When I was nineteen
I learned to procreate.

Sparks were flying and fears were moving and hearts were beating and hands were racing and bodies were sweating and hormones were raging. We were wrapped up tight in your Target sheets, gasping for each breath as if our end we would meet. Our eyes averted. We were so nervous. This new act of pleasure drove us deeper and deeper. We hoped we would stay, we hoped and we prayed and we loved until that day.

I said no more. You cursed and slammed the door. This wasn't for us, I couldn't take it. I wasn't tough.
You begged and pleaded to be forgiven. I was done pleasing and was ready to listen to reason.
That day was the last and I said I ain't coming back. You kept pulling me down so I said **** it and I turned around.

Around to my other guy, because I wasn't happy with the one by my side. To my back up beau waiting for me after school. He was there on the long nights as I wiped my tears from saying my goodbyes. He held my hand and listened to my plan of the two of us finally making it after two years of struggling and suffocating in our relationships, our individual emotional abyss. This was our time, our time to shine. Time to let go and be happy and be free and be who we wanted to be. All I needed was him and all he needed was me.

But that crashed and burned.

What we thought was forever was only a game. Heartstrings were pulled and heartache was made. Disaster full on. Before I knew it he was gone. Two years of my life were erased just like that, like a single mistake where all you had to do was backspace. I cried my eyes out and I banged my head and I avoided you and I wished I was dead. I gave you my heart on that very first day and you kept it for two years and then you threw it away.

Twenty one today and I've come a long way from the girl that cried over broken hearts and broken minds. I'm strong and it's true, I love someone, I do but it's in a different way because today's another day. I don't have to live worrying about what ifs and the past. It's gone and it's over and I'm thankful for that. You both made me cry, my arms up to the sky pleading and begging for something so dear, but how did I know I would find it right here? Now I've got my heart together and I wear it on my sleeve, proud but protected from any would-be's. I'm happy and I'm healthy and I feel joy and I want to sing. This life I am living, I can't imagine any other thing.



*September 20, 2013

You throw yourself at my feet like a child, arms all splayed and
Ready to welcome.

The words you speak are so sweet like mid-morning dew, honey of the night is all that
Remains in the morning.

Your soul aches to know what it is like to be in my arms, but my arms ache with the
Weight of your soul.

The hope you put into this "thing" is beautiful and frightening, being ready to give up
All you have gained.

Knowing the hurt and pain of my darkened past does not throw you, and you
Are always near.

But can you not see all the confusion and twisted branches that have become the
Life I live?

Do you really have a desire to climb to the top of this tree, for fear of falling head-first
Is always there?

I flip and balk and retreat and retrace and say "I don't know," but you are always
Waiting with a hand.

In the wings of my life you wait until the curtain is open and the stage is set, the trap door open and the
Time is right.

Sometimes it feels so natural to let a man's hands run over my body, feeling every dip and curve and bump and bruise that exists.  It is almost as if his hands and his longing are physical manifestations of my new-found womanly confidence.  I have reached a point where I am comfortable in my own skin and ready to celebrate.  I want to celebrate like there is no tomorrow and do something a little crazy, a little stupid, live one more breath of this night and one more kiss of this dream.  Right now everything just feels so real and raw.  To feel a man's touch on a body still so young is nothing to be afraid of - it is something to cherish and hold dear, for it only happens a short while.

Sometimes it feels so natural to wear a short skirt and walk with a sway in my hips, each step with my heeled feet and long legs echo across the floor.  There is something in the reverberance that acts as a fire in my soul, the flames within as courage on the outside.  The sway of my hips work wonders as tickets to concerts, the pass to the front of the line, filling my empty hand with a full drink.  It is a drug of sorts and something that I cannot get enough of.  I take what is handed to me for the short while that it is available.  Wearing my short skirt and tall shoes, I sway my hips to the beat of a different drummer while I can.

Sometimes it feels so natural to drink to my heart's content and my stomach's contempt.  I drink to make the pain and the thoughts and the worries and the stress melt away as my body melts on the dance floor.  I become one with the music and one with the night.  Carefree and unconcerned I drink until it is dawn.  It feels so wonderful to live like there is no tomorrow with no regrets.  When I drink I drink to darken the past and brighten the future.  The sultry sway of my hips become the sloshing of a boat about to be capsized.  The running hands over my body turn into drunk fumbling and clumsy fingers.  But I drink while I can and enjoy while I can.

Sometimes it feels so natural to be so bad - defiant and strong and a will to do whatever I choose.

Tell me of love.

It is warm. A feeling of devotion and longing and connection. A journey. Something special and cherished. It is soft and gentle like a spring breeze turning onto a summer storm – barely noticeable until enveloping you.

Tell me of love.

It is a cliff you climb and when you reach the top, beauty and splendor are all around. You feel at peace and as one, as two, with the world. It is a kindness that flows from within and moved from center heart, spreads out the body and through the fingertips as arms outstretch to another’s golden sun.

Tell me of love.

It is a fire burning hot with emotion – beautiful, playful, dimensional. One false breath can extinguish, one small spark ignites a wildfire. It is a desire, a yearning. A push and pull or hearts and interests. Give and take and mostly take. Compromising for compatibility.

Tell me of love.

It is inevitable. As death comes to every living thing so does the inevitable love. It passes as merely a shadow in only those lives that were touched by its once hot passionate fire, burning then fleeing. Love is a reaper of souls. A spark, passion, a journey, a trial, heartache, parting, sorrow.

Love is life.

Tell me of life.



*December 2012

I noticed one day that my clothes did not fit. They hung off my body like sheets hung outside on the line to dry. A forgotten place. A forgotten face. Your cotton shirt, worn smooth from nights against my skin, now lies rough and ragged, tossed to the floor and kicked to the laundry bin. The trash bin of fabric. Trash talking hearts and hopeless lies try to piece this life together once more. But this shirt. It is old, out of date, out of style, full of holes. Holes once filled are now threadbare from past patches. Mended and then washed only to unravel again. My clothes are hung outside to dry in the coldest winter. And I am left with nothing to wear.



*January 14, 2013

My soul yearns to know what it is like to soar, with full-fledged living. But I am yet a gosling, so small and helpless.

Opened, outstretched downy wings. Tip to tip I learn each motion. Muscles, smooth and lithe, lie in wait for when they will become. Freedom.

Pulsing and pumping they will pull my body from this broken land and ****** it into the unknown.

Higher and higher I will climb into the war-torn sky. The scared and brittle earth of my first home will become nothing but the fleeting past. Broken bits and pieces of a life once had cast into the memory of nothingness. Forgotten. Left to decay in the world I have just left behind. As if it never was.

So easy it is. To be free. To live this life and breathe each breath without doubt or shadow. Becoming my own and cherish each moment as a lifelong joy. No end, no finish, no land in sight. Just open sky and cool air beneath my wings. No destination. No regrets. No history. No memory of gosling down.

Full-fledged ivory wings.



*January 13, 2013

Your body is a minefield. Barbed and razor wire engulf me in each hug. Cut and torn and ****** I enter the war zone of past heartache, heartbreak, broken bones, and souls. Bodies lie scattered across the cracked dry ground, tears shed too late to save yourself from one more casualty. Sweat glistens off my ***** brow. My heart pounds within my chest as bombs go off around. With each thunderous roar and shaking of ground I force myself to run the distance of history itself. I fall. Crawl my way through muddy emotions to the epicenter of this full-raging battle. My blackened, *****, grief-torn nails reach, with one last dying breath, to touch your radiant soul.



*January 13, 2013