… unavailable

They said be gentle, that someone was unnecessarily rough and broke their heart. They said be gentle, that their cheeks still glisten with sorrow and grief. They said be gentle, someone abandoned them.

And so I was. I was soft, and tender, and gentle, and a refuge. I stayed and never judged, holding their heart with tenderness when they became vulnerable. I softened my edges and made myself small so that they could shine and know how it felt for someone to always be there. I bled quietly while tending to their wounds. 

But by protecting other’s hearts, I allowed mine to become an option. By standing by others and helping them to find their own strength within, I became too available. I became a pause between heartbreaks. I was a placeholder, a rehearsal, a sanctuary for the bruised.

I was never chosen, I just filled space. I was a temporary home fostering love and care to those with no intention to remain. I was the one that stayed, but not the one they reached for, I was their warmth when they were lonely and nothing else. I was an afterthought while their eyes wandered. I was kept, but not preferred. Held close, but never claimed.

My gentleness expected, my patience assumed, my devotion a convenience, my silence a permission, my kindness a utility, my heart the collateral. 

I poured myself into people without ever asking for reciprocity. That would’ve made my attention and love feel cheap. I exhausted myself to the point where I gave so many pieces of myself away, that I began to disappear. And still they took. 

And every time I offered devotion and love, it was the same. I wasn’t valued or adored, I was fed crumbs and expected to show gratitude. My gentleness and compassion became a source to be mined. I waited for them to make room for me in their life after healing.

I don’t regret loving anyone, but I miss those parts of me that I can’t get back. I can’t do this self-sacrificing shit anymore, it’s not virtue. I won’t stuff down my own needs and give everything to anyone anymore.

Love should not be transactional. Love is a gift, it should be cherished and treasured.

I choose me now. And sometimes it gets lonely. But I would rather be alone than to ever give away what’s left of my heart to another person that’s still auditioning others for the role. 

I am fire and if there is no reverence in someone’s tone or intention, I am simply… unavailable.

Lately

It’s strange how some days you wake up and feel at peace.

And also strange how some days you wake up and feel you’re on fire.

But lately I wake feeling both at peace while also breathing fire.

I think the dragon inside me has slept in a little too long.

It’s time to take to the skies and set fire to anything that doesn’t bring me peace. 

Like water

They say it is normal to feel torn, when your future is uncertain.

I’ve felt torn apart my whole life. And even that statement is grossly understated. 

I see again with fresh eyes, but also eyes that have seen too much and somehow not enough.

There is a storm brewing inside me. And I ready for whatever awaits me. 

I held myself down, locked away in the blurriness of uncertainty, waiting for the fates to let my life unfold as it will.

It’s been good, it’s been bad, it’s been indifferent, but it is my life. And I don’t want to wait on the fates anymore. I have shown the world, my world, who I am and what I am capable of; amazing and terrible things.

It’s time to carve my way through the rocks like water, and pour myself into my dreams.

The cage is open

I saw a glimpse of myself today. The me, that was excitable and articulate and funny. I felt lighter. My soul was not heavy. 

I remembered the little girl who had big dreams and a sassy attitude and a loving heart. 

I saw the awkward teenager that was unsure of everything but remembered insane details about endless things and could recite entire paragraphs she’d read weeks, months even years before. 

The girl that became a Mom and fell in love for the first time. My son.

Then again. My daughter.

Then the young lady who was fun and full of life, despite the odds she faced. 

I saw the warrior and the goddess, the beautiful woman who could turn every head in a room. 

I saw the woman that fought like hell to keep her head above water and treaded in the deep end for too many years. 

She fell in love a third time. My son.

Those kids are the loves of my life.

Then I saw the woman that faced cruelty and pain and fears ten times her size and stared down the barrel of a shotgun and never flinched. The woman that overcame every challenge she ever faced. 

The woman that cried herself to sleep and still got out of bed when her world was falling apart and she was spiraling, still she steadied herself and stood tall and hustled through it.

I saw a queen heal herself and own her truth and love with all her soul and give and give and give. 

And looking at myself, suddenly I felt divine and awake and beautiful and I felt like me again, but deeper than I had ever felt my true self. I shined, no I beamed. I did what I wanted to do and I was comfortable and grateful in my skin and my soul still feels like it’s glowing from just that one moment. 

I am me. I can finally let go of all this pain and sorrow and grief. 

I can smile again. It’s going to be okay. I am still here, and I am as mad as the madhatter and as unapologetic as a career criminal. There is a power that has been sleeping inside me, and she no longer begs to be free. The cage is open, and so is my heart. 

The revving

The revving of motorcycles, likely more than 10 coming off the bridge a short mile away. Then a succession of more motorcycles, probably another 10 or more. 

It’s been quiet this morning. The loudness of the motorcycles is soothing somehow. I imagine they’re all showing off, and speeding, or demonstrating their unbelievable balance on a death machine. 

