Writhing

I wait
and stir
and stew 
and spin.
Writhing 
I long for you 
I yearn and 
I grin.
This passion is vexing 
and wanton
and bent.
I squirm
I wiggle 
I smile 
and I wince.
You contort
and thrash 
and agonize 
and twist.
I drip
I giggle 
I moan 
and I release.
Sighs 
and murmurs 
and incoherent pleas.
Breathless gasping 
and uncontainable relief. 

Empty chair

A loose thread is so easily undone 

I was once woven into your stories and sewn inside your heart

But our seams frayed 

And your words once threaded in desire now spin on a metal spool 

Am I just a pincushion in your basket 

You don’t finger my thimble anymore 

You prick your fingers on new needles

You won’t cut me into shape or bleed on my fabric 

I’m just another unfinished garment

Laying on the shoulders of an empty chair 

There are pieces of me that died too long ago. I don’t burn my soul on them like I used to. They’re not aesthetic, or for reasoning, or for false sympathies, yet I wonder if I’m ever going to be able to feel as alive, again. I wish, my how I wish I could grieve those passions long forgotten, I just don’t feel the smoldering flames tickling my soul anymore. I wish I could say the fire was unconscious, or suffocated but I don’t daydream like I used to. I think maybe it’s time to mourn the ash so dreams can rise reborn. 

Is it a character flaw or a virtue to think instead of act? Action can mean progress or failure; action can prevent despair fueled by regret? 

But isn’t action also something as simple yet effective, as a kiss? 

Winter feels like grief, like uncertain grief; both the suffering and the moments in between. It leaves you so cold.

To be held in your gaze, like the astonishing truth of a sunrise and the warmth and tenderness of a sunset. 

Shouldn’t have

I want to swallow sunsets and be held in the yawn of sunrises. 

I never asked to hold it gently in my hands. 

To speak so generously with clouds rolling like thunder and bending lightning with my tongue. 

My voice touching everything, and hugging quiet shadows tenderly.

Maybe if something as beautiful as the sky lived inside me, then someone would want to love me like they love the sky. 

Maybe they would want to put their mouth on mine and feel love grow inside of them.

But. I was always wanting things I shouldn’t have. 

The day was spilling into night, and as the evening cast bitter hungry shadows, that ‘top of the world’ feeling was plummeting fast enough to put me 6 feet under. 

Not Charlotte’s web

If I was a spider 

I would spin stained glass skies

And dress in black shadows

spun silver by the moon 

Catching drops of the sun

glistening in morning dew

Come now,

come to me 

Come dance on silken thread

These fangs are ripe with poison 

Come rest your weary head

A black coal heart awaits 

Hourglass painted red

and you 

ensnared, 

in my parlor of pain

I will feast on your blood 

And you 

will wish 

you were dead.

The only one not afraid of me, is the one who weaves the same soliloquy.

This is no Charlotte’s web.

I am sitting here with coffee. The morning air is chilly and it’s hauntingly quiet. Just the noises off in the distance of a lazy but busy beach town. 

It’s 4am and thoughts of you stir me awake. I stretch and I feel my collarbones wanting to crack, my ribs roll and you are not here. You are not here.

I’m calling to you in my mind. Can you hear me? Let me in, let me penetrate your mind as you sleep. Let me to invade your dreams and hold me there, please feel me. Feel me falling over you delicately. Reach for me, pull me closer, hold me in your warmth. I wish to be the girl of your dreams. 

For me

I spent a lot of time asking, why her and not me. And not once was it ever because of jealousy. It was always because I couldn’t understand why I was always too much or too little and not enough either way. 

I just wanted to know why it wasn’t me. 

It was rarely the same reason, which made it even more difficult to wrap my brain around. I wanted to learn from it and “fix” me so someone would choose me. I was always building rebuilding, and reinventing myself over and over again. I spent years torturing myself to be someone that someone would love, not once thinking I was reinventing myself from words and actions of others who caused me tremendous pain, didn’t always admit to their part and also didn’t choose me. 

To be clear it was most often me that pulled the trigger. I was always holding the smoking gun, and I told myself I didn’t mind because I looked good doing it. The vanity and the horror. I would be so hurt by the time I pulled the trigger, it didn’t matter that I cried as I fired away. I didn’t care if I carried all the blame, I had to clean up the mess anyway. Here’s the pile on with sprinkles and whipped cream; but trust that I was framed.

I was too busy looking for clues within and without to realize, why did I care so much why none of them chose me. I stayed in relationships based on the premise that I might be chosen - what was I thinking? 

The only choice that matters now is if I choose me. I don’t need to fix anything about me for anyone else, and certainly not for anyone that doesn’t choose me. I say this to myself as if I believe, as if anyone might ever choose me for me. 

Exhale into me

Let me steal that exhale of release from your mouth.

 
I feel you under my skin and in the marrow of my bones,and I cannot get you out of my mind or focus on anything else.

Deliciously unexpected 
I’ll stay right where you tell me

bewildering things

Using your mind to understand your mind. Such bewildering things; such paradoxes we are.

Choking

I feel the words rotting inside me; all of this poetry I cannot speak. I am choking on all the shameless silent decay.

Blushed

I saw you,

and I 

could Not 

look 

away.

Your eyes on me; and I,

Blushed.

And you held me there,

steady in your gaze, 

your claws already deep, 

tenderly 

violently tearing into my flesh.

Monster

Pour your emptiness into me, 

release for me

Fill me wholly, completely.

With every terrible thing; 

all the edges

ledges and

secrets.

Let me drink your pain

and love you,

still,

my monster.