the surface
And killing me slowly
With every word you spoke.


"We wouldn't have made it in the end."

You're right. We wouldn't have.
For any and every reason
You could think of,
Whether or not it was the truth.
You didn't want us to make it.
So we didn't.

But then, maybe it's better to walk away,
So that what wouldn't make it in the end
Can make room for something
That doesn't have an end to be made.

It was in his arms that I found this clarity,
This realization that you had to
Break me,
Shatter me,
Leave me as wide open
As my wounds
So that I could let him in.

It was hearing his words,
So conflicting with yours,
That brought me to the idea
That I was not as worthless
As you had made me
Out to be.
The idea that
Even in my most vacant moments,
I could fill someone else's void.
That even in my greatest fury,
I can bring someone peace.
That when my demons
Are not sleeping,
And making me Hell
To be around,
That at my most worthless,
When I am nothing
Or at least perceive myself to be,
There is someone
To whom
I can mean everything.

Though it will be the last
And only time
I ever thank you again
(And of course you will
Never know that I have),
I must do so.

I must thank you for having
The cowardice to walk away
Without a glance back
Or a second thought given
Or a single regret had
About what you did to me.

Because,
To have been abandoned
The way I was
And found
The way I was
Is to look back and realize
That there was nothing
I could have said or done,
Given or taken,
Declared or renounced,
Nothing I could have meant to you
That would have saved you
From what you can't be saved from.


Your misery is your only companion now.

*And my happiness is mine.

They say that when something is broken,
And put together again,
It is more beautiful than before.

That somehow,
Amongst all of those cracks,
Crevices,
And flaws that once weren't there,
There is some appeal.
That somehow,
In the broken reflection
Of a shattered mirror,
There is a fineness unattainable
In original perfection.

If that is true, I should be
Far more beautiful
Than it seems I really am,
Far more valuable
Than I could ever hope to be,
And far sturdier,
Having been broken before,
Than I was in my mint condition.

Alas, this isn't how things tend to work.

Life has a way of rearranging the compounds
Of our minds,
Twisting and bending and breaking them
So that we suddenly think, fear, and hope
In the exact ways it wants us to,
Instead of the ways that we want to.

Suddenly there is an alteration that cannot be undone,
A seam that cannot be ripped,
A stain that cannot be removed,
Though we attempt to both free
And punish ourselves
With every kind of bleach
We can reach for.
And still to no avail.

I feel as though I am a sad,
Sad piece of merchandise,
Sitting in the corner at the flea market,
Where no one sees me,
And no one wants me.
Why should I blame them?
By nature, we are always looking
For the next best thing,
Shinier, newer, something we
Can be proud to possess
And show off to the world.
This can hardly be said
Of a tarnished good,
One that cannot be fixed by
Any amount of glue,
Polish,
Or gloss.

It is difficult to hide one's scars
Underneath a sheen that's sure to fade,
Eventually revealing what a fraud you are
To all who admired you.

This is the heartbreaking truth
When it comes to what is broken.
What is shattered,
Dented,
Marred and scarred,
Secondhand and second-best,
Cheapened by its battered use,
And prized only by those
Who don't know any better
Than to add it to their pile of junk.

"Maybe it'll come in handy one day..."


Or maybe....


...just maybe...


...it could be handy now.


Maybe with the proper TLC,
A gentle hand and a gentle heart,
Willing to work with what others
Overlooked as worthless and a waste of time,
That something could become a real treasure,
Something valuable and beautiful to behold,
Maybe even more so than it was
Before someone ever dropped it,
And left it, trashed.


I believe a little love goes a long way,
But that a lot of love can change anything.
And that we would be surprised
At what that which we deem broken
Is really capable of doing for us.

To be put back together... I will smile.
To be loved despite my cracks and dents... I will laugh.
To be seen as beautiful, valuable, and desirable as that which is new, I will rejoice.
To be given the chance to be everything you ever needed... you will never want for anything.


The more often that something is damaged,
The less it has to offer.


I have very little I can give,
But for what little spirit I have left,
My heart,
And the love I have saved up in both,
That I am more than eager to share.


And although I fear being broken again,
Left to be another repair project for a forgiving soul,
I can't help but think it is better to be held and dropped,
Than never picked up at all.

All my life...
There has never been a shortage
Of people to tear me down.

I have never been without
Someone to throw the words that cut,
And leave me bleeding
Without a nurse to tend the wounds
Or the means to heal them.

It wasn't often that I went without
Hearing something to remind me
Of how little I was worth.

I was told that I was no good at this,
And shouldn't pursue that.
That, "if I were you, I would skip the audition."
And that I wasn't allowed to do certain things,
Because,
"You're not good at it. Get over it."
Still a ******, I was called a *****,
And was only bought clothes bigger
Than what I needed,
Because someone would rather
Convince me to hate my body,
Than change their own.

I was told that if I didn't do
Certain things,
That no man would want me.
And that he would go look elsewhere.

Though I had hands laid on me,
And not in love,
It was the words that held the most
Power.

The words that followed me.
That haunted me.
That poked at me and taunted me,
Making it impossible to ignore them.
The words that eventually,
Despite my greatest efforts,
Began to ring true to me.

And the mission whose missiles
Were these very words
Became a success,
Making me feel unlovable to the
Highest extent,
Packing me with baggage
That no one should ever bear.

The pain was indescribable.
The recovery, impossible.
The hope that I might prove it all wrong,
Harder to keep alive than
A butterfly who had already had its wings
Ripped from its body.

I had never wanted so much
For a kind heart,
A brief, flickering light
To draw me in
And keep me warm...

To nurse the cuts that always bled,
No matter how I wrapped them.
To offer gentle words
And a gentle touch.
Things that I ached for
Like food and water.

I struggled to hold on to the hope
That there was someone
Who might tell me differently.
That I was no *****,
But beautiful
And deserving of love.
That I was no terror to behold,
Or bane to their existence,
But someone that made it a little
Brighter.
That I was no problem to be solved,
But a person, a being with value
To be held
And loved
And looked after.
Someone who held purpose
And whose heart deserved
Healing
And someone to hold it,
Someone to look after it.
Someone to hold and
Look after me.

I strained to hold onto the possibility
That I could make someone happy,
Instead of only inspire their hateful words.
That I might hold some merit to someone,
And be a welcome part of their lives.

But then I realized...

No one would want all of that.

No one looks to nurse wounds
And fade scars.
No one aims to prove false
The insults and jabs and discouragement
Thrown at you.
No one wants to wait patiently
For the trust to grow while the
pain subsides.
No one wants to bear the patience
Of dealing with a broken person
Who every now and then,
Cracks a little bit.
People want shiny, new, and undented.
Not something that has been shattered
And clumsily pieced back together,
Never looking quite as pretty or worthwhile
As the perfectly intact,
Looking like it might break all over again.

I worked to fix myself,
Always trying to make better
Something I couldn't even identify.

I worked to become perfect,
To gloss myself over
And fill in the cracks,
Hoping to look like that
Lovely, intact counterpart
That I would never be.

I felt as though I waited
For something to happen
That never could be,
And for someone to come along
That would never show.
Like a constant replay
Of a jilting at the altar,
I waited for something
I dreamt about so often
I had nearly convinced myself
It was real.

