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Rochelle R Aug 28
As Leaves Go

It begins, an annual dance.
A ritual older than conceivable time.
I have no choice in the part that I play.
My role decided before the first speck of green whispered into existence from the earth of which I sprouted.
I was born at the cusp of light, in mist, in the breath of dawn.
I was bathed with rain,
Nurtured in the warmth of the sun,
Protected with shade and
Blossoming in the light of the moon.
I’ve been secret refuge for numerous, nameless, invisible, fragile souls.
I’ve witnessed life hatch,
miracles become reality as birds stretch their wings and take first flight.
I’ve also seen the tragedy and heartache of those who’s wings couldn’t carry the weight of this world and they were born only to die.
I’ve been a harbor for these weary, wing-ed creators.
The ones who’s burden it is to keep us alive.
And I’ve climbed the wind and reached the sky.
And now, as the last warmth of summer is swept away and the chill begins to last beyond dawn,
Season demands sacrifice and branches begin to sway.
So, as I begin to dry, my color rusting, a shiver makes me take up that ancient dance.
And as infinite others have done for eons of eternity,
I must let go of this borrowed perch that was never, ever mine,
As leaves go.
Rochelle R Mar 2019
Hey old friend ,
Haven't talked for awhile ,
I saw your face and it made me smile ,
Remembering Long nights ,
The ones where music spoke,
The silence as it comforted us,
I let you see things nobody knows,
Don't know where it went wrong,
Guess there was too much weight to carry,
That's okay darling cause battling two ships can be scary,
I hope you are doing well ,
I hope she makes you laugh,
I hope that God is with you ,
And that these good days last,
So goodbye old friend ,
I hope we meet soon,
And if not in this life again,
Then one where misty gardens bloom.
I thought of you today and cried. Then I found these words and cried again. Some memories hurt to have, but i wouldn’t have it any other way. The briefest time with you, is enough to carry me through. Thanks for being you.
Rochelle R Sep 2018
A single moment,
As minute as the silence before the gasp of each breath,
Can leave us feeling like we’ve swallowed shards of glass.
That is the last pulse, before a heart breaks.
Rochelle R Jun 2018
My mind paces,
stalks in circles around thoughts of you.
And the others.
I have concluded that I am unlike
all the other humans.
I’m not sure what it is
that makes your species so.
Perhaps it was ingrained
in the fibers of the earliest of lonely
and jealous people to stalk this planet.
You, and they, are preconditioned
to find one mate,
to pair with one soul,
to love monogamously.
Until the last breath rattles
from your aged and withered lips,
Or maybe just the bitter breaking
of your preconceived infallible bonds.
No, I have the anomaly of loving,
truly, simultaneously, loving
more than one of you.
It’s a curse.
And it is MY curse.
It’s true.
A forbidden love,
so passionate,
for more than one.
It is this multitudinous torture,
to be riddled with the guilt
that accompanies living in this one
cannon timeline.
Why can’t I have a parallel universe?
A paradox of many lives and love?
I am spliced so many times,
Fractionated, less than human.
Like a whisper of what I once was.  
Several panes of glass that don’t quite       touch
Thin, fragile and a false face of totality.
The space between each, is the overwhelming vastness of eternity
that blinds in lonely blackness.
Every sheet is a separate piece
of what once was
me.
And the galaxies separating each,
spread farther with the passing
of light-sped time.
I know the love I feel is real.
It will not waver.
But also, doesn’t matter.
It breaks my heathen heart
to have spun these silken webs
of deeply bonded love onto others.
Entangling them in passionate emotions that are absolutely unobtainable at worst
and just out side of reality at best.
What does this make me?
Am I not a human?
Is this an evil, inside of me?
Am I demon?
There is no answer.
And there is no hope of forming
an inception with my victims,
Nor an existence for my species.
I mourn in lonely secret solitude.
I am the first, and last of my kind.
To write this, now I am empty. The void.
Rochelle R Jun 2018
I sit on my bed,
Gaze soft and unfocused.
Wrapped in the remnants of a shirt you left behind.
Or maybe I stole it.
An air conditioned breeze sends a chill through over-sized armholes that expose the flesh of my *******.
It wakes me from my hazy state.
Glancing up, for a moment I see you in this shirt...
But it’s my own reflection
in the mirror directly opposite my bed.
Disappointment washes over me and I let my gaze slide to the window.
Up, I see the summer moon
as the ghost of you fades from the forefront of my mind,
to its rightful home in my subconscious.
You and I are simply not to be.
Fated in another life,
But now our lives are intertwined and intimately connected to others.
This dream is not mine,
nor is it yours, to have.


It is time.
To bury a memory,
a hope,
a dream.
I watch, from the edge of our six foot trench,
As my own hands throw the first earth on an unmarked grave.
‘Twas but a dream
Rochelle R Feb 2018
The anguish in this alienating aloneness is alarmingly enlightening
I am aware as the colors of my aura
fade from vibrant to mute
A spiraling sense of self grasps at false promises of hope or help
Each face that shows itself as an ally is simply mirage or ghost
Or wisps of nothingness I probably hallucinated to cope
I am an anchor in a rushing tide
Life floods by with no more than a glance over the shoulder
Some collide from behind urging me to move on, frustrated when I don’t align with their idea of time
I need to be unapologetically ‘not ok’
Imagine my electric shock when I find that’s not an option
The anguish in this alienating aloneness is alarmingly enlightening
#metoo
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