I cannot write
For, in order to write, I must feel
And if I feel, I will die.
We were lovers all those years ago. Before marriage and divorce left nasty notchmarks on my heart. Before children and work soaked up more energy than I’d been alotted. Back in a time when I was finally old enough to drink, party and have wild, unattached sex, yet too young to feel the lasting repercussions.
Our lovemaking was torrential. We used to bounce off walls and furniture, soak mattresses, leave lights on and curtains open on purpose. The thought of being watched heightened our climax. We sometimes caught a couple hours of sleep then woke up and had Sunday brunch with his roommates and family. I always analyzed their glances, wondering if they still heard dark cries of passion when our eyes met in daylight.
The man and I were never really in love. I cant’ remember why our trysts tapered off, they just did. Soon after, the real tournament of life began.
We’re all given a handful of arrows. They’re labeled “Dreams, Plans, Hopes, Expectation, Adventure.” You try to be as ready as possible. Take your best aim, throw with just the right amount of strength, and hope against hope each arrow lands it’s mark. Because we only get one shot. You might get to play another game with different stakes later in life, but not this time. This is it. When you watch arrow after arrow fail to even hit the board, you lose your sense of humor and tend not to want to play anymore.
I had cashed it all in and was only staying for the booze when he showed back up. Memories assailed me, resurrecting the smallest glimmer of hope. Hope and familiarity produced desire. A couple of dates in and we were clawing at each other’s clothes, fearful they would be incinerated if we didn’t get them off fast enough.
Foreplay is for people who have time and we had already squandered too much. He entered me like a car hits a wall in an impact test. I screamed then spent the next hours abusing him for all that was wrong in my life. We finally lay spent, sanity and tenderness returning to our tangled limbs. He whispered “baby, you’re like Disneyland. I could explore you forever” and the drab mommy dusted the mothballs off her confidence and got back in the game.
My heart spilled his illegal blood across the pavement under the armed watch of fifteen policemen. our eyes making love one last time, in a way our bodies would never again be allowed to.
Awake At Last!
Awakening can be so intense, sometimes. When the realization of how long you've been asleep sets in. When the enormity of how many of life's precious minutes have been wasted hits home. As your eyes really open and you truly inhale for one of the first times, there is a mixture of exhilirating relief and unimaginable sorrow. To think that a woman could be so undyingly loyal, overwhelmingly in love, more than once in her adult life is truly remarkable. To realize she has never had a man worthy of such devotion, is devastating.
I look back at the landfill behind me and realize, my insecurity is really the one at fault. I hear the voice of my father saying "you're not good enough to do that. That's for people who are REALLY intelligent", and remember hunching a bit lower. I remember my mother telling me I really needed to diet, as I made sure more and more of my body was constantly covered.
The fact is, those were their insecurities speaking. They really had nothing to do with me. Unfortunately, when you project your assumed inabilities on others, they are often too young or innocent to deflect them. Words can cause more irreparable damage than a physical beating ever can. A girl may grow up, move on, find a man who tells her how amazing she is. But those words will always ring back in her mind. "He's lying. You're not good enough, pretty enough, FIT enough." And, because of this, we end up attaching ourselves to men who will never TRULY appreciate us. The ones who take us for granted or are just "having fun".
Lord knows, I've dated some beautiful musicians and celebrities, but it was all in an effort to validate myself. I don't care how beautiful the man or his creativity is. How can it possibly make me feel content, or increase my self-worth if all he's doing is using me?
Wake up, my loves. Wake up to your TRUE worth! Don't let your pasts define you. You are so much better than you've been told! You are so much better than you, in turn, have come to believe! It's time we stepped into our TRUE destinies!
I do believe music is my soulmate.
The men who create it, the ones I am lured to,
are merely my mistresses.
Invade my mouth.
Practice your rhythmic choreography on my body.
But save your concierto for someone else.
For you cannot play me from the inside out.
You cannot induce tears by your sheer beauty
when I have not felt so much as the chill of your breath
across my skin.
Seduce me and I will appreciate you
in a way you will not soon forget.
Just know that your passion
could never move me
the way exquisite, haunting, heavenly music can.
An unrealistic idealization of utopia.
I walked in on the tail end of a story my eight year old was fabricating for his little brother:
"...and so, the littlest armpit in the sea smelled so bad, it poisoned the waters and killed the Megladon."
I lingered long enough to see my body tucked deep, astonished that all my living could be summed up in an hour's worth of reminiscing; yet all the things I thought were truly legendary, were never even touched upon.
The moment you close your eyes, in slumber, in prayer, in sorrow, I will be there, close enough to be your skin and yet, you will not see me.
Ascending from unwellness
Floating in a haze of vodka and cold medicine
A fascade making me momentarily invincible
Weakness was never my suit
I need to be strong, even if it's alcohol-induced
I refuse to be weak
I do not want to feel
Then I remember, my heart stopped when you left
I am immune
Only my body continues to live