I realized I could never undo
What had been done.
I could never take back
What had been said.
Because these actions
And these words
Were not my own.
And making up for someone else's
Mistakes
Is about as successful as taking
Medicine
To cure someone else's illness.

I could never fix it,
But I must always
Bear the results.

I deemed myself,
Again,
Unlovable.

I began to wonder
If this had been the purpose
Of those words all along.

To create someone unlovable
Because the speaker could not
Find love themselves.

Surely,
Only a monster would do such a thing.

But monsters are real.

And this one wasn't hiding under my bed.

Isn't it ironic, lovely ones,
How so many pretty faces
Can hide a demon's soul?

How the same eyes which bat their lashes
In flirty beckoning,
Offer a window into wickedness,
An entrance to an evil place,
That harbors evil things....

How the same lips which speak such pretty words,
And lovely falsities,
In pleasant company
Drip poison behind the safety of closed doors,
Without the courage to speak so
In the outer realm...

How the same mind which seems so wise
Can foster such horrid operations,
An assembly line of treachery
Which twists and warps that
Which really is
Into what is isn't,
For its own selfish, devilish purposes...

Isn't it odd how the world's
Cruel jokes
Have remained so timeless,
Doomed, like history,
To be repeated,
Over and over again?

"Do not judge a book by its cover," they say.

And isn't it funny how this phrase
Aims to promise some unknown good
Behind that cover,
But never entertains the possibility
Of evil behind it,
Instead?

Yet it still holds true.

It is far more dangerous
To trust a pretty face not supported
By pretty words and actions,
To have faith in a glittery exterior
Without pondering the worms
Which breed underneath,
Than it is to doubt
A far less attractive cover,
Beaten, threadbare, its title worn off
By the winds of the world,
May guard a mine of diamonds within.

How foolish of us all
To take at face value
That which we see, hear, and touch.

How irresponsible
To abandon the idea and support of proof,
And let our judgment laze around,
About as useful as if it we hadn't had it at all.

I find it hard to pity those moths
Which do not examine the light
Before letting themselves fly into it.
When the static crackles,
And the glimmer flickers,
And the wings are burnt and injured,
It is too late for a second thought, then.

And as a bystander,
I cannot reach out and pull them from it.
I can call out my warnings,
My cautionary tales,
And even my proof that the light,
In all its beauty,
Harbors a special kind of evil
That they clearly cannot see,
But I must let them learn.

As much as it hurts.


I truly believe that what we put out
Into the world
Will come back to us.
Perhaps not today,
Or tomorrow,
Or anywhere
In the forseeable future ahead.
But it will return.

And though my human nature
Demands I bring order to the wicked,
Expose their evils for the world
To shudder at,
And cower away from,
It is not my job.

These forces which surround us
Bear that burden.

I, a small and staggering presence
Among billions,
Can only perform what I know it right,
And good,
And kind,
And hope that my fellow man,
Instead of drooling at the sight
Of fool's gold,
Will find a true beauty in this instead,
And choose to abandon all that deceives.


On a day which has no date,
No time,
No existence until it is ready,
Justice will come to the evil ones,
And those foolish enough to follow them.

How gloriously the wicked will fall,
Their cries ringing in ears
Which heard their sneers and cruel remarks,
Underhanded jabs and petty,
Childish words,
So many times.

Ears which will hear the music
Of that which was sown,
Being reaped
In the rays of a glorious sun.

Those untrained minds,
Which sought the disappointments
Of easy friendships
And sparkling facades,
Will fall, as well,
Regretting their decision to
Believe in the unreal,
And abandon their sense.

And I, at the end of it all,
May stand with fewer than I started with.

But, with those solid few,
Apart from the unstable masses,
I will still stand stronger
And better than I was,
And with minds like mine,
Rooted in goodness, kindness,
And grateful for the difficult journey
Which brought forth the lesson that
Examining a person's cover
Is well worth discovering what lies beneath.

Beware.

Where are you?

Do you hear me?
Do you see me?
Do you remember me?

I have always been here...

Tell me you remember me...

Tell me...

What did you used to tell me...

Lean on me, you tell me.
But when I try, I fall.
There is more often empty space
Than a warm embrace
To catch me.

Shivering in the cold of denial,
Where I can see neither my breath
Nor any warm, outstretched hand
To help guide me,
Rubbing bruised limbs from
Falling to the ground again
And again
(Lean on me, you tell me),
And blindly stitching at a wounded heart,
I get to my feet again and again,
And I fight.

I fight to feel that I still matter,
That I mean something to you.
Anything at all....

I fight to believe that I am still beautiful to you,
That I still bring light and color to your world,
That I am still the one who has your heart.

For in these days, I only feel that I hinder you.
That I, in needing you at all,
Even for the slightest thing,
Only slow your progress in your
Grandiose plan for your life.
A life you once said you wanted me
To be a part of.

As I hurt, I remain silent,
Not wanting to distract you.

You must understand, I'm not trying to ask for much...

Only that, in my moments of pain,
Where life is not so kind,
And people are not so gentle,
And my mind, body, spirit, and heart are not so strong,
That I might find warm solace in your arms,
That once so readily held me,
Protected me,
Shielded me from all that hurt me.
I only want that small comfort
Of running to you
And letting the tears
Or the words fall,
And having your gentle voice,
And loving smile,
And protective stance
Greet me,
Telling me it's all right to hurt,
And it's all right to need you.
That there is no shame or guilt
In these things.

Things that I dare not ask of you now.

I bear such guilt,
And I bear such shame,
For asking this of you.

Do you know how it hurts...
To find empty space again and again,
To feel like I am of no worth,
Despite how I try,
How I try so hard
To be perfect for you
And make you happy,
Always make you happy before myself.

I have always been there for you,
Never once turned you away.
I wouldn't dare.
My love for you forbids it.
I promised that no battle you fought
Should ever be fought alone,
Because I would be your fellow soldier.
I promised no celebration
Should be celebrated alone,
Because I would cheer with you.
I promised that no storm
Should ever pass where you did not have shelter,
Because I would always be your rock,
Your lighthouse,
The warm, safe place you would always have to go to.
I have never left,
And will never leave you
To face life,
The heartless *******,
On your own.


But in my darkest hours
And at times, my brightest dawns,
In my moments of despicable self-acceptance
That I need a hand to hold,
That I cannot take it on my own,
You are nowhere to be found.

Well... I suppose that's a lie.

I know exactly where to find you,
But I cannot go there.

I cannot interrupt you,
Keep you from what you are doing,
Because in those hours,
And among those people,
You have far greater things to concern yourself with
Than I.

Than what I might be thinking,
Feeling,
Fighting,
Celebrating,
Giving,
Taking,
Believing,
Denying,
Remem­bering.

Always remembering.

Remembering a time
When love held a far greater place
In your heart
Than work,
Than pride,
Than cold indifference,
All of which seem
Quite comfortable there.

They say that money is no object,
But she is the apple of your eye.

And I cannot help but envy her, for I once was in her place.

I had always been what you desired,
Now a pawnshop token you could take or leave,
Or so it feels.

I wish I could satisfy you the way she does.
That seductress,
Always luring in on a silver line
Those who believe she is the key
To happiness.

