Same yoga pants different day
It was on their first date that he knew she was the one; the way she continuously combed her fingers through her overgrown blonde bangs, playing a sexy game of peek a boo with green eyes greener than any traffic light or dollar bill dropped from his wallet on champagne and caviar, watching her roll her tongue in ecstasy as he clung to her every word sincerely interested in topics that previously meant nothing to him, Louis Vuitton vs. Gucci, Bravolebrities vs. Kardashians, Hatha Yoga vs. Hot Yoga.
A spring and fall later a wedding bell rang out through the low to the ground clouds stuck in his head, when a listless winter’s frost planted a seed ripe at summer’s rise nine months later discovering legs parted with a cry and low and behold a miracle and more crying, and dishes, sleepless nights, overdue bills all leading to words unforgiving, when rolling over one morning he sees her still asleep in her stretched Lululemons, smelling of sour milk, unshowered with blonde tangled hair splayed on damp pillows and he thinks nothing other than, “Why doesn’t she get a damn haircut?”
Two Sides to One Coin
He was like the winter woods. Silence and waiting.
His eyes could shock with their blue, but were almost soft, like grey velvet, when he looked at someone he loved. His hair was ink dark and midnight smooth.
He wasn't tall, but he was lofty.
His smile was reluctant and furtive, as if fearing to be seen, except, in the rarest moments, when it broke free with a ringing laugh that echoed and filled the sky. Clear and warm.
He only lied about the most important things, the truths that would crack him, if he let them whisper past his lips; but, they always lived in his eyes, in the way his hands would move, and in the set of his shoulders.
He would die for someone in the space of a single breath.
He always believed the best of people, even when he pretended to be as jaded as death itself.
***
He was always waiting, like a passenger at a bus terminal, never boarding.
His eyes were cold and could cut like shrapnel. His hair was black like a blank space or dull fish eyes.
He was short, but acted as if he was anything but small.
Smiles never quite fit on his face, like vagabonds or hobos, they never stayed long before they left, stealing away more of his face each time, washing him out paler and paler, like a walking corpse, looted and vandalized. Cold and cynical.
He lied about everything most important because he was afraid. Always afraid. Afraid that someone would shatter him like a dropped mirror.
The truth cowered behind the prison of his eyes.
He wanted to seal his shrouded secrets in a tomb before someone saw that he was really a child, and afraid, and selfish, and everything he took pains not to seem.
He only believed the best of people in desperate hopes of being disappointed
Pedestal
I fell in love with him a little every day that summer. I used to see him walking his dog, chatting with Red, that was his dog’s name, as if he could understand every word.
Occasionally, I would see them playing fetch or rolling in the grass in the local park. The dog seemed to ooze joy and well-being.
One day, I saw him save a little boy who had run gleefully away from his frantic mother…into the street when a car was coming. The car screeched to a halt, right over the spot where the little boy would have been if hedidn’t run and swoop him up while still running. My heart stopped for a moment. The mother hugged him and her son so many times before she finally took her son and left.
Another day, I saw him chatting with one of the old ladies in the neighborhood, making her giggle like a teenager. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one smitten with him. He was tall, handsome, kind, funny, charming…everyone loved him.
One night, I was walking through the park on my way home from work. I heard them before I saw them.
“He’s just my friend, Billy,” a female voice said.
“Right. I see how he looks at you Elaine. I don’t want you spending time with him anymore.”
“Billy, we’ve been friends since we were kids. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not choosing between you. He’s my friend. You’re my boyfriend. You need to trust me, or this isn’t going to work.”
“Is that a threat, Elaine? Are you threatening to break up with me?”
“Billy, let go of me. That hurts.”
“I asked you a question, Elaine.”
“Billy, I said let go. I’m not going to talk to you until you do.”
As I rounded the path, the couple came into view. It was him. They didn’t see me. But I saw them. Him. As he let her go, she turned to stalk away from him. Before she got too far, he grabbed her shoulder, twisting her to face him with one hand and smacking her so hard she fell to the ground with the other.
“You don’t walk away from me, Elaine,” he snarled, standing over her.
I stood frozen, staring as the pedestal crumbled to dust beneath his feet. Fortunately, someone else passed by and asked if there was a problem. The charming mask fell back into place as Billy leaned over to help Elaine up and hugged her close, holding her head against his chest.
