Gut the mattress and hide all our money, so we can measure our worth by the kink in our spine.
(c) Mike Mortensen
Letting go -
Without a moment's hesitation.
Spent, are decades,
Looking into thine mirrors,
Which cast no reflection,
Letting go of all love,
Which comes without resiprocation.
Letting go of unrequited love--
Thy heart's greatest devastation,
Hast loved too much...!
Now, no more undeserving,
Of earthly needs and desires--
Substance, consistency and security
Are always lacking in thine direction,
Genuineness is most lacking--
More than just a fraction!
Left alone with empty words -
Words not followed by action!
To thine self I shall be true,
Hence, letting go...
Into thine Heavens
Thou shalt look and seek
Thy heart's and soul's
~ I'm letting go.
By Lady R.F. (C)2018
A feeling most of us have experienced at some point in our lives.
my soul may be singing
but my eyes are bleeding
from pain i am breathing
it sings through my being
and my ears keep ringing
i’m reaching for meaning
but blinded from seeing
the truth in my thinking
i wish i could know why
the stars keep on blinking
why the moonman’s singing
or why i wake up in a dream
where i’m sleeping?
“I took a Rorschach test”* she lamented
*“Though I admit, it was accidental
A bouquet of Cherry smears splotched on toilet-paper
Through liquid lines and violent streaks
Miraging shards of an eight month Terra-cotta
I saw a dishwater boy
Sifting dirt in a garden
He hid among the tomato vines, smiling behind strawberry stains
Oddly reminiscent of that picture I stole
from your mother’s house
I turned the paper square in my hands
A young-eyed girl
drowning in a pair of peacock heels
And a floral patterned muumuu
Involuntarily closing her left eye when a laugh turns to tears
You've always said you love that about me
Raw images framed in a sharpie-circled day
It’s permanence displayed on the kitchen calendar
A mind’s-eye mosaic that shattered when
I felt it around my insides
A searing grip, and gravity wins
The porcelain bowl is filling now
Like a bloodroot squeezed from toe to crown
None of my tears could wash away any of the red
And all the sirens came
But the tiny shoes stayed wrapped in tissue paper
And some mornings, not many but some
Before the bluish tint of pre-morning dawn
When the slivers of my thought wake me
I feel that invisible hand
Squeezing a butterfly inside my stomach"
© Mike Mortensen