I wish I could have her wile,
Her charm,
Her tricks and beguiling ways
That have so captured you,
The way I,
And my simple acts of love,
Though I could not do much,
Once did.

I will never compare to her,
Never measure up to the
Beauty she beholds,
At least in your eyes.

I am a rather simple creature,
I suppose.

I have never had so much to offer
But my heart in whole,
And the promise of a lifetime
That I would never leave.

Maybe money truly does make the world go 'round.

But I never thought she could replace me.

Well played.

Hello, anguish.

Long time, no torture.

How have your travels been?

Tell me, did the fires burn
Too hot for you?
I thought, for once,
I had banished you
To whichever pit
Of Hell
You managed to arise from,
So that you may
Find me so easily,
As the goal of a hunt
Caught in your crosshairs.

I should have known better.

Well, while you're here,
Please have a seat.
Sit anywhere you like.

Anywhere but THERE!

You must be a well-seasoned guest
To know exactly which door to knock on,
And exactly where you want to rest.
So of course you pick my heart,
And lay your feet upon my soul.

I do so hope you're comfortable.

Insistent *******.

How have I been?

Why, how kind of you to ask.

What's your motive?

I've been fine, really.
A little sporadic uneasiness
Here and there,
But mostly on the fast track
To regaining my peace of mind.

Well, I was actually
In the middle of it
When you arrived.

I sound like I'm talking to a therapist.

Yes, I need 10 milligrams of Stop Talking To Inanimate Feelings.

Oh, don't be sorry.

As if you ever are.

I don't mind the company at all.
I do spend so much time
Alone these days.

I was well on my way
To finding my resting place,
My place of solitude
And productive thought,
A fragile teacup
Of a space
In the landfill
Of the world.

Some days are better
Than others.

What's that?

A gift, you say?

A souveneir, perhaps?

To hell if I'm keeping whatever it is.

What might you have for me this time.

Some sort of anxiety, I'm sure. But what about this time around?

My schooling? My finances? My family? My relationship, matters of the heart?


Oh.

Uncertainty.

Well... it wasn't
what I was expecting,
But still, it's nothing less
Than what I would expect from you.

Uncertainty about what,
Though?

There's no label this time.

.........

What do you mean,
It's a gift for identifying?

And WHERE are you going?

No.

NO.

You cannot simply leave this here,
Resting upon my weary shoulders,
Which bear so much already,
And leave me to figure it out.
You mustn't simply waltz off
Into the unknown blackness
Of the recesses of the human mind,
As if you haven't a care in the world.

You are a terrible guest,
Showing up uninvited,
At a most inconvenient time,
Bearing gifts of unneeded,
Unnamed weight,
Leaving me to figure it out.

Fine. Leave.

You wretched, vile creature.

See if I let you in again.
Begone, and let every door
Hit you on your way out.
May every jagged rock
In your path
Catch your foot in your
Sadistic, carefree walk
About the earth.
May every web
That spiders weave
Entangle you
Beyond rescue.

Yes, goodbye.

Now, what of this....
Thing?

It has no name,
Yet I am supposed
To know what it is.

Hmm.

Feels like...
Questioning.

Yes, there's questioning here.

Many questions.

But of what?

I have questions about
Many things,
As my curious nature
Must have it so.

Also feels like...
Emotion.

Unwanted emotion.

How that little beast
Does manage to bring
The worst gifts to me,
At the worst times,
Is beyond me.

He needs a hobby.

Let's see... emotions
Of the heartfelt kind.
Of the deep recesses
Of that bipolar *****
Which no ne trusts
And everyone breaks.

Emotions and questions.

Oh dear God.

No.

No, I must dispose of it
Right away.

This is the sort of thing
I fear most.
HOW did he manage,
Also,
To get fear in there,
As well?!

No, it must be thrown away.


"Do not yell your curses at me!"

"Who are you to say that I
Haven't an idea at all
What I want, and when,
And where, and why?!
What judge are you,
And with what authority
Do you claim I am divided,
My side unpicked,
And that a canyon
Lives within me?"

"Petty fool, you are not welcome here!"
I know what I am doing!
And I shall make the rules,
For it is I who must obey them!"


Alas,
There are no rules.
None to be made,
And none to be followed.

Even more tragic,
Is that I know not
What I am doing,
And I doubt I ever will.

For it is these,
Of all horrid gifts,
Delivered without
Notice,
At the precious price
Of losing sureness of mind
And peace of the soul,
That may not be returned.

The gift that keeps on giving,
Until I decide it shan't...

A decision I cannot bear to make,
While in company
Of battered spirit,
Fearful heart,
And overconfident,
Incessantly calculating mind. 

For now that he is gone,
I must entertain them, too.  

*How did I ever get so lucky?

I wish I had known
Long before now
That I was doing everything wrong.

That the things
I did and said
Were of so little help,
So little merit,
So little worth,
That they made me
Mean so little to you.

I wish I had known
Long before now
That it is not enough
That I should love you
Unconditionally.
Everyone in your life
Must follow suit
In what I do
For you to bear the
Smallest fraction of happiness.

They say that one person
Can make such a difference
In your life.
But I feel that I make
No difference at all either way,
That should I stay
Or should I go,
Your life would move on without me.
I feel that my presence
Makes no more difference
Than my absence would,
Should I vanish from your life.

I feel I am simply existing,
At your side,
In waiting.

I wait for the days
When you want to have me at your side,
The days when you smile, and laugh,
And tell me how beautiful I am,
Regardless of what I'm wearing,
How my hair is done (or undone),
Whether or not my makeup is perfect,
Or I am wearing any at all.

I wait for the days when
You come to my door
And as soon as I open it
Pull me into your embrace,
Openly expressing your joy
In seeing me,
In being with me,
In being mine
And calling me yours.
In making me feel like
No one else could ever bring
Such a smile to your face,
And such a warmth
To your eyes.  

I wait for the days when
You wrap me in your arms
With a strength that I imagine
Can only be borne of love,
Shielding me, protecting me,
Safeguarding me in your unending
Quest to be all that I want,
Though you already are.

I wait for the days
When you kiss my forehead gently,
And in that kiss
Express that
I am yours to love in my entirety,
To protect in my frailty,
To bring along with you
As you tread your path of life,
As your partner in crime,
Your co-pilot,
Your fellow adventurer.

I wait, now, for those days
That used to be everyday
In our little utopia.

I wake in the morning
With the hope that today,
I will make you happy.
That I will bring light and color
Into your life and your world,
As you once so often told me
That I did.

I wake with the hope that today,
I will be special to you,
And beautiful,
Priceless,
Treasured,
Wanted,
Loved.

I wake with the hope that today,
I'll get it right.

I'll get it right, won't I?

Maybe I just need to try a little harder.

But such days, now,
Are few and far between.
More like a game of chance
Which I hope I can win,
At least every
Now and then.  

I know not where I went wrong.
So I can only offer an apology,
A small, fragile thing
In my trembling, outstretched hand,
In hopes that you will take it from me
With the same gentleness
And delicate care
That you once employed with me.


I am sorry that I have failed you.


I am sorry that I am not
Enough for you,
That I am only one person,
And as such,
Can only give you
What one person may.

I am sorry that my softspoken words,
Of encouragement, of comfort,
Managing to cover
Debilitating inner pain
That I could not make everything
Right for you,
Were not enough.

