Posts tagged spilled ink
Posts tagged spilled ink
Sometimes things matter
only because we have nothing else that
Sometimes a love seems possible
only because we know not love, nor
do we know how to love ourselves first
But most times,
we love because we see the goodness
in others and they in turn see it in us
before we in ourselves even could
(art via autumnintheevening)
I was going to rant, wrote this post yesterday and sat on it for a day. So glad I did. I’ve decided to keep my blog positive and continue on my path of no grudges and anyone who carelessly hurts me, betrays me or toys with my emotions, well best to you, but I will not give you another second of my self. Still, there’s a good story to my post, and so here’s a much-abridged version. Oh, and gone is the former title: “A Triangle So Fucked” :)
This is a true story, I promise you: I somehow naively fell into a trap, a triangle of I don’t know what, and of the three, I’m now shut out. A fortune-teller approached me about a month ago before I left to Europe. Randomly, out of the blue, she came up to me in a crowd and cautioned me and said something like “Be careful, you are between two. And people who you trust will be talking about you. Friends are not who you think they are.” And she walked away.
Now, in this raw, emotional state I find myself in this year, this really struck me. I tried my best to remain positive and forget about the awkward exchange, filed it away and didn’t tell anyone. For if friends are not who I think they are, my God, what do I have?
Sadly, as I reflect on the last few weeks… she was right. What happened has unfortunately made an impact on me; my guard is fully up. But, this too shall pass. I count my friends on one hand. It was too soon to open up, and I now know that. I’m letting it go. Here’s to starting the week off right!
(Art by Andy Council via darksilenceinsuburbia)
“Hello” he said
“I don’t think we’ve met
In fact, I know we haven’t
I would remember that delightful face
The dark of your hair mysteriously
guising the temples of your thoughts”
Few smiles later,
couple awkward chuckles
and a magnetic meeting of the eyes
He spoke of the city, the sunsets and
He was intent on knowing more
Was she okay?
Did someone hurt her and
Could she see the good in him?
Perhaps a glimmer of the strong man
he had a feeling was missing in her life?
He wanted in just a few minutes
to soak her up
taste her sweetness
run his hands through her hair
and gingerly linger along her back
But, his time was limited
A few minutes were left
before he could convince her
there was more here than a locking of the eyes
Would he get the chance to see her in morning’s dew?
Pressed against his chest?
Or arched on her back
as he made love to her in as many ways he could?
Would she come to trust him?
And could they like kids laugh hysterically at nothing
but an afternoon’s breeze?
Lock in step together as one?
Make love to the night’s end
until the morning had just begun?
Suddenly, in that instant
it was time to say goodbye
His heart pounding, out of breath and words
He let her go
But little he did he know
She was there with him
“I want to know you,
I want to soak you up
Goodbye my almost one”
When hydrangeas mattered
And daffodils in abundance grew
When dandelions in the wind
Held their shape in plain view
When lavender smelled as sweet
freshly cut or dried in sachets
And the children ran a muck in a ruckus
When the angel trumpets and wisteria flowered
When dreams were tightly sealed in disguised clutter
And the mirror in a reflection didn’t bother
When roses and tulips in a wedding bouquet triumphed
And promises and caresses were enough
When Boston Ivy tightly gripped these walls
And your secrets were hidden from all
And her faith in you was without a fall
And she didn’t see anyone, anyone at all
When geraniums began to wither
And even succulents became parched
And thickets and weeds everywhere, everywhere
And no tending could sow this garden’s flora and fauna march
When they struggled to get past this now evident drought
And come April or May,
hydrangeas were now in disarray
It was the absence of children’s laughter that left them
And left them no doubt
(Art by Rafal Olbinski via whisperinglion)
Withering barnacles form over time
On a soul so restless and tortured
It remains untouched by the divine
Rays of light
With speckles of sea salt
And gentle abrasions from sand
Together dancing rhythmically
To create the most precious of sea glass
From nothing, but the rough
Bruises on you
Like a map with missing legend
How long before you see
Doses of miracles taking place everyday
The beauty of life…
It doesn’t have to for you be like this
Tides ebb and flow
Waves crash below
But, they break nothing
And if you let them
You will see the honest truth of your soul
There are no roads needed for this map of you
Just an open mind
To begin anew
Barnacles will form, yes
But, it’s how you use them
That will show
If you let them
Ever so slightly, a glance
Sheepishly caught stealing a stare
Locking of the eyes
Instill what words never could
A faint smell of morning’s fragrance
A rumpled newspaper
And shirt collar undone, just enough
An accidental stumble against your chest
And brushing of hands
Where have they been?
And what are your dreams?
I now have your attention
Curiosity is peaked
And you smile
You are a welcome letter
A sticker on this scrapbook of mine
A nod, an affirmation
And I to you…
You begin to make your way to me
But, I must go
Time to get off this train
So long, my beguiling stranger.
