Lovers of My Life
Oh the lovers of my life, oh how you changed me. You continue your labors as young artists with fevers. You passed me on, like a baton in a relay. It all started with you; I was so new to this world. A fresh clean canvas hungry to become your dream. It felt almost perfect, until your hand faltered and you made a small mis-stroke in designing me. It caused you such frustration. Until that moment I felt loved, beautiful and worshiped. That absent minded stroke you made became my fated seal. You yelled and screamed, and threw me down. You tore me all to pieces. You left me on the curb in a dank Paris mist. From everything to nothing, in the most quick of an instant. You left me behind in a dark alley, leaning against a dirty trash can. Covered in rats and crawling in filth, the beauty you saw in me was now ruined. I had done nothing, I came to you a blank clean canvas, yet your mistake has caused me now to suffer so much. My error in trusting your words, the adoration in your eyes, the electricity in your touch, and the years of calling that pedestal you sat me on home. I dared to live in your world, for just a moment too long. You promised such wonderful things, endless love, devotion, and pedestals. Yet in that instant I was nothing more than a reminder of your failure. A reminder of your vision, your obsession, that your carelessness had destroyed. You left me behind that day, my canvas frays blowing in the rain. You couldn’t escape how close you came to everything you envisioned. The thoughts of me, what I had been and what had become of me, didn’t fade as the distance grew between myself and you. You turned back to the ally, a time or 2, or 3. Just to turn away once more, not talented enough to repair me.
A passerby, a dingy man, the kind that frequents alleys, caught a glimpse of the mangled mess of me that you left aside the trashcan. He didn’t see the broken, torn piece of garbage that you had made me. Instead he saw the strokes poetic, that you spent so long painting into me. Suddenly inspired, he looked carefully around. “How could such a treasure be left?” He wondered softly allowed. Assured that not a threat was near, one that might take me from him, he placed me cramped beneath his coat and ran off while nobody was watching. He pulled me out and set me aside and I took note of my new home. Everything was so different inside, from the life I’d always known. I wondered what my life now was, how my days would flow. I caught a glimpse out the damp window of the only man till now, I’d ever known. You looked so happy with your new clean canvas as you hurried off back home. All thoughts of me now long forgotten as you moved on to your latest conquest.
This dingy passerby, that now was all I had, pulled out diamonds and champagne and decorated me elegantly and grand. I watched him as he stared at me, realizing fairly quickly. As much as he stared at me, I knew that it meant nothing. It gave me neither peace, nor comfort of any kind. After so many hours of you doing the same, I understood the artist's mind. For he was not seeing me, or even the colors in me you painted. He was seeing his own creation and trying to figure out how to use me to make it. The diamonds and champagne were fun, but over as soon as it all had begun. He tried to sculpt my canvas taters, into some new skin for his classic marveled stone. When my material couldn’t cover his grand ideal, again I was garbage. Into the street I went, even more mangled than when left by you. This time tossed upside down, behind a broken dresser, hidden from view. Winter now it was, and it was markedly colder. I lay there broken through the night. Knowing I had done no wrong, didn’t make anything right. Thinking about all the people that I had met over my life. They had always smiled fondly, saying how pretty I was. They teased you that if you ever let me go, they would be there to snatch me up. More words that people say, I realized with a shutter. For all the declarations, the gallant and chivalry. Here I was on a cold Paris night, broken behind the dresser.
The champagne had been poured on me and never cleaned away. The sticky bubble alcohol softened me more and more each day. The next to pick me up, discovered in me a spongy mess. He thought if he cleaned me well, I might just be useful yet. This fellow was no artist, he had no creation to make of me. Was only thinking practically, collecting useful things. You know that cool thing that you found at that estate sale? You had moved it from house to house for years, yet never found a use for? One day you finally gave it away, thinking how silly you’d been. The next day your partner brings something home that would have been perfect to hold it. It’s gone now after all this time of it just wasting space. Well that was my fate this time too, when the fellow finally gave me away.