Could I have said more?

I'm sorry that my gentle touch,
Easing the furrow in your
Worried brow,
Working the stress
From your shoulders and back,
Upon which you carry
Far too much,
Holding you as you were ill
Or upset,
Or too tired and weary of the world
For anything more than
Laying in my arms,
Was not enough.

Could I have done more?

I'm sorry that I possess
Very little in the way
Of material goods,
That I could not help you more
In your search for a way
To have a better, richer,
More fulfilled life.

I wish I had more to give you.
Had I the world in my palm,
It would be yours,
And all that was in it,
Yours as well.

Could I have given more?

I have, in truth,
Done my best.
I have given all that I had,
And all that I could,
And still more that was not
Really mine to give.
I have never wanted so much
To give all of everything,
In every way,
To someone.
And it tears at my heart,
Claws of gargoyles,
Nails of coffins,
Thorns of roses,
That I don't have a way
To do such a thing for you.

I am only sorry
That what little I did have,
Likened to the offerings
A peasant might possess,
Were of meager proportions
That could not satisfy you.

My heart shatters
As a bauble falling
To an unforgiving,
Concrete end,
As I tuck myself
Into a half-empty bed,
Wishing your warmth
And your smile
Were coming at me
From the other side.

If a pair of arms to hold you,
A pair of ears to listen,
A mouth to speak kind words
And remind you how much
You are loved,
A heart that beats for you
And shakes violently
At the thought that it might have
Lost its worth in your eyes,
Are ever what you seek,
And are what might make you happy,
I will be here.

I will always be here.


I am so sorry....

*...that I failed you.

Hush.

Cease your noise.

Fall silent, all you who gather here
To lay down the suffocating burdens
That rest so unforgivingly
Upon your weary souls.

Your lamenting shall bring you
No greater harm,
Nor any relief,
While you are here.
Your cries will go unheard,
For we have either heard them before,
Or we cannot hear them over our own.

Your tears will be free to fall
But none shall amount
To any great difference.
If you must cry,
Water the earth with your expression,
And return to her
What she once gave you.
Do not let your tears
Of loss,
Be a loss themselves.

We are here together
To break free
From all that binds us,
All that holds us back,
Holds us still,
Holds us captive;
All that has broken us,
Beaten us,
Forgotten us,
Used us,
Taken advantage of us,
Looks down upon us
With the kind of sneer
That could only come
With deriving great pleasure
From causing great pain;
All that has brought us anger,
Sadness,
Incredulity;
All that has taken from us
The light by which we once
Tread our own paths,
And as it grew dimmer,
Our paths,
Winding,
Weaving,
Twirling,
Crossing
But never so that we met,
Became one.

And we are here
To let go of all
Of these things,
Because of which
We have harbored
Unspoken rage,
Unshed tears,
Confessions that were
Never made,
Or perhaps,
Never should have been.

We are here to release
The binding ties
Which in love,
Would bring us together
But in their hateful existence,
Have driven us all apart.

I stand before you with a match.
This match,
A rather unremarkable
Piece of timber,
Was tucked snugly with its
Equally unremarkable
Brethren
Into a pouch.
Thrown among a heap
Of the same,
With no consideration
That it might have
Been better off
Remaining a part of the tree
From which it came.
It was one tiny part
Of that tree,
But what of the possibilities,
That it might have been
Something great?

It might have been a branch
Upon which an eagle
Built its nest.
Or, even more incredibly,
A twig that helped compose
Her nest,
And for however long,
Supported the incubator
That would bring her legacy
To life.
It might have been a part
Of a ******'s dam,
A vital part of an ecosystem,
And whose absence could mean
Life or death
For so many others.
Or it may simply have become
Compost
When the tree had died,
Become a part of the soil
Which would support
Future generations
Of every lifeform imaginable.

But now...

Now, we will never know.
This little match,
So very typical,
With its plain composition
And tiny red cap,
Will fulfill a typical purpose,
Today.

I strike this match
And say to you,
The flame that it will create
Will be the new flame
For your personal path.

It represents illumination,
A casting out
Of the darkness you were in,
A reawakening of all that
Might have been lost,
But can now be saved,
Or that has been lost,
But now makes room
For something better.

It is a rekindling
Of the joy that life once
Brought you,
And the magnification
Of that joy
Which it will still yet bring.

It is a revitalization of the good in you,
The light which you shed
On so many unappreciative lives;
A light which
You still have the chance
To shed
On those who truly need it most.

And it is a reminder to you...

...to not be a match.

Do not let them throw you in
With the rest,
Assort you as though you
Are common!
Do not let them pull you
From everything great
That you might yet achieve,
Just so that they may
Assign you a typical purpose!
Do not let them light you once,
Use you,
And then cast you aside,
Having already taken,
In that one small flame,
Everything that you had to give.

And now,
I light this match,
Upon the branches
You have laid here.
The branches that
Have broken off of
Your tree of life,
And now can be no more.

For everything that you have lost,
There is a branch for it.
Remember, now,
That what once was alive,
And has now been separated,
What is now dead,
Can no longer
Serve a purpose.

So I tell you,
Pull from your heart,
Your mind,
And your soul,
What has had the undeserving
Privilege of plaguing you.
Extract it,
Remove it,
Cast it into the fire.
Set it ablaze,
And while it burns,
Abosrb the warmth
From these flames,
Which remind you of
Who you are,
What you are worth,
And the warmth
With which you will
Illuminate
The darkest,
Coldest places
Where you, yourself,
Have returned from.


Cast them!


Cast them now!


Push aside the weakness -
That is not who you are!
Summon every fiber and cell
Of your newfound strength
And let all of it go!


And now,
It is done.


Now,
They are ashes,
To be blown away
In the same wind
Which dried your tears
These many years,
And will do so
For years to come.

Incinerated,
They are swept away -
The broken hearts,
The lost and forgotten dreams,
The stolen opportunities,
The harsh and unforgiving words,
The hopeless, sleepless nights,
The sunrises which brought no new promise
But reminded you of everything
That could go wrong -
They are gone!


They are nothing now!


But you,
In their absence,

You...


...are everything.

And so the peak of night sets in,
Attempting to cloak me with its silent comfort.
Knowing my dwelling is the most peaceful
And my working spirit, the most productive
Under its silky, brooding wing.

It tries to pull me into its embrace,
Promising to erase all traces of the day,
This which is but one of many
That of late,
Are false in promise
And rich in disappointment.

But tonight, Lady Night,
I shrug you off.
I cannot, this time, be comforted
By your velvet touch.
Do not shy away, though,
For I suspect I will call upon you yet.

Lady Night, stay and talk.
You, of all around me,
Will listen to my wandering mind,
Take in my words like
Sweet water to a tree,
Something I cannot find
In humankind.
Stay?....


Life has not smiled upon me
In a while.
I know not
What wrong I did it,
Nor how I may make
My amends,
But until I resolve
This bitter fight,
I endure its
Unexplained revenge.

Despite all this,
However,
I throw myself on
The frontlines
For everyone else.
I still have the time,
Still make the efforts,
To ensure that the people
In my life
Have the kind of friend
That has eluded me
For years.

And where has it gotten me.

Not a question,
But a statement.

Because I know where
It's gotten me.

