Tuesday, November 7, 2017

11-7

You do not deserve peace
   When you took mine
to obtain it.

Thursday, November 2, 2017

11-2

One two three.

Times are changing. Seasons turn turn turn.

The wheel came up. The hanged man. I look down at the cards and they're telling me if I slow down, wait, things could be different, but I don't want to give my past a chance to catch me. I don't want to get sucked back into that vortex, and I know I would. I would get crushed on that wheel over and over, and I'm tired of being the butterfly.

I'm the bee. I'm the bat. I'm the hawk. I'm the sky and the ground and the atmosphere and the water and the fucking trees.

I am not a delicate dainty thing to be found crushed with shimmering scale-dust around me.

I am not a doe-eyed unguided pretty thing to kick.

I am not a red-lipped distant thing to pour lies onto.

I am autonomous.

I am tired of telling you what I am not. 

If you reached out a hand, I might hesitate, but I'm strong again. My molten walls are in place and hardening around me.

It's a hard lesson to learn who doesn't deserve them. He knocks quietly, chips gently, fingernails. I don't know how to drop them for such a quiet and reasonable request, not yet.

How unfair.

I wonder if he'll keep trying. It's an accidental test. I move away, I gather myself, and I try to reach out. I let my mind settle. I find myself in silence and re-evaluate. I reach back out. I pull back.

What a trial, to find me, to those who want to find me and are worthwhile. But if they're worthwhile, they'll make that effort. Isn't that how it works?

The ones who will stay are worth it. They'll see enough to stay. I'll try hard enough.

What will change when I'm gone? My life is swirling in upheaval, excitement, new opportunities, new spaces. Will he reach through the distance? Distance is my killer. I can't love someone distantly. Not anymore. I need warm arms and warm eyes to curl into.

Will it matter when my life is lain out before me, the way I want it? I have wanted this for so long, everything else pales in comparison. Warm arms seem tepid. Constraining.

I'm bursting forward to my future, the one I've wanted, the one I've dreamed of and fought for tooth and nail.

Arms may hold me back.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

The Angry Queen

Snow is falling but it melts on my skin. I sizzle. I steam.

I am hot, I am boiling, I am volcanic.

I can feel myself glowing within - not that earthchild warm moon glow; violent sun surface glow, angry vengeful goddess glow, cracking beneath my skin, magma roiling and twisting in thick clumps of liquid stone and heat.

How do I sit here in my pale-wall cubicle with my feet on the chair and coffee in my mug and hide this explosive woman under my surface. How do they not see me burning and flowing?

Phones ring. Keyboards are attacked, the tic-tacking flicking and clicking nails running up my spine.

I want to flee, I want to be a creature. I am not fully human right now. I am churning with memories and sensation and feelings and so, so much heat. Broken hearts and anger and longing and bitterness melting through my veins and I absorb it all and it builds my walls up higher and thicker.

Once I cool there will be nothing but hard hard black stone around me.

I am a goddess of heat and then coldness. I flare and I burn and then I am hard, hard, and dark again. I still myself and try to control the turmoil within. I want to cool and solidify. I want to be cold. I want to be Diana in the woods. The wolf in the forest. Slashing and snapping with my nails and my teeth and my bow, hot and cold, ivory.

I am not comfortable in this real world. I am not made for things like heartache and 401(k)s and old women named Elaine.

I am unspoken words and fast actions. I am predator smelling, hunting, killing, seeking, being, moving, moving, moving against hard dry cold earth and surrounded by hard dry cold walls of black stone.

I'm burning with heat and kinetic frenzy but I sit shivering, fevered.

Are there others like me, moon people, earth people, who feel this? Who shake and vibrate in a world they don't belong to?

I miss my moon person. I was hot sun to his coldness. I fucking hate him. He burned that bridge and I would have let him chill me until I froze and died and disappeared in an igneous sarcophagus. I hate that I know that. Knowing how weak I am sets me on fire and I want to burn into him, reignite the bridge that's nothing but ash. I miss being miserable with him, that undeserving beast. What kind of disaster is that? The queen wolf and the cunning fox, we are not a match, but I sit here with coils of flame and ice within me missing him and his empty words and empty lies and empty face and I want to reach out and be burned just to feel it again.

Snow is falling outside and as I calm, it will fall within, and I will be impenetrable again.

I welcome the coldness.

10-31 Self-fulfilling prophesy

Is it
a self-fulfilling prophesy
that I knew
or thought I knew
or just told myself
or believed, at least
that I am a one-love girl
and I went into the world
looking for that one love
and when my body sang
and my soul connected
and my heart jumped
I knew I was right
in my heart
in my believing
in this one love.

And now
I go back into the world
looking again for one love
when I know
when i believe
in my heart
I found it
but it
did not one-love me.

so how do I go on
looking for this love
that I've been promised
by the movies and the books
and the aunts at holiday dinner
and the friends
who say, you deserve this
(and don't I deserve it?)
(don't I work hard?)
(don't I try to be kind?)
(at least try)?

when I already know
or at least think I know
it's an empty search.
and my tables and chairs
will be cold wood
and I will sit on the porch
with a cat on my lap
and a mug of tea
and sweaters that are gradually eaten by moths
and I will be content.

and i think?
that is okay to me now.








Monday, October 30, 2017

10-30 Dream State

I dreamed about you last night, Dorian.

