Posts tagged “Poetry

I’m Not Cute

I usually write something vaguely romantic and full of longing for birthdays—especially for Asher’s—but this year, I’m so caught up in my own…I’m not even sure if “fears” is the right word…that I wrote this instead.

Not a fan of the title (see above), but I don’t have anything better.


I’m not a shallow girl,
I’m no imitation
plastic
sugar-coated dream.
I’ve been to hell and back.
Scarred?
You’d best believe.

I don’t trust
the Guardians of the Gates—
one slip,
one wrong tone
and it’s too late.

They think they can help,
but they don’t know
the power they wield.
They see smiles and
I see flashes
of razor-bladed kindness
and the end of hope.

They don’t know
that their words
are a paintbrush.

Choose rightly and
I am depicted as my true self:
tested and annealed;
repeatedly thrown into the fire
and not perished.

Choose wrongly and
I’m a cute little girl,
constructed of maple cream
and pastel swirls.

Not thirty-five,
but five.

A two-dimensional princess
who has never been hurt,
screamed at,
abused
or wondered if death
would be preferable to life.

A pillow of sweet fluff,
oblivious to pain.

 

Nay, Guardians,
turn your gazes aside.
If you cannot reveal to him
the me that I am,
I’d rather keep to myself
and hide.

It is better to be alone
and unfulfilled
than to be coupled
and misunderstood.


Heartbreaker

Someday, I'll manage to get enough material together to publish A Wren in the Willow.

But that day is not this.


I keep breaking my heart
over and over again
for a man that will never love me.

Not just this man,
but those who have come before him;
those that the Goddess has brought into my life
for no real reason other than to see me hurt.
To light my heart on fire with love,
with passion,
with dreams…
and then to laugh
as it all goes crumbling away in a moment.

The gods love taking down the ambitious.
Nothing makes them happier
than seeing a grown woman cry over loneliness.
“If I could just have…” she says.
“You can have solitude,” They say.
“You can have tears and sighs and
the wonder of why We did this to you.”

When I woke up
on that morning three years ago,
I was delighted to be in love.
But at the same time,
I knew I was headed for another world
of unbelievable pain.
Seven months free
and back to the hole from which I crawled.

If I could draw my sword and sever all ties,
I’d be much happier.
No more cycles of love and pain,
no more beloveds out of reach,
no more stupid ideas.
Just me,
loving myself.
And moving on.


Seventy

My best work?

Probably not.

But it fulfills the goal of writing a poem for him on his birthday, and writing is always good exercise, no matter how neutrally you feel about the outcome.

So here's…

70

I can no longer find
the passion I once felt;
but in the bigger picture,
I imagine it doesn’t matter.

As long as one part
of my heart
remains faithful to you—
one part of one part—
you are there,
and perhaps
that is all that is needed.

Life moves on, and
I admit that I’ve lost track,
that I have to rely on others
to do my tracking for me.
But as long as I have a friend
who finds joy in the hunt,
I’ll never lose you at all.

You were my knight
once,
I always called you to the fight
once;
but now I stand and fight alone.

As long as we have
the Valley of Sweet Memory,
I hope you’ll remember me
and know me as one ever loyal.


Fresh Poetry

It could be fifteen years ’til the next poetry anthology, so let’s make the most of it…


Some Days

 

 

Some days,
I feel like
I want to run
and jump into your arms.
I feel like
I want to forget myself;
forget him,
forget them…
forget everything I stand for.
I want to forget
the vows I made:
to marry only him,
to mate with only him,
to love only him.
Some days,
I want to make you stay with her,
and some days,
I want to say,
“Fuck her!”

 

Some days,
I want you to hold me.
Some days,
I want to rest my head
in the crook of your neck;
to feel you breathing,
to feel your chest rise and
fall against mine.
Some days,
I want to forget
that I ever thought wrong of you.
Some days,
I want to forget
your troubles,
forget your past.
Some days,
I want you
to claim me as your own.
And then,
some days,
I remember your lips are poison.

 

 

I don’t know why
I keep running back to you.
I don’t know why
I’d die to feel you.
I don’t know why
I want you to love me.
You love her.
You’re loyal to her,
you’re sweet on her…
I’ve seen you with her;
you’d die without her!

 

And me?
I have my love.
I have my love,
with his soft gray eyes,
his sandy brown hair;
every line upon his face
defining every moment of his life,
whether suffering
or joy.
I have wispy memories
of many lifetimes past,
many marriages past,
many children past.
I have memories
of every moment,
every breath
spent in his arms,
looking into his eyes,
feeling the touch of his heart.

 

 

I have the truest love
in all the world…
yet some days,
I still want you.


Fresh Poetry

This one’s been done for a while now…I was just hanging onto it because I thought I would eventually find the words that would allow me to add more…


 

I love you

 

I love you
more than daylight.
I love you
more than the newspaper in the morning,
a good book or
an icy can of Diet Coke.
I love you
more than I ever thought possible.
I love you
more than I ever loved him.

 

I love you with every breathless moment
of my rather short life.
I love you with every word
ever written by a man
dead or alive.
I love you with every word
ever sung by a woman.
I love you with every word
ever dreamed of in spirit.
But I also love you
more than any words
can ever say.

 

I love you beyond death.
I love you from this life
into the next.
I love you
beyond the gilded stars,
the glimmering planets,
and the peerless moon.
I love you
in the azure waters
of my Great Lakes.
I love you
on white sand beaches
walking toward
the golden horizon.
I love you
in the endless forests
of my childhood home.
I love you,
I love you,
wherever I shall roam.