Nowhere.

Though I've encountered
Characters of all kinds
Throughout my life,
I have never before
Been surrounded by
So many people
So wrapped up in themselves
That when the walls come
Crashing down,
And the roof starts
Falling in,
I could wrack my
Weary mind for hours
And not recall  
A single soul
Who would be interested
Or even have the time
To lend an ear to my tales.

I find this to be
The Capital
Of all double standards
And I find it odd
How this has continued
For so long,
But so has my giving in.

Odd that, as they take
What they want
And walk away
Without a second glance
Or a mere fraction
Of a returned favor -
Which, in all honesty,
Could be nothing more
Than a listening ear
And a gentle embrace,
And an unimaginable weight
Would be lifted from
My mind,
My spirit,
My heart -
I continue to let them,
The images of turned backs
Forever burned into my mind.

I continue to give
What I still yet do not have.
And I am not a thief,
So I shall not give
What is not mine.


So what is the result?

Oh, Lady Night.
If only you had eyes
That could see me.
If only the stars
You held in a gentle balance,
Like diamonds in the weave
Of a spider's trap,
Were a way for me to
Show you
Where I am.

I feel a tiredness
I cannot explain,
A weariness
That will not leave
No matter how I try
To gather rest,
Though as of late,
Sleep is
An unfriendly stranger,
Refusing to even
Make eye contact with me,
Let alone greet me,
Or stay for bit.

I feel an anger,
A disappointment,
A betrayal,
And perhaps the smallest
Sense of...
Worthlessness.

Why should I feel
Any different?

The whole has made it clear
Just how valuable
My efforts,
My actions,
My friendship,
Is to them.

And if, for that,
I could provide a
Measurement,
I would have very little
To show you
Through your starry eyes,
Lady Night.
Very, very little.

And I cannot help but wonder
Why I continue to try,
Continue to utilize
My precious energy
In an ultimately,
Infinitely futile
Attempt
To make them see,
To make them care.

It's all just as well,
I suppose.
I have always had
A rather unfortunate
Habit
Of hoping for the change
In those
Who will do everything but.


But now,
Now, in this moment,
In the dark of this night,
Let the stars,
The silence,
And the infinite
Reaches of space
Be my witnesses:

There will be no more.

At least, not now.

I will, for now,
Gather my wits
About me,
And strengthen my resolve,
Encase myself,
So that I may
Fall off the radar.

The tiny green dot
That I have become -
Or that I perhaps always was -
Will disappear,
And travel off
The beaten path
For a little while.


I only need to reevaluate,
Need to rethink,
Need to heal,
And deal with these emotions
That plague me.

They are, of course,
My burden to bear
Because as you can tell,
Any hope I had for solace
In another being,
Any hope of finding refuge
In another's ear, mind, heart, arms,
Were swiftly extinguished
Like a gust of wind
To a tea candle.

I shall no longer
Waste my time,
Shall no longer
Linger where I am not
Wanted or needed
Unless there is something
I can give,
And where I am not
Appreciated,
No matter what it is
I have given.

Self-reliance.
Constant diligence.
Lady Night.

You will be companions now.

I ask that others
Do not call upon me
When you seek
A service
Or favor
That you could not
Find
In anyone else.

I will not answer.
I will not come.

If, however,
You feel so miraculously
Inclined
To call upon me
With genuine concern
Or interest in my person,
And in who I have been
To you...

If by some hardly imaginable
Chance
You remember
And acknowledge
When I was there,
And what I did,
And what I said,
To ease your souls
While I battled the pain
Within my own...
It would be
A comforting thing
To know.

At that point,
I may return.
But not now.


Lady Night,

Your cloak, please.

Excuses, excuses - they'll come in a flood,
When you realize your actions have pushed me away.
Imagine! That I once considered you blood!
But I've had quite enough of the games that you play.

The switch came in stages, a gradual thing,
I first didn't notice; it wasn't too clear.
My perspective grew sharper with distance between,
Felt your backhanded words as they pin-pricked my ears.

You thought I wouldn't notice, would let it slip by,
Never gave me much credit, and that was your fault.
Wrapped your insults in jokes, like arsenic on rye,
And you thought all this time that you wouldn't be caught.

I don't know where you get it - this self-righteous act,
It's not as endearing as you think it to be.
You might take what you want, and then leave it at that,
But I'm telling you now: you'll get no more from me.

I don't know what has prompted you picking this fight.
They're pathetic, yet hurtful, these things that you say.
And I don't know where you think you've gotten the right
To take it out on me when you don't get your way.

For years, it's been happening - don't know how I missed
All the ways you controlled me; I answered to you.
Always did what you wanted, I'm realizing this;
The extent of the selfishness you put me through.

But it changed not too long ago, didn't it, dear?
Oh yes, I grew a spine, and things started to change.
And, oh, you didn't like what you started to hear.
My defying your wants nearly made you deranged.

People grow and they change; it's especially true
For me ever since I was finally free.
So how sad to discover it's not true for you,
You're the same as you were, and as you'll always be.

That's the person you are, who you've been since we met
And it never caused issues until days of late.
The things that you've said are things you will regret,
Because I have no room for your envy-fueled hate.

You've become quite the mean one - I'm sorry, it's true.
You're no longer the person to whom I could turn.
It's a shame (it's a **** shame), but yes, we are through.
And it will not be me who is nursing the burn.

Maybe one day you'll change, and we might reunite.
I'm not getting my hopes up - there's danger in that.
Until then, I hope you learn to treat people right,
Because no one desires to stand by a brat.

Maybe I am the first to address how you are,
But I won't be the last, and this, I can assure.
Your poignant self-righteousness won't get you far,
And I'm sorry - for your case, there isn't a cure.

So remember me now; you'll remember me then,
When you lose all those who used to stand at your side.
You'll remember the disrespect you showed your friend,
For alas, she won't be there, holding you as you cry.

Have you noticed,
As it so often is,
That those who
Deceive the most easily,
Are the most beautiful?

Either in appearance,
Or personality,
They radiate innocence
And friendship,
Love and loyalty,
Harmony and humility,
When they have,
In fact,
A file keeper
Of the most organized kind
In that sick mind
Of theirs,
Waiting to take
Your actions,
Your words,
Your very thoughts,
And twist them,
In any and every
Way they can.

It is quite like
Melting down a
Piece of metal,
Completely disregarding
Its original, intended use,
And setting fire to it
So as to take its essence
And make it
Something else entirely,
Which suits your purpose.

Go ahead.
Mold it into
What you wish.
Throw it about
Like putty,
Twist it like an
Iron hanger
So it becomes
Something new,
Something evil,
Something hateful.

Or!
Better yet!
Use it to make
That weapon
Which I anticipate
You'll shove in
My back
When I least expect it,
Least need it,
Can least tolerate it.

I know your kind,
And you will
Bide your precious time -
Because you have all
The seconds,
Minutes,
Hours in the world,
Don't you? -
And when
The time is right
For you,
You will strike
Without mercy,
Without pity,
Without remorse,
Like a cobra lashing out
To deliver its poison
Into a tiny mouse
Just passing by,
None the wiser
Of its approaching fate.

Oh, don't hold back now!
Stick your spiraled knife
In my back again,
Which twists all on its own!

