that love will take you by surprise

but they are wrong.

you took me by surprise,

or you would have if not for

the fact that you knew

not to rush it

to take our time

and it forced us to evolve

bit by bit together

so no, you did not

surprise me

because I have seen you

from the start

and you have known me

slowly, and deeply

and to know that

i love you

is no surprise to me -

none at all.

because you made sure

from the start

that there would be

no surprises.

and that is

the best part of all.

Desire

The ache of wanting

Your face on every woman I see

My love for you grows

It pulses in my chest

As the waves pound the shore

I need you more than I can say

Yet I try to everyday

My soul longs to be with yours

When our bodies embrace

Joined together

In the rhythm of love and passion

Perfectly synchronized

Breathing each other’s breath

Knowing glances

We achieve the ultimate pleasure

An orgasm consumed by love

Becoming as one

We are complete

Our fate has been met

She knew,

she can pretend that she didn't,

but she knew.

I had talked with her,

others have talked to her,

and she still did it.

Out of anger,

she did it.

And she knew how much it would hurt me,

how much it would make me feel like shit.

And she did it anyways.

So no,

I don't feel sorry

that things didn't go her way.

This is exactly the outcome that she knew was going to happen.

She chose this,

not me

and now we are fractured.

And I don't have the energy to put us back together anymore.

Who or what are we waiting for

A normalcy bias

Or Godot?

There’s ominous signs

Plenty of cognitive dissonance

What are we hesitant about?

Something tangible

Or routine illusion?

Perhaps we suffer the

Impenetrability of ignorance

Can we still blame Godot?

Could it be instigated by the

Intellectual vulgarity of

Copious over analysis?

So many questions

With far too few answers

I guess we’ll just need to

Keep waiting for Godot

Lucy's medicine cabinet was stocked almost completely with herbal remedies and handmade soaps from her mother's farm. My bottle of Ibuprofen on the shelf beside a tin of homemade dandelion lip balm looked out of place. I took it out.

With the small bottle of pills in hand I decided to try the kitchen. But, of course, among her jars of granola, dried fruits, and unlabeled containers of various aromatic, varicolored powders, it stuck out even more. I don't think she'd care where I left it so long as it wasn't sitting out on her countertops, but I just couldn't sit it down next to her matcha powder in its pretty Mason jar with a pink cloth between the ring and the lid.

She cleared out a drawer in one of her nightstands, a small wicker basket in its tropical-feeling bedroom. Well, she almost cleared it all out. There were a few rings left in the bottom: gold bands, one with an opal in the center. Probably some that she made. I would often catch her at her little refurbished coffee table sitting cross legged on the hand-tied rug with a pair of needle nose pliers winding wire into an earring.

I dropped the Ibuprofen in the container along with the socks and toothbrush from the plastic Walmart bag in my left hand. I set the rings on her dresser.

Between the gaps in the wicker, I could see the glaringly white bottle of Ibuprofen and the neon green of my toothbrush. I balled up the plastic bag and shoved it in my pocket.

Lucy didn't like plastic. She was too afraid of the turtles dying or something. She didn't eat meat because, she'd say, if she wouldn't eat my pet cat, who was hissing from his carrier in the kitchen, she's not going to eat a cow. She exercises and does yoga every day, but she won't get a gym membership because their carbon footprints are too big and the guys at the front desk only have plastic cards to give out.

I like Lucy. I might grow to love her, but sometimes I wonder if it would be worth the work. She says she doesn't mind if I order a steak, but I can't do it around her. I hide my plastic packaging and pretend I don't need Ibuprofen and Tums to stave off my headaches and indigestion, using her herbal remedies daily and acting like they've cured me. She's too sweet to say no to and too gentle to hurt her feelings. Honesty is hardest with the people who are kindest.

I take my Ibuprofen out of the wicker basket.

Blooms and buds dripping with dew

Colors of pink, yellow, and blue

Swaying softly in the morning’s breeze

Life shudders within the still green leaves

A butterfly lands softly upon a silken petal

Floating, until finding a place to settle

Drinking in the nectar and ambrosia

A fine course of tea a-la Rosa

As it flits away with the suns retreating rays

The flowers remain, the field is where they stay.

Thus begins

this peyote journey

flowing down the

river of consciousness

with kaleidoscopic thoughts

in a hallucinatory fire

where vague ideas

burn like wax candles

as effulgent imagery

reflects in the mirror

of the mental canvas

creating surreal lucidity

so the mind is clear

and the soul begins to

enjoy transitory madness

bad news keeps coming

like rain

pouring down never-ending

and yet

i still

search for the sun

i want to

believe in

us so badly

but you

are a storm

in my heart

April 1, 2022

In the shower

First attack in years

Pressing face against tile

Praying to porcelain

Silent scream

Deafening emotion

Water beating

.

.

.

Down

.

.

.

Weaving around

The gentle swells of a small and

Knotted back

Chest heaving, hardly breathing

As I unbar

Air caught, at last

Forehead to basin

Both hands pressing

As if keeping this heart inside,

Like a storm

Pulling at the tethers of a memory

I have welcomed forgetting

Every moment weathered

Because some spiraling hope

A promise of a consistent state of being

Of finally feeling

.

.

.

Together

.

.

.

Without the arsenal of dope

This

Is

Not

Supposed to happen

Here’s the joke:

I have a cabinet full of

CAREFULLY

PRESCRIBED

ANSWERS

To help me believe like any of this

REALLY

FUCKING

MATTERS

For without

I don’t particularly have anything

On which to hold

Except doubt

Do I really need another friend on social?

Another idol? Boy/girlfriend?

Do I need another inspirational book

To tell me how to reach my life goals? (Goals?)

Because honestly

There just aren’t as many bridges to cross,

As there are to burn

Not as much to keep,

As there is to let go

Not as much to gain,

As there is that can be sold

In fact, seems—

Around every fucking turn

Every bend,

Something else to dread

Something else to break your heart with…

Yet another life lesson

LEARNED

Or tragic END

And I need more like-education

Like the world needs another lost cause

Or hole in His hands,

Like we need another self-satisfactory,

Spoken-word benediction (sans action)

Just to be able to sleep again

Why didn’t you leave us in darkness

In fabric laden with Stars

These are

The things that keep me up at night

The things that hold my breath prisoner

My thoughts, in my throat

By knife

And just like that, it’s over

Body unfold.

Gather self.

Stop the pour.

Towel.

Time to go.

Close the door.

Take your pills.

Hang-up self-will.

It’s a new day to chase the dollar bill.

Easy, when you have no more dreams to follow.

And, please, don’t forget to swallow.

J.M.Liles ©️2022

Every blank page is a mystery

A hope

Despair

A light

And a disease

That can fester inside

Feed on you

Until you feed it your words

Creativity is either stifled, suffocating like a late august afternoon

Or flows freely, like autumn leaves dancing in the cool breeze

No in-between

No negotiations

Not knowing which one will come to fruition

Is

Agonizing

But when it flows

It flows

And

F l o w s

Pours out in an abundance of

Life

Love

Fear

Ache

Agony

Pain

Everything

Pours onto the once blank page

And for that moment

Everything that burdens and encumbers you

The thing that causes that tightening in your chest

Your breath to catch in your throat

Is laid out in black ink, pencil or type-face

Filled to the brim with y o u

Every desperate thought and feeling clinging to your insides like tar

And all at once

You ignite

Feel free

Until

You turn to ash

Just to

Do

It

All

Over

A G A I N

Sadistic isn't it?