At least he had a little heart, I was not condemned to the trash. Or thrown in an old junk pile hidden while seasons would pass. He put me casually, in an old brown box. Along with some candles, a few old picture frames, and some slightly chipped teacups. With a thud I felt myself dropped on the concrete outside, of a second-hand store's doorstep. The sign said closed for the weekend, and it was late Thursday night. I sat for 3 days in that cardboard box. I absorbed the candles smell as they melted onto me as I lay there protecting the teacups. Monday morning came for me and my cardboard carriage opened to light. The frowning woman staring down did not see any reason for delight. She pulled out a few picture frames and scraped one with her finger. The wax that had melted all over us stubbornly stuck and she dropped it causing it to splinter. “Check this box Adele, see if you want to save it. It looks like nothing but a mess to me that has nothing of value within it.” By now I was growing used to being treated as ugly and broken. I hardly flinched at all when the words she said were spoken. Adele came over to peek inside and I felt relief when her face lit up. The hopeful feeling so quickly fell when her hand only half lifted me up. She reached around to pull out the teacups that clinked around. Delicate and fragile, hardly a chip could be found. Turns out my overstretched, misshaped and sprawling presence, had kept the wax from reaching them. They were safe yet I was more damaged. “Don’t complain,” the candle said a smaller and flattened version than before. The box was closed and back outside we tumbled into the trashcan. I closed my eyes too sad to cry, I had finally met my end, check mate, that’s match, was there a point to any of this? In the end I was just an object that was misused, and not valued. Then finally discarded, by man’s indifferent hands.
Poetry in the Dark
Writing poetry in the dark
as I wait for you.
Courting lights as they rush by,
wishing I was enough for you.
You're searching always for more,
trying to fill a void in you.
All that you try and fill it with,
makes the empty grow in you.
There is so much you refuse to know,
shoving down the truth in you.
It’s so hard to watch you fall,
seeing what I see in you.
I love you enough to fight,
enough to shed a tear for you.
I know with you there is no forever,
but I’m grateful for my time with you.
Not to be Loved
I can’t say I forgive them,
that has long since been done.
I don’t have the capacity
to hold hate or to hold a grudge.
I loved them each completely,
each and every one,
and I will love them always,
truly until my life is done.
Not because I’m lost in the past.
Not because they gave me reason or cause.
Not because I can’t move on with my life.
Not because I’m obsessing or lost.
I love them for a reason simple,
one so simple you won't understand.
I love them despite the wreckage they caused,
because love is who I am.
Love is not something I give,
Love is not something I have.
Love is not something I do.
Love is just who I am.
So I can’t forgive them,
for no hard feelings have I kept.
I’ve reached a point of understanding,
so I offer this instead.
I can now absolve them,
as a priest of confessed sins.
I can wash them clean as snow,
remove the guilt from them.
Not that I think they feel it,
that they feel guilt or any remorse.
Their high horse ever steady,
their ego is par for course.
They rewrote their history,
the script they flipped long ago,
to a narrative they can live with.
The truth was free to go.
Yet they are absolved of guilt,
because no options did they have.
They could not love me even if they tried,
because love is who I am.
I am in truth unlovable,
for those inside of my world.
Those outside will nay say,
tell me I’m the most worthy of girls.
But I am unlovable,
and I don’t mean that negatively.
I am love, it’s who I am,
it’s the air that exhales from me.
Just like you can’t make water wet,
or give warmth to the sun.
You can’t love me simply because,
I. Am. Love.
Maybe Next Time
Cool wind raises bumps on my skin.
My hair flies in my face.
I listen to the seagull's call.
Salty tears join the air.
I look out to the ocean vast.
“Maybe next time” enters my mind.
Maybe next time he’ll try.
Maybe he won't be so awful.
I think about the next.
Maybe the next girl he’ll respect.
Maybe he’ll be careful,
he'll be loving and he’ll be true.
Maybe next time he’ll be
the man he promised me he’d be.
The man I so wanted,
but never got the chance to know.
I feel the tears fall again,
in frustration I cry hopeless.
I’m always the lesson,
when can I be someone’s next time?
The one someone gets right.
“Maybe next time” whispers the wind.
The words strike my face hard.
How many next times will it take
until all this pain ends?
How many more are going to lie and be fake?
My heart aches and it aches.
I’m out of next times I resolve.
I find my back now straight.
Independence I try and fake.
Though a wall would guard me
I know I don’t have what it takes.
I know it’s only time,
and once again I’ll be falling,
for a smile covered lie,
lost again in love toxic.
Lord help me, will I learn?
The waves crash back in their reply.
The wind brings the answer,
I cover my ears but still hear
“Maybe next time” it says.
Twelve
Peace
Like sand in the wind.
my smile so content.
I’ve beat where I’ve been.
Freedom
At last now my own,
no closed doors ahead,
from my cage I’ve flown.
Weightless
My shoulders are light,
baggage and damage,
have all been set right.
Volume
Mine is on high,
drowning out the sounds,
of jealousy and strife.
Finished
This chapter hard won,
it's over thank God,
the editing done.
Excitement
What will I write next?
What new adventure,
will call my intent?
Powerful
This chapter will be.
The edge of your seat,
you'll be watching me.
Graceful
I will still remain.
As if never touched,
by cruelty and pain.
Magical
Still ever present.
Mystical guidance,
sets my direction.
Intense
Your about to see,
just how impactful,
love like mine can be.
Fierce
Love does not mean weak.