Pull it out,
Stab me again!

Slap me
Across the face
Any way you like.

Speak your pretty little lies
Behind my back
Once more,
And convince yourself
That I won't hear of it.
That I won't get wind,
Get scent,
Get wise
Of the toxic creature
You are.

Oh, please,
Don't stop now!
It's hardly the time
To back down
When you have made
So many efforts,
Used so much energy,
Gone to so much trouble
To tear me down,
And make me nothing.

Or is it trouble for you,
Really?
Does it take any time
Out of your schedule?
Or is this,
As I suspect,
Just another day
In the life?

I would believe
It is safe to say
This is normality
For you.

My curiosity
Only peaks
When I wonder
How many others
Trusted you,
Believed your
Pretty words,
Woven with delicate
And malicious intent.
Who trusted your
"Kind" actions,
And your tendency
To "care,"
And who suffered
A similar fate
As I.

You play your game
With skill
And practice,
With a deft hand
Which has likely
Seen
Far more profuse
Amounts of blood
Spilled
Than my own.

I am sure
You have seen
Far greater
Men and women
Fall from grace
As a result of
Your words,
Your actions,
Your cunning planning
And appalling lack
Of the most basic
Compassion
For your fellow man.

But you will see,
As all
Who are like you do,
That you shall fall,
As well.

Like the walls of Jericho,
You and the existence
You lead -
Built on lies,
Deception,
And a crazed
Desire to see
The misery of others -
Will tumble.

Brick by brick,
Or perhaps all at once,
All shall see
The demise of one
Who caused the very same
For so many others,
And,
In the same respect
You showed me,
And showed them,
We shall have no pity,
No concern for you.
No great leaps
Will be taken
To keep you from
Hitting the ground
When you fall
From your most mighty
Throne
Built on riches
That you gained
From causing
Others' emotional
And social poverty.

It shall be
The end of an era!

The people,
Almost as if
In revolution,
Shall cry out
Their oath
That it shall
Never happen again!

Never again will
We suffer
At the hands of
A tyrant
Of the worst kind!

And yet...
And yet...

It will, indeed,
Happen again.

Others like you
Will come along,
Will weave
A sticky web
Of all things
Treacherous
And will catch
So many
Unsuspecting
Creatures
With the lure
Of "diamonds"
In the gnarled
And tangled
Threads.

But I,
For one,
Have learned
My lesson,
And in my travels
Shall avoid
You,
And all others
Like you,
At every cost.

What happens
To you
Is not for me to decide,
But rather,
Something greater
Than myself.

I only advise you
Not to call out to me
For help,
Or expect an outstretched
Hand
To pull you from
The mess
You found yourself in.

If you find a hand at all,
O Cunning One,
Beware!

It may have a knife in it.

I sit here in the dead of night,
In these four walls, I haunt myself.
There's hours yet 'til I'll see light,
And I am feeling...not so well.

The day was cold, with warm embrace
And I was feeling so alive.
The touch of sunlight on my face,
And joy, unbidden, in my stride.

But reality, the heartless *****,
Has ways of jerking on the heart.
Her nimble fingers squeeze and clench -
So fragile things will fall apart.

And so it was that I returned
To what I know I can't escape.
Something I could not help but learn,
And once I had, it would remain.

That I am independent, see,
And spirited beyond control.
I know there's things I cannot be,
For I have no submissive soul.

It would, perhaps, do me some good
To better watch the things I say.
I speak things that I never should,
And I regret them, day by day.

Yes, I have tried to change myself,
To coax out in me what is meek,
But every time, I'm lost in hell,
For such exertion makes me weak.

I struggle every day with this,
For who I am, shall always be.
Sometimes I cannot help but wish
Spirit was not so strong in me.

Perhaps it is not understood,
That I'm not mean in any way.
"My heart," I cry out, "it is good!"
And still people will turn away.

Yes, I confess, I do compare
Myself to those I could be like.
Demure and quiet, gentle flair -
I feel that I am not quite right.

I've been the same way all my life,
Opinionated, loud, and strong.
It's only been in recent nights
That I have felt...there's something wrong.

Why can't I reign it in, I think?
Is it so hard to settle down?
My heart constricts, my stomach sinks
At just that thought which I have found.

I know that I would not survive
If I would change in any way.
My boisterous spirit gives me life,
It's how I handle every day.

So why, then, must it be so hard
To get through life the way I am?
I'm only playing with the cards
Dealt from an unforgiving hand.

But it is every day I feel
That we do not walk side-by-side.
It's almost like I am not real,
But rather, wind, just floating by.


The sun is setting on the year,
And now, reflecting, I confess
That for the future, I've no fear
(Though I know it will hurt no less).

I'll wake tomorrow, one more day
On which the curtains will be drawn
And as the daylight fades away,
I'll hope that so, too, will my flaws.

I pray the new year brings me peace,
And ends the struggle I endure.
Not every challenge yet will cease,
But life gets better, I am sure.

I sit in a prison of my own making,
Neither a friendly place,
Nor one of misery.
It is not black and white,
But rather every shade
Of gray.

It is cold.
And it is dark.

I pull my threadbare blanket -
Worn with use and
Useless attempts to maintain
What once brought me joy
But now threatens to leave
At the blink of my heavy lids -
Around my trembling shoulders,
Wishing for
The warmth,
The heat,
The love,
That once surrounded me.

I gaze with empty eyes,
That are far too tired
To produce the relief
That tears might bring,
At what was once a fire,
Tall,
Leaping,
Sparks flying,
And always,
Always beautiful.

Once containing every color
That heat could create -
The red of my blood
Which ran for you,
The orange of the sunsets
We once witnessed together,
The yellow of the sun
Who cast his rays upon us
As we drove around the city
With no particular destination
In mind,
But rather with the intent
To lose ourselves
In life and youth,
And in each other.
And at its brightest,
The blue of my eyes
Which you still admire,
Have always adored.
The violet of most of the shirts
You wear,
Shirts which I, too,
Wore at some point or another.
And white,
The color of the roses
Which only the other day
I told you were my favorite,
Besides the red.

A rainbow of heat,
Of memories,
Of what once fueled
An effortless union
Of two willing hearts,
Which I now fear are quite separate...

Pulling my blanket ever tighter,
Pointlessly,
I gaze wistfully at what is now,
At best,
A barely smoldering
Pile of delicate embers,
Soft, silky ashes,
Harboring tiny
Pockets of heat
Here and there,
Which stir ever so gently
If you blow on them
In just the right way,
But no longer produce
Enough heat
To calm the chill
That grows in me.

My hands -
Missing your fingers
Intertwined with mine,
As they once were -
Itch with the desire to
Stoke what remains
Of the blaze
That's passed.

But what would come of it?
I fear it.

I can no longer predict what
My words,
My actions,
My confessions,
My honesty,
Will stir in you.

You have become
All but a steady,
Indefinite time bomb,
A fuse lit with perhaps
The same fire
Which once united us,
Which does not
Burn at a steady pace
But only moves another inch
Every time
I make a mistake.

I fear setting you off,
Which I do so easily now,
Without intent,
And so unexpectedly,
But a greater fear
That rests in me
Is losing what we have,
This tiny flame
That still exists,
And which I nurture,
Terrified
That it will burn out forever.