I dreamed you did all the things you said you would. You traveled the world. You had a strong group of friends. You wrote and explored and bettered yourself as a person.

And I was proud of you.

I watched you grow from a distance, and I was proud that you had finally found your way. I wanted to be a part of it, but I wasn't, and that was okay.

When I woke, I missed you, briefly. I missed that dream person. The one you pretended to be, and had finally become.

I lay in the haze and fuzz of early morning and the memory of the dream faded away to reality.

I remembered how you spoke sharply to me. How no matter what I did, you seemed on-edge. How I became afraid to say anything, or to not say anything, because no matter what I did, to you it was wrong that I was speaking or not speaking, telling or not telling. I couldn't even touch you without some complaint on your part. I touched your face wrong, I stroked your back incorrectly.

How you carried this anger and jealousy inside you and I felt it vibrating like the tines of tuning fork, and how it made my body vibrate and my blood shake and my nerves a tightly wound ball of energy worry and fear.

How you told her how angry and cruel and mad I was, and then came home and crawled into my arms and told me it was the only place you belonged.

What do I miss? There's so little left for me. I was reluctant to give it up for so long, but now I shut my brain down when it starts to chew on your memories. The good ones are gone. The ones in the very beginning, when you were chasing me, when it was fun for you. That was long ago, and they're fading. They've been replaced.

I like that I can say the words on my mind. I like this breathing kind of love. Not love yet, no, far too soon, but the hint of it is there. A suggestion of possibility.

I want a love where I can relax. Where words can flow freely and my blood can move comfortably. I like this level of space. I can orbit, touch base, return to my own movement, and he seems to do the same. I like two lives and two people interacting gently.

I like that he apologizes when he's upset me.

I like that he cares when he's upset me.

Thursday, October 26, 2017

10-26

There's a swaying inside me, beneath my flesh and under the ribs where the blood flows hottest. An internal compass tugs me in different directions; I sense my needle spinning and my head waves a bit with vertigo.

To admit I was wrong has been an endeavor. I can admit I am wrong, sometimes. I am wrong about a lot of things. I am wrong about people on occasion. It happens. I want to look beneath and see the goodness, and I let myself be blinded to the rest.

I was wrong about Dorian. That's the truth. It's still so confusing. His face pops up now and again - in my phone, secret photos I saved so I could look at him I now scroll back and delete as the pit of my stomach turns. That smiling face hid so much. It seems so earnest and true, but, as I erase it forever, I must admit that I was misled. A flush of memory and he's next to me, and I'm happy and in love and anxious and foolish and angry, that vortex of emotions he always evoked.

I read texts I saved and everything goes cold again. He was cold to me. He was cruel and selfish. It's so frustrating to think of the potential. I want to shake him and remind him how it was, when he was good to me and I was happy. How could he not see that could have been our Always?

But it's past that. I've said my angry words, I've reacted to his coldness, I've been dealing with his betrayal and coming to terms with how much of what I thought I loved was falseness. He has carried those lies to another; it's no longer my concern that he lies, that he's fickle and faithless and constantly wandering in his fear and self-hatred. He made his choices and I choose not to be discarded and picked back up by someone who would toss me aside.

The new one, that blooming potential love, frightens me. I have to make myself stop, feel the compass spin, and admit it. I'm frightened to be betrayed again. I'm scared to love. I found my One Love, my Big Love, but I was wrong, somehow. My body and my heart betrayed me too, thinking to give themselves to Dorian. My entire existence is at war with what I thought I knew and what I felt and what could be.

Don't they say the best love of your life comes after the biggest mistake?

I stop and I'm scared I'm just being optimistic. Will I let myself be blinded again? He speaks in the slightest way defensively and my guard goes up, recognizing Dorian. What is he hiding, what lies, what manipulations?

He explains, he apologizes. He comforts and compliments. I want to warm to the words but I pull the Tower for him when I ask the world, and I'm frightened to let my walls crumble. What will be the end result? Will my cracked and broken foundations provide the bricks and mortar to rebuild strong, or will I be left devastated once more?

I tell him take it slow, and he does. I have to trust myself and let myself trust another.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Time

They say Time Heals All Wounds but I don't feel the wounds inside me healing. I don't feel new skin growing over the gaps you left, flesh knitting together, tendon rebuilding with thin elastic, bone hardening over with rocky uneven marks to indicate where I once was destroyed. 

Time Fades All Wounds, I think. If you live with a pain long enough, you grow accustomed to it. Your pain threshold changes. Your normal adjusts. 

I'm adjusting. I'm moving around the hole inside me full of distrust and betrayal as if it's not there. 

But I can feel it, grasping, wanting to swallow me. I am shoveling care and gentleness into a never-ending pit, frantic to fill it. I kick dirt over a cavern hoping no one will notice it's there. 

How do I let someone else fill it when you left it so empty?

I'm scared he'll see this emptiness. Not because it will frighten him, but because he could use it against me. I'm on the defensive. I'm angry you did that to me. 

He reacts in the slightest way defensively and my radar screams, run. 

You did that to me. 

I do not want to stand here and try to shield this wound. I want to show him and I want him to tell me it's okay, that he'll stand beside me while I fill it. He'll scoop with the shovel, he'll patch with gauze and ointments. He'll make it go away however it takes. 

But I'm scared, and you did that to me.