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  Sep 2015 Rustine Gescheidle
SG Holter
Sit with me in silence.
Hold my hand with the hand
Of your mind.

I'll be your shadow; you be mine.  
We'll rest in two dimensions.
Watch ourselves in 3D.

Safe in the warmth of
Our common intentions. A womb,
A room for you and me.

Let's communicate like mountains;
Be like solid, silent giants.
Sit with me in silence.


A river dug into purest stone after
Uncountable years reflecting
Sunlight, moonlight, stars and blue

Skies unrejecting. Dark clouds too,
In some divine alliance.

*And deep within it's deepest deep,
Two single, uncut diamonds.
Until we're ground to grains of sand,
Sit with me in silence.
To the sweet boy who can't get a read on me:

I'm sorry.

I will use you up and leave you dry...
and I think you would like to use me up too.

The problem with that is,
there's so very little left of me to use up.

So kiss me,
and try not to see the tears,
try not to taste the bitterness,
and I promise I won’t tell you his name.
September 3, 2015
I give you my way past midnight tears,
My likes and loves, my hopes and fears.

I give you my wildest moans and screams,
and most surreal hopeful dreams.

I give you more than my supply
of smiles to share and drops to cry.

I give you all there is to me:
The flaws and not flaws that you see.

I give you my tortured, broken mind,
perhaps 'twas pretty at first find.

I give you my weaknesses and strengths,
and the loves I swear of unending lengths.

I give you my joys as well as my sorrows,
the reasons why I hope of better tomorrows.

I give you and just you more than what I am.
Should I lose my mind I would not give a ****.

I give you the things that might make me perfect,
and also the mean things my devils reflect.

I give you my brightness and darkness as well,
and all I can give you, more than I can tell.

I give you your needs so that you would stay
and simply be with me each and every day.

I give you my body, my soul, my love,
hoping I'm something you won't dispose of.

I give you my life, freedom, and heart;
and all things I can't say in this way of art.

I give you my past, my present, my future.
Everything for you, my dear paramour.

I give you all it will take to convince,
that you are my love, my master, my prince.

I give you what I hope will be enough,
though I fall apart when times get rough.

I give you everything, my sun and stars:
The old and the new of my heart's battle scars.
This was written 8/20/2015. Minor revisions upon posting. I struggled, because I read the stanzas from bottom to top and I could not decide whether which way was better. I'm just going to stick close to how it was written as an emotional wasteland on my bedroom floor.
Just when you think you're doing okay,
just when you think your life might finally be headed in the right direction,
someone from your past walks by in the grocery store.

They don't have to be someone who was particularly special or important to you or your life at any point.

They don't even have to be a friend.

Regardless of who they are,
they never fail to remind you that your life is not actually ok--
it's in shambles,
and suddenly that oh-so-genuine smile on your face
cuts into you like so much shattered glass,
because your life *****,

and nothing you have done up to this point can actually change it at the end of the day.
August 30, 2015

I was literally at the store, getting groceries, when an old acquaintance from a few years ago walked by in my peripheral vision. I recognized his face, though his name took a moment. I was surprised he remembered my name...

Anyway, I chatted with him and his lovely wife, made the usual resolutions to hang out some time, etc.

After they left, though, I was just struck with a feeling of what could be called existential nihilism. I really don't know. It just ******.

On a side note, it reminds of a tattoo an ex once mentioned: "Life's a b*tch and then you die."
The first whispers of the morning are sweetest when shared with you.
[...sometime in July or August 2015]

I've had this little tidbit hidden away in one of my pocket notebooks for the longest time, waiting for the right poem to fold it into...

But then, I realized that it might never happen. This little blurb is not any less for being by itself.

So here it is.
Is it more beautiful the moon
or the sun?
A night of stars
or a day of summer?
A drop of dew
or a reflection on the water?
Is it more beautiful
the almond tree in spring
or the mimosa
in its most intense yellow?
Don't ask me
what I love most
because an ocean
wouldn't be enough
to appease my thirst
and the universe
to fill up my heart.

20.2.'13
The original poem ("Il più bello") is in Italian.
There is no good translation for a poem.
I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome.
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