This place I'm in...
I do not like it here.

It is cold.
And it is dark.

I have no way to leave,
It seems,
For this fire
I refuse to abandon
Also provided light,
Gave me some direction
Like an oil lamp,
Guiding me along
A twisted, narrow staircase,
Seemingly going up,
But treacherous
In its crumbling structure,
Uneven steps,
And startling trip-ups.

It gave me a way to see,
To feel out
Where I was going,
On an already-difficult path
Which I felt I could not
Navigate alone.

I was so grateful for
That flame,
A source of comfort
In a dark place.

But even then,
It is finite.
That of nature
And man
Always is,
Isn't it?

Somewhere along the line,
The smoke grew thinner,
The flame grew smaller,
The ashes grew denser,
And the temperature
Grew colder.

I was an unprepared traveler,
Only carrying the bare minimum,
This blanket which now rests uselessly
On my shoulders
And spine,
Curved with defeat.

I did not brace myself
For the gust of icy wind
Which would *****
A delicate but vital
Resource,
And knock me on my back,
Fragile spine and
Brittle ground
Colliding
In a predetermined battle.

I am not quite as seasoned
In these things
As I once thought,
As I still
Would like to think I am.

I should not have
Overestimated myself,
Just as I should not have
Underestimated you,
And my own
Irreparable foolishness
And silly
Romantic tendencies.

And while I sit
And ponder this,
I watch the tiny embers
Flicker,
Luring me in with a
Promise of
Revival,
Repair,
Resolution.
They are so small,
And seem to have
Lost their purpose,
Two feelings
I am quite acquainted with.

I have two choices here,
It seems.
Continue to nurture that
Which once
Brought me purpose,
Brought me healing,
Brought me life,
And hope that it returns -
Just as I hope you do -
To what it once was.

Or, I may abandon
What is smoldering
As your eyes once did
When you looked at me,
This pile of ashes,
A majority of which
Is comprised of
Scarring memories,
Painful stories,
Fear and apprehension,
All of which I tossed
With blind faith
And shocking optimism
Into the fire
We created together,
In hopes that our new start
Would also create
Our happy ending.

I am still unsure
Of what will come.

But for now,
I fasten my blanket,
And my own arms,
Around myself,
And wait out the winter.

We shall see
What spring will bring.

I feel I am the living dead,
A staggering soul wandering
Across brittle, rocky, dark terrain,
Which has still more life than I.

Through lifeless eyes I still can see
That I am but a stranger here -
An undeterred tourist
With no purpose
And no path,
Merely here
To enjoy the scenery.


All those
Who I once knew
Are still the same,
Have never changed,
But it is instead
Me
Who has changed,
And so it might as well
Have been
That they did, too.

For we no longer
Share a home,
No.

Home?

Do I have one?

I used to think so.

But life's incessant patterns
Continuing
With a brutal
And mocking
Repetition,
Drove me out of that land.

I needed change.

A change, yes!
Why, of course!

A shocking concept
So common
So simple
I wondered why
I had only thought of it now.

So it was over
My weary shoulder
I slung my tiny pack
Of simple things -
Hope,
Determination,
And strength,
And from no
Particular direction,
Headed in the very same,
I left.

And lost myself
Along a dirt road,
A beaten path,
Traveled by so many others
Whom no one hears from now.

They are, like me,
The living dead.
The silent travelers
Who still exist
But in a different place
From what we see.

A quiet place
Behind an invisible wall,
Which is to say
They are among us,
And we could,
Should,
See them,
If only we would look.

I am sure
So many think
That I know some of them.
I do not.
Why?
Because we
Are not a people,
Not a group
Which joins together.
Instead, we wander alone,
Looking in from the outside.

It is not our desire
To find others like us,
To exist on our own
Where no one knows we are.


It is not that we have died,
No,
We are very much alive.

But we have moved on.

We are the living dead.

We have let go of
Everything
That made us,
That once composed
Our beings
And our lives.

That pattern that I spoke of -
It is tiring, you know.
You realize that
The same routine,
The same places,
The same ways of life,
Become a rather daunting,
Exhausting task,
As opposed to being
The joy of living.

There are those
Who had no choice,
Who existed as
Limp puppets,
Having their every move
Controlled
By hands they could not see or feel,
But knew quite well were there.

I, too, have been there.

But!

Even dictating
My own rules
Was not enough.
Still the patterns
Followed me,
And with frightening fervor
Attempted to define me.

But in a moment of clarity,
A glimpse of sunlight
Through a crack
In the prison wall,
I summoned a strength
And energy
I knew not
That I possessed.

And so,
Without ever meeting them,
Speaking to them,
Or truly knowing they existed,
I joined them,
The living dead.

What it was
That we lived for,
That we strove for,
That we laughed,
Cried,
And sacrificed for,
Slowly,
Slowly,
Passed on.

With the chains
That had bound us,
All of those things
Passed away.

Dissolved into a sweet
Yet bitter smoke -
A gracious,
Graceful wisp
From a gentle power
I cannot see.

To lose your life
Is not so tragic
As they tell you.
It is but
An unreal relief
That no drug
Can provide,
Only available
To those who
Truly desire it.

To lose your life is,
In fact,
To realize that you
Were never alive
Before that moment.
You only dreamt
The things you did,
Words you said,
Faces you saw,
Hands you held,
Bonds you formed,
Steps you took...
None of it was real.

Some take longer
To leave that
Dreamland,
A place where they feel safe,
Where they believe
That everything,
Including themselves,
Is in place.

Others do not leave at all,
And so they do not exist.
They immerse themselves
In a place
Where we cannot find them,
Where they cannot be rescued.

They remain among
The common living.

But I,
I,
Through clouds
Of silver smoke
And painless fire,
Through blinding
starry nights
And endless days,
Through gentle forests
And lethal gardens,
Found my way.


It does not hurt,
No.

It is but a surreal
And binding release
Of all that you knew,
And all that you were,
Into the depths of space
From which no man,
No machine,
No lifeform
Unknown to us,
May retrieve it
In even the greatest attempts
To bring back
Into the present
What is now cemented
In the past.


I walk among the
Common living
Each day,
Wandering,
Wondering,
Watching.

Their lives
Are not so different from mine.
They only lead them
In a different world.


I feel I am the living dead.
A steady soul limbering
Across a paradisiacal plain.
Which, as you well know,
Could have no more life than I.

Where is it that I am now?
Where do I belong?

I carve away a niche with this rusty, broken blade,
But my hands are tired,
Riddled with cuts.
My fingers are weary,
Distorted with the effort of chipping away
At an indestructible stone.

I measure my progress
That doesn't exist
And I wonder whether
It is my tool of choice
That holds me here
Or rather
The place I am trying to remain in.


But where else can I go?
Where do I belong?

I run in place,
Exerting all effort,
All my strength,
Only to remain where I was,
Where I have been,
Where I....will be?

No.

It cannot be.

I must not stay.

But, if I leave,
Where shall I go?

I am myself, you know.
I look like my father, they say.
I talk like my mother, they say.
I possess my grandmother's sharp tongue,
And his, her, their gentle heart, they say.

I thank you for your contributions.
But you are only parts of me,
Not who I am as a whole,
Who I would,
If asked,
Use to define my existence.

