The corners of my mouth turn upward
into  a smile, a grin.
Oh you make me so happy.

When I think of you
I feel it in my heart
It’s a twinge, a little
twist of my insides I

just feel it I feel you
every time I
think of you I feel you
next to me your breath your warmth your smile your touch
all of it.
You look at me after all these years you
look at me and everything
just melts away and all I feel
Is
your
never-ending love.

I pick up the pen
and I write
because I need
to bleed my emotions
on paper and sometimes I
write
just for the hell of it and sometimes
I write because I just need
to talk to someone anyone
I just need to talk.

There are so many
Indignities that I have
endured in my time.

I’ve Come Undone

Unravelled.
Unspooled.
Undone.
Once upon a time, I
was tightly woven.
A part of the fabric of society but now.
Now I’m frayed. A loose thread.
Pull on me and it will all come
Undone.

I am Lost

My soul resonates
with the prettiest and darkest things.
I feel and hurt
and live and rejoice
and die and hate
and forgive.
I do it all
in a whirlwind of emotions so no wonder.
No wonder
I don’t know what’s forward or backwards or even what to say
Or do next.
I am so lost.

Bumped into an old flame the other day...inspired this nasty little poem...;)

Oh first love,
how I want to crush you beneath my heel.
Grind the little pieces of you into the dirt until the soles of my feet bleed scarlet red rivulets of my blood-my life-my energy-that I wasted on you.
Come on over-
I’ll take you up in my arms and crush you against my chest-break your ribs and smother the air out of your lungs. Crush you against my body until you fall limp and then I’ll release you.
Let you slump in an inconsequential heap at my feet.
Exactly where you belong.
If you ever come back to me
I promise you this fate.
You took me up back then and
pulled me all the way down.
I scrambled up and out of that pit of despair you condemned me to so don’t.
Don’t come back to me.
You’ll regret it because I’m ready and willing to make things right.
Square things away -
so just don’t.
Don’t you come back to me now.

That’s where I like to escape, often.
Pick up a real book-this thing with paper and a cover and bindings and a frontispiece and I just dive right in.
Turn off all the background noise and I just waltz right into that exposition and sit myself down and watch. Listen.
Become a part of the narrator’s carefully crafted tale.
Cheer for my protagonist and wish the worst for my antagonist.
I hear it all, and feel it all,
eat and breathe those words, those scenes, that rising action.
I’m right there for the ******
and falling action and the eventual denouement.
And then I let go.
I set that book gently down on my bedside table and I let myself come back here. Regretfully, always, but at least I know that another world
is just a page or two away.