I am my mothers eyes,
brown, soft, loving and kind.
With a thousand stories to tell, she would lay me down in my cocoon, when I was young and little, look up with those bold eyes, "God are you listening?" she would ask, then a stretch of a smile would brush the sadness in her eyes.
Why does God lie?
Why can't he/she be honest sometimes?
These are questions I always ask myself when I'm in deep contemplation about life.
I cry sometimes you know, when she lies in bed helplessly, knowing that someday, she'll lie there, still in peace, there'll be no more breath in her lungs.
Yesterday I cried again,
Feeding the pain inflicting me,
She texted me back "I'm doing okay, don't worry about me okay?"
How can I stop worrying?
when its all I can do,
hold my phone to my hand in stagnation,
so grateful that the one technological piece in my hand, is as close as I can get to you mom.
I know what I did was wrong,
moving out especially at a time you needed me the most.
I left you with pain and suffering,
and now I cant undo it because its made its way to your stomach, its killing your insides,
and all I can do is blame myself.
They say you'll never understand someones pain until you step into their shoes.
I wish I could do that. I wish I could step into your shoes and heal this disease that's trying to take you away from me.
God please if you're reading this, take your time to please return the promise you gave to me, the one you told me when I allowed you into my life, when I said I'm all yours and you mine.
Please don't take my mother away from me.
not until I've given her the best life she deserves
I remember taking a shower in front of him, the water drizzling down my body all the way to my vagina, while he stared at me.
He liked what he saw, because maybe he didn't expect me to get undress in front of him, to be so completely comfortable in front of a stranger I knew nothing of.
I was in my own world, where I owned this hurt, of fights of dying loving and passion for a lover I'd left back home.
He would call me and hear the anger steaming from my voice, yet not once did he bother to question it, out of fear of the unknown, out of fear that maybe I'd decided I was fed up and wanted to leave him and quit what we both called love.
So here I was in front of a man, who was clothed yet I naked.
After my long shower, I led him to a room which I took power of, and gently kissed him on the lips, without thinking about anything, even though all I could think of was, "What are you doing?"
People always think that cheating is wrong, that its not worth it, and that you'll never meet Mr/Mrs right if you leave your legs loosely open for men or women to feast at.
But they never tell you of what you go through to get to that point in your life,
Its where the cheating stems from, its where the hurt grows, its the root of all pain and suffering knowing that you have to live with this lie when you go back home to him, to a man you once'd urged to be with, craved every undying moment with him...Now you hate yourself so much, and you hate him too for not trying to put up a fight for you two. So I'm sorry my love. I'm sorry I lied to you.
I remember her,
shouting at me when I was a little younger.
I've out grown those days of being made to think that I am lesser than a man, or playing with boys would turn me into an lesbian whose only revenge of never having kids would be based on the fact that she, my mother Christine stuurman, lessoned herself.
with fistful of hurtful words from him,
with bruises she still loved him,
with kindness she let him in,
into our lives,
Shed her bed with them
living the same old lie,
men after men,
as if they were orbiting around her like the sun and star
What about me?
Why didn't I change she still asks today?
I changed every perception of men,
I changed how I treated them,
like dirt in sewage pipes they were to me,
I trampled on their egos, hating their existence and not understanding why my mom lowered herself so much for men. I wish she had opened her eyes, loved less and love herself more.
but life opened my eyes too, all I wished for her was to find a man so loving and understanding as the one I've found.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. Looking at the red beaming numbers on the clock, craving the warmth of someone next to you but all you get is the cool cusp of air penetrating your sheets from the window that never fully shut. You opened that window and said you'd always keep me warm, and not to worry when I yelled and yelled at you about how it wouldn't ever shut again.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. But now it's 2 am and my tears have frozen on my face because you're not here like you promised you would be. The faint silhouette gently graces my mind. I can still feel your heart beating from my ear lying on your v neck covered chest.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. I should be dreaming. Asleep with your muscular and hairy arms wrapped around my pale skin. But you're not here anymore. So I pull down my covers and glide across to my window. Turning the nob until my fingers indented the pattern. It shut.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. But I stay asleep dreaming of colors and beautiful beaches with glowing waters and warm sand on my back. I can feel the beauty within my shuttering eyelids.
I miss the times we would run wildly in the forbidden woods,
the trees would cast shadows of shields protecting us from imaginary monsters hiding booby traps to trap us.
There was a glow about you that always stood out to me. You were happy, young and free,
(WE were happy, young and free!)
The last time I saw you was a year ago,
I noticed that even with you aging so beautifully well, the youth that once shone within you has started fading,
like a tree thats changing when entering a new season.
You've distance yourself from the memory of us.
You've decided to block the hurt that separated the bond that we once held.
Its like a forgot wound, so dormant yet growing like an invasive cancer, It reeks of pain, It reeks of burnt dreams, It reeks of a time we grew older and forgot those two innocent kids running freely in the woods.
Higher than a kite
Reaching for the light
Higher than even
in the dream light
Higher than exploding
into crystal shards
Reaching even higher
Higher, until awareness
Higher than the last dance
Higher than the last romance
Higher than a galaxy
fading on its a way
Still higher still,
Another dog walk in the woods
behind the golf course.