It seemed not too long ago
I found my place.
A place to not only give,
But to receive.

To receive...

But you see,
I once again found myself,
As I always do,
In a place where they discover
Just how much
I am willing to give.

And they like that about me.
Most people do.

But as is human nature,
What is readily given
Becomes what is readily expected

And they, so eager to take,
Forget to give back.

Which is fine, I suppose.
I've made it twenty years living such a life.

But what I am giving...
What I have given...
What I....will give?
Never mind.
It always outweighs
What they are willing to reciprocate.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, selfish creatures.

And so I gave more than I truly had to give.

And slowly, slowly, I felt it being pulled from me.
The very lifesource which sustains me.
Like pulling the plug on a tiny drain,
It slowly seeped away.

Leaving me weak, exhausted, tearful.

Why.
Why did I give so much.
Why did I put myself here.

It is my fault, you know.

I should have learned by now.

But I am human.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, foolish creatures.

And now I find myself a lost cause,
Pondering in the cold, rainy afternoon.
Wandering down roads in my mind that
I should have,
Would have,
If I were wise,
Wandered down before letting myself
End up here.

Empty.
Drained.
Wondering.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Considering.
­
Promising myself that he would
Have none of my tears,
Oh, no,
Not him.
I said this wouldn't happen again.

I left that dark place for a reason,
I left that man for a reason,
And he,
He,
The Man of Promises,
Was supposed to be different.
Was supposed to build me up
But drains me, pulls me, pushes me,
Leaves me hovering somewhere in limbo,
Not between life and death,
No,
I am far too much alive for that.
If I were not,
It would not hurt.
But instead,
A limbo between
The elusive happiness
I have begged for,
Worked for,
Done everything for,
And the heartbreak and disappointment
That I fled from
When I left that dark place.

When I left that Dark Place,
And found the Man of Promises,
I had hope.

And it is now by the delicately woven threads
Of that foolish hope
By which I hang in this terrible limbo.

Like silk from a spider,
They are just delicate enough
To be beautiful
In their silver fragility,
But strong enough
To hold me as a prisoner here,
Waiting,
Wanting what she cannot have.

Where do I belong now?

Where is my safe place?

Perhaps there is none.

But then,
I never asked for a safe place.
I asked for a place of happiness,
Of peace that for so long
Eluded me
And from a barely tangible distance
Mocked me with fervor,
With relish,
Knowing I would continue to pursue it.

Are places of safety and happiness one in the same,
After all?
For I can find neither.

I feel that I shall always believe
That such places exist,
Even if I cannot reach them,
Like places in books I wish I could travel to,
But can only imagine myself in
As I immerse myself in the pages,
Flipping back and forth between
Places I will never see
And people I will never know.

These characters...is their reality better than mine?
Perhaps.
But isn't reality objective?
Reality is not reality, they say.
Perception is reality.

Well.
If that is true,
I must perceive things very differently
From most.

I digress.
I ramble.
But it is through these ramblings
That I find my answers.


Where do I belong?

Here.

On this page,
In these words.
This is where you will find me.

Projecting my reality,
Or perhaps creating one.
Relieving my restless mind,
Or perhaps doing it more harm.
Seeking the place I want to be,
Or perhaps leaving the one I'm meant to be in.

I do not know.

But for now,
Here is where I belong.

Honestly.
Where else could I possibly go?

It was to be a new beginning, a new start for myself.
I was to leave all that behind, and start on something new.
I was to find a haven after leaving such a hell,
And remind myself that I was strong after what I'd been through.

I took a strength in finding new relations in my world,
An escape from what I used to live, the pain that I endured.
I tried to make myself a place, so fate could then unfurl,
And so it seemed that, for a time, I'd made one - I was sure.

And so in months that followed, I offered all I had.
I soon saw how very little I'd changed - I was no better now.
I thought summer had given me that edge I'd need at hand,
But I was just as stupid, and naive; I wondered, how?

I questioned what I hadn't done, or what I still could do,
So that they wouldn't take from me more than I had to give.
Not too long after leaving home, I found out it was true -
Some people never do grow up, despite how long they live.

And yet, the hopeful optimist, eyes bright with certainty,
Continued all these patterns that were aimed to self-destroy.
She grasped on to the skinny straws of soft naivity,
And refused, yet, to believe that she was anybody's toy.

It was her own undoing, all those times that followed suit.
She should have seen it coming, should have seen what lay ahead.
It should have been no great surprise, what her labors had produced,
And yet she cried herself to sleep, in a cold dormitory bed.

She knew not where to turn, she found, for none would understand.
"Grow up," they said, "man up," they said - "welcome to the world."
But it was not so simple! she would scream, at their demands.
She wasn't built for toughness, this rather softhearted girl.

Was it too hard to understand, that it was her instinct,
To look for good in others, no matter how they did her wrong?
Was it too hard yet to justify, that maybe they were linked? -
The people who would ridicule, and how they came along?

Time passed and passed; at times, it dragged; she wondered where it led.
What **** good was it doing her to bear the world's foul weight?
Was this rather beaten path going to drop her on her head?
Was THIS God's woven plan for her - was this her golden fate?

It wasn't until later that she did just as they said.
She stopped performing high demands, stopped believing in that "good."
Unless they'd ever prove it, she would distance them, instead.
For words and actions differ, and she knew they always would.

Leaving such a sheltered home, ****** out into the world,
Had given her a head start into what could have been her end.
She still retains her emphasis on nourishing her pearl,
Which grows from helping others, when they truly need a friend.

It has made her grow, learn, learn to grow, and she has grown to learn.
It is not what we do in life, but on whom it is bestowed.
There will always be so many who will take what they've not earned,
And what you let them take from you becomes not yours alone.

Guard your heart, and guard your mind - their value is unreal.
It is but your decision with whom you share these precious gifts.
Your actions are a letter, and your words may be the seal,
And they both have the ability to form bonds, or form rifts.

It is not for me to say how we should go about these things.
For do we ever really know who truly cares the most?
It is a trial-and-error process, and sometimes, yes, it truly stings.
But you cannot have the parasites if you are not the host.

I have fought my way through many, who so convingly, would "care."
I've picked my way through many fruits, looking for only good.
But this never-ending orchard (sometimes I'd rather not be there),
Is a microscopic labyrinth, which I'd leave, if I so could.

It is a funny thing, it seems, the way we all behave.
Some are content to give and give - it brings the greatest joy.
For others, it is take and take, that they so strongly crave,
And all the "gratitude" they show is nothing but a ploy.

I've been around the bend and back, through friends and enemies.
I try my best to DO my best, no matter what the cost.
I know that some will never change, some things will always be.
And there will be many I've loved, and more that I have lost.

I stand a taller woman, now, knowing what I can give.
A frightened woman, sometimes, knowing not what's coming next.
But prepared for greater battles, I face the life I plan to live,
Hoping to make a difference that others can reflect.

I find myself still standing here, after many darker times.
I'd like to say that it is through, that finally, it's done.
But as I cannot lie to thee, I still commit these crimes.
And now again, I ask myself: have I really overcome?

Perhaps I have, perhaps I've not, perhaps I still yet will.
I cannot see tomorrow, and I cannot repeat today.
Yesterday's a memory, a photograph that's still,
And though I may be frightened, I am not at all afraid.