“Nah, my girlfriend just fell,” he lied with a smile. “No problem at all. Thanks, though, buddy.”
Duality
His frame, his figure, his sun-lit silhouette
He looks down at me with intense, hazel eyes
glowing in the light of the morning
His embrace with long, strong arms
large hands wrapped around my waist
providing comfort
His laugh, his smile at his own joke
His lips pressed against mine
soft, accepting
But then it became torture
on my heart
His frame, his figure, looming
His intense eyes, rolling, mocking
the darkened silhouette of a predator
His embrace with those long, strong arms
large hands wrapped around my wrists
chains, braces
His laugh, his smile at his own sick joke
His lips pressed against mine
soft, wet, consuming
#poetry #contest #duality
Juxtaposition
When I met you, you were the most amazing person I had ever encountered. Your intelligence rivaled mine. Your rage could meet my fury. Your humor matched my own. Your soul was filled to the brim with passion, as was mine. You loved me as I loved you. Before you, I was never right. I talked too much or not enough. I was too fiery or had no passion. I was all or nothing. Heart and soul or strangers. There was no in between. There was no gray area. I was black and white. When I met you, suddenly there were these brilliant shades of gray that intoxicated me and left me stumbling for words. I was finally the right amount. It was electrifying being around someone who was as powerful a man as I was a woman.
We were equals in every way and it was thrilling at first. The problem was, after a while, our passion became arguments. Arguments became fights. Fights became breaks. What once was mind-blowing became dangerous. We became toxic for each other. You were bleach and I was vinegar. Both strong agents when alone, but when mixed, toxic, and capable of killing. When I finally left, the same reasons I had loved you had become the reasons I had to leave you.
Knife
To love-
Time had softened the man's figure. Sharp angles had long since been replaced with gentle curves. At his peak, though, he had seen a great deal. The pocketknife in his hands was a testament to that. He clutched it like a security blanket to his chest, and seemed only able to relax when it was firmly tucked between his fingers.
We all have our scars, I suppose. His are just more visible than most. He tries his best to smile despite the pain, greeting new recruits from behind his father's desk. The father he had lost so young that some nights he couldn't quite remember the curve of his face or the stubble on his chin. Those nights were the hardest. He couldn't change the past, but maybe... just maybe... he could help the two boys kneeling before his chair.
To hate-
He was a piggish man, with a stubby nose and skin that glistened with sweat. He smelled of death, and had the peculiar habit of running the tip of a pocket knife under each fingernail, grinning from behind a black mahogany desk.
This was a man you would do well to not run afoul of. He was just a bit too familiar with the blade in his hands. He always made the children kneel when they entered the room, if only to put them in their place. The kids were too young to realize they worshipped a man made of lies. He had hurt so many in the name of so-called salvation. This man wouldn't know salvation if it came knocking on his door.
Bully Smile
A small body frame and an innocent smile
captured my heart for this neighborhood child.
Always helping and lending a hand.
Assisting every woman, child, and man.
A trip to the store changed all my dreams.
That same innocent smile was a bully and he was mean.
I saw him push a girl off her bike, her knees were all bloody.
She stood up crying, got back on her bike with her dress wet and muddy.
He stood there and laughed as if he loved to see her pain.
And everything I liked about this child, went suddenly down the drain.
Fake Nails
The woman reached out, soft pink nailpolish coating the tips of her fingers, to grab her son by the hand. She laughed, and the beauty of it brought a smile to my lips.
***
Her nails dug into my skin, her fake nails making the pain amplify. I tried to twist out of her grasp, but the lady only dug her nails in farther, laughing at my struggles.
I was being kidnapped.
Dax
He wasn't anything special. I mean, he thought he was. That's for sure. But to be completely honest, he's average. Normal. Plain. I guess that was why I fell for him. I saw through it. The bravado. The indifference. The arrogance. How long has he lived in a world that had a predisposed idea that he'd be a god walking amongst men? Too long.
He wasn't anything special. God, he thought he was. That's for sure. But to be completely honest, he's average. NORMAL. Plain? I guess that was my issue with him. I. Saw. Through it. The bravado. The indifference. The arrogance. How long has he lived in a world that had a predisposed idea that he'd be a god walking amongst me? TOO LONG.