She dreams of the ideal man,
but the suitor idolizes death in his soulful slumber.
She takes care of herself,
though she cannot bestow her beauty to impressionists.
She falls in love,
yet her delusional passions seethe her in disarray.
She finds new friends,
but a ******* of overzealous poison tarnishes the relationship.
She cooks for more than one;
ghosts accompany the reserved empty chairs.
She re-models her home,
driven to impress; however, she is the only one impressed.
She longs for attention,
craving for a taste of wanting to be loved.
She is she,
and she is her own canvas.
she only wanted to be loved for who she was ━ that was all this lovely, dear maiden requested amongst those who seek material value rather than marital values.
(each stanza is a haiku - I think I’m in a Haiku phase)*
I never think of
drinking tea - that's just not
me - but I like it
there are a thousand
things like that which define us
- our many small choices
Are our passions choices?
"Our wild passions instruct us"
- said wise Shakespeare.
I don't choose to
quicken my heart at the sight
of one special boy
so I'm not sure
how that works, the pushes and pulls
of attractions grab
But the effect stills
and taxes the heart like maple
syrup thickened blood
what quickens the heart? I don't think it's a choice.
Tonight.... anoint My Heart,
Moans and Whispers.
As I stimulate your Soul,
Passions and Desires.
I hear the encouraging voices
Swarming around me like birds
But no matter what they say
Insecurity is still going to be there
Gnawing away at my confidence
"You have absolutely no talent."
"They're saying these things just to be nice."
Sometimes, I feel like stepping away
From my passions, my aspirations
And just running away from it all
But I know if I do that,
My insecurity would win
And it'll be impossible for me
To pick up where I left off
So, I have to be strong
Know the real enemy
And just keep being me.
Thoughts? I just wanted to get this off my chest.
It took a few years to find ourselves.
In that time, my hair grew out,
and your height grew tall.
We grew like sunflowers.
All the other girls wanted crowns,
along with a Prince Charming,
while I took up fencing, and learned
how to shoot a basketball properly.
You learned the arts, how to
play sharp staccatos and paint pastel skies,
while the boys your age were
breaking windows with baseballs.
Your performances stunned the crowds.
Your fingers moved mountains.
You came to my competitions.
My saber moved faster than light.
From a distance, was how we grew.
We were the sky and the sea,
watching each other from a distance.
So close, yet so far apart.
The Passions are not gone away,
But they are a bit sleepy now.
I am so tired
That I prefer Quiet to Joy,
And Calm to Enthusiasm.
I am not detached,
I just have to be on my own
For some time.
Love has to lessen its intensity,
And so does Friendship.
I think I'll go on a holiday
From Reason and Theory:
Plain Common Sense
Is a good friend of yours,
Don't you know?
Better turn you off too,
For some time,
Some very long time
Of quiet On-my-ownness.
Language is tricky
When you become too serious
About what words mean.
Thoughts are like tiny fishes:
They flow aimlessy
And not everything
Has to be picked up.
Introspection is cool,
But Spontaneity makes
The world go round.
And you know what?
I am just satisfied
With my life
In low-cal version.
This is not
An appeal to moderation,
Nor an eulogy of apathy.
I am just saying
Is a much softer pleasure
Than outbursts of joy
And hedonistic delight.
So sleep the passions of my life,
Calmly and softly.
And I watch them in awe.
Everything is so good,
When the Passions
Are not Gone away.
But they sleep so well.
Please hold on to my dreams for me
Put them in a ziplock bag, carry them wherever you go
But don't give them to me
I lose them so easily when they are alive
I only find them once they've died
I'm sorry for my recklessness, but know that I've tried
I want to hold my dreams the closest to my heart
Inside my passions and within my hope
Swirling feelings of bliss hide with them
I want to keep them safe from my doubts and insecurity
But I can't be trusted with such fragile things
In my hands they tangle and fray
Falling victim to procrastination and vanity
Tattered and bruised they lose their shimmer
Like pyrite and nickel they lose their shine
What happened to the glitter and blinding glow?
As my belief and trust in myself fades
All I see in my dreams
Is someone drowning at sea
Alas, for I am master of my pen;
But Calliope is mistress of me.
‘I kept reaching for my muses, my wandering muses, floating on clouds filled with their passions.’
- Chimnese Davids, Muses of Wandering Passions
You feel from the energies inside
Needful release of such
Needs slow release
Like a "slow cooker"
******* true to true attraction
Sharing your soul through the hot
movement of your body
Holding such "steamy elements," inside
You steam up and then start to explode
As the Crockpot has warned you to lift it's lid
One shall not know true blissful enjoyment
of the experiences of sharing "a stranger's romance"
With that one which he deeply has a desire
Inside and out
Of the fashion and the **** little underpants.
My passions are not yours
My dreams are not yours
I am not yours
I will love my passions
I will follow my dreams
I will be myself, you will have no say
So please stop tearing apart
Everything that is me
Simply because it is not you