It seems like life comes in waves
You can catch them and surf
or completely wipe out
As you get used to the severity and frequency
it changes and you have to adjust
your strategy for staying afloat
Then you crash and wipe out and
get washed upon the beach
and left in a pile of debris
Next, you start all over again
until you feel seasick from all
of the motion
But there is a beauty in the
journey that keeps you
surfing the waves
She bites her nails
They bleed a little
So, she coats them with vibrant gloss
And when the taste reminds her not to chew
She works to pick the color all off
Find myself simultaneously watching,
While “participating;”
In what, at times I’m unsure
Watch myself slowly creeping,
Or are they all in fast forward?
We stumble along,
Just the two of us it seems,
Swirling in our tumultuous world
Carefully stepping,
Or carelessly hurled…
Constantly searching for safe spots,
Instead, I look up,
Inspecting their place on top.
Digging my fingers into the earth,
My offspring carried on my back,
Climbing through the elements. (whispering thoughts; Must. Prove. My. Worth.)
Fueled by sheer grit,
Sweat-soaked and dirty,
Clawing, pulling for hours it seemed
Committed to our journey
Only to recognize…
We
had
not
moved
forward
Perhaps we are meant to stay,
Here amongst the soil.
Too competitive to simply spectate, when looking up…
So advert my eyes and recoil.
Too frozen by binds of this life to do otherwise.
At least when making a comparison. Hmm.
You cannot be a spectator,
If you don’t look their way at all.
They cannot be a “Decepter,”
If the peak you put them on dissolves.
My love comes from me
Not inspired by many women before me
Or experiences of romance with many lovers
But the love I crave to give myself
Delicate yet furious touches
The desires I know I am deserving of
The love I have for myself
When my body dances in sunshine
The love I have for myself
When I frolic in the wood’s flower bowl
The love I have for myself
When waves lap over my salty body
How I become slick with sweat
Joyous tears from my eyes
The great love I always give back to myself
The ceiling fan spins,
north to east to south and west,
a mesmerizing compass
colliding with the observing retina,
a crush, a crash —
flutter of pinwheels,
pirouettes with rehearsed smiles,
hazy arcs of chartreuse balls,
breezes running through grass,
Ferris wheels with familiar gaits,
patience of loading pages,
vinyls on record players,
tires despite weather,
ink forming letters,
dance of two forms,
swirl of laundry and rice,
sun rising to set,
coins off ledges,
the clock —
light like a parting kiss along blade tips
before the heavy yawn.
Sweet n sour this total
To glide among trees
with only your eyes to love me
and waters to carry me
is love and joy un-distilled
I’ve never felt so ugly,
receiving incisive looks from you
You hate me, I know you do
creating a version of me that’s untrue
I am running out of floor space;
my items and belongings and hobbies and dreams
and wishes of the cool person I could be
collect dust
hide bugs
pile and pile and
detritus and debris sediment
into new collections of stuff?
Not for a geologist but a cleaning service.
I am gross and disgusting!
no one would ever marry me—
that’s what my dad said (before I was old enough to know parents could be wrong about things.)
I haven’t double checked that since.
I want connection
but you’ll abandon me if you see how messy my house is.
(I’ve done it before…
my parents made it seem like that’s how the world works.
is it?
Most people aren’t my parents.
I don’t know what most people do.)
A small mound
with grave thoughts.
Gnarled sticks before
a pin oak drying out fast.
Dead reckoning. Curled leaves
flutter & fall a fathom,
six feet deep dropping
like grace from Samael’s wings.
Soon
a dark harbor for insects
wordlessly waiting.