(Art Budapest | by MisterKey)
In a lacking moment of brilliance
I threw myself over
the perils of longing
ignoring my instincts
acknowledging my foolishness
relentlessly moving forward
as only a rebel would
I fell hard
To my astonishment
my soul proved to be stronger
than any part of my body
my brain was shattered to pieces,
but who needed it anyway?
for it was my heart that protected me along the way
I laughed hard
As only a child would
in a matter of seconds
I was surrounded by thoughts
generated by my malfunctioning brain
and I could’ve sworn God was in front of me
I cried hard
To my solidarity
I held on tight
dreaming up phantoms
that held my hand along the way through his kingdom
I prayed hard
As only a human would
on her way to meet
the real answer to all of life
I listened hard
To my fear
and tried to forgive myself for all the pain I may have caused
I loved hard
As only a girl would upon being held by God for the very first time.
Art “Contemplation of Jupiter Rose” by dan:may via trixietreats
(I lost a whole box of poems… been writing since I was about 12. I found a few this week though- this one is about 10 years old. I was tempted to edit it, but decided to leave it as is, a moment marked in time. It’s funny how what we write about reflects what’s happening in our lives at that time…)
on a wire
take F L I G H T,
a d r i f t in a f l u t t e r
A formation at first sight seems all too cluttered
Far well too formed for us humans to see
Birds’ wings s p r e a d, knuckle-less clutching
What us humans G I V E, give away for f r e e
Birds commingle, cohabitate, chat and sINg
Bonds, convivial memories and m e l o d i e s
Lots of them, to their hearts’ C O N T E N T
And we, on the ground fighting, longing, blind- far too blind to see
A forced smile, a fake hello, an improper h u g… far too disconnected
Humans we are, and this way we continue to b e
Birds on a wire under the sun, wind and rain
On a traffic light, a swing or window pane
Humans in cars, in offices living day to day
in a world so m u n d a n e
Such is the world here
But I SEE them, I see them everyday
And strive to be like them,
a f l u t t e r,
a d r i f t
And one day,
I will get carried
(Art via torilynnwade.tumblr.com)
Ever feel so sad your whole face just feels pulled down? Your gaze too heavy and somber to look up or to bear eye contact with anyone who at first glance you know you will just break down? Yeah. I’m having a bad night : (. I want to write. Write it all out. Write and write and write it away. There’s so much that I want to say. To get out, document, record and finally put away. It’s going to be a long night. There are hundreds of poems in my head - dissertations to dish out in lieu of rest. Too many words to make sense of, and yet they all feel so comfortably misplaced. And so the writing begins…
(I took this picture in Malibu, New Years Day)
Misery pills, did you take them today?
Do you feel anything?
Do you hear me?
… Do I… exist?
Do I for you live?
Do you for them a tortured life lead?
Where is she, your savior?
Where is she, your failure?
And you blame her? Yes, you blame her.
You’ll never see, will you?
The beautiful landscapes around you, see the swallows?
The convex beauty as day falls to night?
No, you see shadows.
Silhouettes of a man that could have been…
Do you see your reflection?
All around you, cracks, or so you claim?
Where is your might?
And what have you done?
Did you scare them away?
Trade them for a self-fulfilled prophecy?
Misery pills, you’re running out of them,
Did you take them today?
Are we going to fight?
What am I living for?
Do I exist…?
This tortured life of yours
(Art by unknown)
I used to put a scarecrow
Out in the front porch
Seasonal wreaths year-round
One made of pastel-colored eggs for Easter
Until you went and fucked me up
Recipes in binders
Where intentions were daily reminders
Of the life I thought I had
As you crept behind my back
Scarecrow collecting dust
Garage filling up with exhaust
And a year of empty promises
An equally empty bed
Unbeknownst to me, the pariah I had wed
Poinsettias changing colors
My faith in us wouldn’t falter
But the missing pieces were adding up
You on a downward spiral
Until it all became corrupt
A Thanksgiving dinner with no chatter
But, the silence was as loud as your conscience
It all wore on me like a noose
But, to hear you tell it now
It’s all one big fabricated excuse
It’s about that time again for the scarecrow
So much has changed
I see his hat peeking through the bag
Next to the wreaths I didn’t put up
Domesticity seems so irrelevant now
But, at least you’re gone
(Art by me)
We the forlorn
The love starved
The ridiculously romantic us
If it’s gray, it’s pewter
If it’s dark, it’s dusk
If it’s battered, it’s precious
And if it’s denied, it must be loved
But, what about us?
We the bone sheltered curators
Impeccably imparting pieces of us
While our whole remains intact
Too occupied building others
mistaking this ‘fulfillment’ for love
Their houses built
While our footing on sand
Until we awaken to find nothing
Nothing but little crevices and cracks
We the beloved lovers of no one
Confusing need for love
Turmoil for passion
Angst for desire
And if betrayed, well it must be a result of affliction, right?
We the forlorn
The love starved
Little by little
Just as those crevices formed
To love ourselves first
And let go
This house is not for our building
(image by Tomoko Fuji)