It's fire that burns,
a raging storms sea.
Confidant
Capable is me.
Nothing of this world,
holds power ’or me.
The Misfit Mystic
I’ll never understand. Millions of logical, rational, well-educated men and women with high power jobs and multiple degrees, believe that every Sunday wine turns to blood and worship a God that was a man that rose from the dead as they chant incarnations with candles and incense.. Yet those very same people roll their eyes when you bring up yoga or chakras. Yoga, and chakras, just two examples of ancient “mystic” practices that scientific data has proven legitimate in multiple accredited studies by some of the top research schools in the nation. The names of those schools printed on many of the degrees that do little more than collect dust on the walls in their offices. I try not to look condescending as they tell me they are followers of science and not silly hippy woo-woo stuff. I don’t think I will ever understand how such educated people can be so unaware of their own contradictions, their own hypocrisy. That isn’t to say that I don’t have my own contradictions and hypocrisy. I am nothing but contradictions if you ask me. We all have them, every last one of us. It just so happens that of this affliction, some of us are already aware.
I live in a movie; I have my whole life. No matter what I am doing, there are cameras there, invisible though they may be. Now I’ve never been paranoid about this. I have never considered there may be people watching me, or some big conspiracy to invade my privacy. I did used to be curious, but I was quite young when I realized it isn’t people watching me, nothing like that. It’s the entire universe tuned in to my every move. Creation itself is on the edge of its seat every morning wondering just what I’ll do next. In this I don’t feel alone. I think this is true for all of us. I just happen to be aware of it. Many call this awareness I have, this knowing of things a gift. In some ways perhaps it is. If I’m being honest though, which I have trouble being anything less, I don’t feel like it’s a gift most of the time. It’s often an uncomfortable burden I wish I could give back. Why must I know things I can't change? Why do I need to understand things that are so beyond my control? Well, that’s the kicker. The universe (or whatever you choose to call the great other that is not us) is not a fool. There is no reason to give all this insight to someone who can do nothing useful about it. The only logical and rational explanation given for that truth is this. I do have power. I do have the ability to use this information to make changes. They just may not be the changes I want to make. I can’t prevent a death, but I can with absolute certainty know what has become of the soul that has left, and comfort loved ones accordingly. I would be far less useful in these moments if I was guessing, hoping, or unsure. Doubt is not comforting. But knowing can be.
My life didn’t turn out with the white picket fence and blue-eyed husband that adored me I used to dream of as a little girl. Far from it. I am not here for comfort. I am here for purpose. A messenger from God. An ambassador for the universe. A translator of energy. I don’t fit well in this world. It’s far too harsh for my delicate constitution and sensitivities. I manage despite it all. My trials seem extreme, unreal and sometimes comical to some. When I say it’s not easy to be me, they don’t realize how deep the sentiment goes. I never dreamed as a child that this would be my life. As I spent countless hours collecting rocks and creating alters in the fields next to my house or trying various rituals and sequences that I would make up trying to unlock some great power I felt I had within. I thought by now I would have figured it all out. At 8 years old I thought I was only moments away from discovering the key that would unlock it all for me. Now here I sit at 45 in a cheap hotel room, homeless and alone after pouring everything in me into everyone and everything I believed worthy and good. Was I wrong? Was it all some grand delusion or mental illness that took me down this path. Maybe by the world's standards it is. The world isn’t in charge though, the understanding of human minds is faulty and limited. If I were to judge my life and my success by worldly measures, I would be a complete failure. Lucky for me, I know better. That particular knowledge is most certainly a gift.
Hidden Treasure
Too busy to stop and too busy to see,
too busy giving sweetly packaged pieces of me.
I looked up be it brief what I saw destroyed me.
The brass ring jingled painfully the sounds made unearthly.
The reflection, who is she?
Nobody mentioned.
Has she always been there?
I had a vague recollection.
Then I was falling fast out of my mind.
Where were the hands I held all my life?
Nobody there, those mortals I trusted.
Not just backed away but becoming the culprits.
The reflection reached out, glittering light.
Through the terror and anguish I could still see her shine.
Again I was falling down impossible depths.
There is nothing lower, not in life, not in death.
Like Alice through the looking glass,
how could I say goodbye?
It all mattered so much,
so I tried and I tried.
Watching it all spinning away and away,
seeing parts of me in all I had given away.
My mind stilled and I knew,
I had nothing left in me to help me through.
I held nothing back and got nothing returned.
The last of me was tattered and burned.
The last of me was gone long ago,
feeding the needs of those who needed me so.
They left when they realized what they had done.
Nothing left in me useful, time to move on.
Landing in this upside-down place terrified and confused.
Creatures knew my name, none of them I knew.
I couldn’t trust anything in this world without shape.
I curled up in a pitiful void, my sorrow my cape.
I cried silver butterflies and orange dragons with ropes.
My tears fell into seeds growing owls and wolves.
They grew loud and hungry in the void of my pain.
Terror and weakness grew as they raged.
I lay there for lifetimes of seconds and breaths.
Years into minutes I wept and I wept.
My mind raced and spun searching for the cure.
The moments she stood there my mind was empty and pure.
I would think of that nobody of light not worth mention.
The dragons stood guard with butterflies on there noses.
The owls crying tears big as mirrors to mask me.
Those tears with reflections materializing her with me.
I’d see her there shimmering in fantastic form.
Hiding in the void now wrapped in her arms.
I'd look to the dragons realizing anew,
how lost I was now in this world beyond truth.
I'd forget beautiful nobody again and again.
Sliding fast to delirium, falling back out of my head.
Emerging she’d creep between claw and buzzing wing.
First random, then often, then an everyday thing.
Years had gone by still she came everyday.
One day I bravely didn't push her away.
I held out my hand her face showed delight.
She took me by the hand we emerged into bright.
She held me steady while I looked around.
Eyes adjusting to the new reality I found.
I looked back again to my magical friend.
Laughing at my expression, awareness set in.
Reaching out I touched the cool glass I stared in.
Twirling around she glittered so free.
I felt the air around me as I twirled,
keeping pace…with me?
My laugh grew louder,
myself time to be.
She was me; I was her, the magical nobody.
Staying hidden behind the masks I would go by.
This time with no hiding she was visible and bright.
I realized with horror, I was hiding from my own light!
I wasn’t protecting myself from the monsters!
I was only protecting the pain that I fostered!
No, she laughed again, you gave you away without any care.
You’d have given them me too, you were so unaware.
Instead your pain saved me, kept me hidden and safe.
Now you understand and it’s a glorious day.
Now I am safe with you, full of trust and full of love.
I'd never give you away, you are a gift from above!
Myself, I remarked,
quickly grasping the point.
Your quiet genius you know that?
Her curtsy making me laugh.
You knew they would never let me be free,
if the light of you, sill flickered through me.
Safe then, in our dark despair. Who wants that?
We weren’t worth their care!
The light not put out, but carefully tended,
allowed only to burn as a tiny hot ember.
For staying hidden back then was the only way through.
Hiding my light is what led me to you.
If This is You
Thanks for calling,
I’ll call you back.
Leave a message,
and all of that.
You know what to do.
Unless that is, this is you.
If this is you,
I guess you forgot.
You walked away,
I'm not what you want.
I know sometimes,
when the phone wont ring,
when the bar’s a bust,
the usual's busy.
When the one in your arms,
doesn't hit the spot.
When she talks too much,
and her name you forgot.
You might miss the feel,
of my silky touch,
my big brown eyes,
saying your enough.
The feeling you get,
with my head on your chest,
and you hear me sigh,
sounding so content.
The love that was yours,
until you left again.
Leaving me to remember,
again who I am.
If this is you,
I’m no more your fool.
Don’t say a word,
this game is cruel.
Delete my number,
erase that text.
Cross off my name,
move on to the next.
If this is you,
check to see,
did you dial wrong?
Did you mean to call me?
You're here and there,
and everywhere.
I can’t keep up,
I no longer care.
One day you hate me,
the next I’m baby.
I’m off this ride,
I left the crazy.
If dreams and wishes,
could turn things real.
I would have wished,
your love was real.
Today you miss me,
tomorrow you won't.
Next time you think of me,
put down the phone.
If this is you,
don't call me now.
I’ve let go,
you taught me how.
If this is you,
we’ve said our goodbyes,
I’m moving forward,
I left us behind.
If this is you,
I have nothing left to say,
nothing left to hear,
Move on with your day.
Because
Because my foolish heart
can’t understand.
My eyes they see,
but can’t comprehend.
How the man that looks like you,
sounds like you, and feels like you,
isn’t the same man that for me,
once stopped time.
Who shut down the chaos,
and ordered my mind.
That patiently accepted the parts in me
I was told that I should hide.
The man that cooled
the volcano in my soul.
Who kept on returning,
giving me hope.
Who steady and calmly
encouraged my dreams.
Who respected and valued
the perspective I’d bring.
The man who’d show up
soaking wet at my door.
Before the sun rose
in the middle of a storm.
Just to spend an hour
holding me while I slept.
Leaving me cookies and coffee
as off to work he went.
I’d roll over and settle into
the warm space left in the bed.
Feeling for the first time,
my starving soul finally fed.
My mind rages against
the truth that you show.
Because if that was all a lie,
then there is truly no hope.