I can hear the rumble like thunder in the distance; maybe they’ve all met up in an area not far from here. The thunder moves together and in my mind I see the riders bobbing and weaving, snaking through traffic.

Leaning up as they come to stop at a red light, taking their feet off the foot pegs; maybe they’ve lifted their helmet shield to talk about their ride or destination as they wait for the light to change. What a sight it must be to see all of them together. One or two checking the chains or break calipers and reaching to wipe off dirt on the polished chrome fuel tanks. 

It’s been 15 minutes and the rumble is just as loud with various sounds of revved engines. They’re still pretty close, which means either they keep getting caught at lights and regrouping or their destination is close. 

It takes me back to the first time I threw my leg over the seat of a motorcycle and wrapped my arms around and held onto the driver. He had a ninja, (crotch rocket; he called it) it was dark and we had been drinking. I had never been on a motorcycle and I was terrified, but fear never stopped me from trying anything. He drove for several miles bobbing and weaving through traffic and then the quiet suburban roads. He hit a 100 and it was thrilling and terrifying all at once. Then 104, then 110 and started to slow down. He pulled over on the side of the road to check to see if I was okay. I had been screaming, but it was pure adrenaline and excitement; man, what a rush. 

He asked if I wanted to go further or was ready to go back to the party at his house. I said let’s go and he said hold on and shot off like a rocket. I thought for sure we were going to die. Maybe an animal would run out into the road or he’d have to make a sharp turn and we’d go sliding down the asphalt. We didn’t. He decided to drive normal and just let me enjoy being a passenger, clinging to him and just resting my head against the back of him as we drove for a while. The air was different, my olfactory sense of smell alive, the rush of wind against me, the way everything looked different at night. Then he turned around and we headed back to the party. 

When we got back, we went through his garage, leading to the laundry room that would lead into the house. Everyone had already left, while we were gone. It had been two hours of driving nowhere. He closed the door to the garage and then pinned me against the washer, or was it the dryer, I can’t remember. We made out for what felt like an eternity. Just kissing and giggling hands moving and sloppy mouths, kissing and staring deeply into each other’s eyes, he caressed my face with tenderness, and then he lifted my skirt. 

I was wet the moment we got on the bike, looking back, I’m pretty sure he knew that. And as his hand is moving and touching all the right spots I am just dripping. So he pulled my panties down, and then picked me up and sat me on top of the washing machine. He begged to taste me and eat me out, said he had to have me, and the look in his eyes was predatory. I said please and then he devoured every inch of me. I can’t remember how many times I felt my body come off the washer in the throes of ecstasy, he knew what he was doing and he fucking loved doing it. I mean he didn’t want to stop making me cum. 

I remember hitting my head on the wire shelf that was above the washer, I didn’t care, he was going to possess me and I was surrendering without grace. 

The way he just kept wanting more and the way I let him take what he wanted. His tongue, his mouth, his fingers the bruises he left on my thighs and ass as he grabbed to pull me closer as I came, him holding onto me, not letting go as I bucked and tried desperately to pull away. His hunger was insatiable. And I kept calling for jesus and god, this wasn’t just worship, I was religion for him, an alter of desire. 

When he finally came up for air and my thighs began to let go of the sides of his head, I was a mess, just a puddle of lust. I slipped down from the washing machine to find he had pulled his cock out and had been slowly jerking and rubbing with one hand while he buried his face between my thighs, good lawd it was hot, he was dripping and so so very hard. I was hungry, manic, starving, I needed to taste him. I needed to feed. I dropped to my knees and worshiped him. I didn’t leave any part of him untouched, I wanted all of him in my mouth and I begged for it. And it was the most violating and delicious assault on my mouth and throat. It was shameful how fucking wet I was. I reached down between my legs and let my fingers slide over my swollen clit. He was building momentum and I knew he was going to cum. My hands moved to massage him and cup his balls, my mouth dripping with spit and then he grabbed my hair and moved faster, asking for my hands and holding onto them spread out like the wings of an angel, as took every inch of him. His legs were tensing and I could feel him grow as he moved faster and then, he exploded. I was already choking and it made him cum harder. My spit and his cum dripping as he thrust his hips harder and came, his weight seemingly lighter and his movement less intense. He held himself there, slowly emptying himself into me, then began to slowly pull out of my mouth. His muscles tensing and starting to relax, his cock semi hard still pulsing. 

He leaned down and lifted me to my feet like I weighed nothing, kissing me deeply. The exchange of desire, the bouquet of our wantonness shared between our lips. I could feel him pressing against me and he was getting hard again. He lifted me back onto the washer and he spread my legs with his strong hands, he wrapped my legs around his waist and grabbed handfuls of my ass, he didn’t have to ask me to wrap my arms around him. I had never been carried like this, he carried me up the stairs to his room with ease. Us kissing and laughing as he would try to feel his way into his room because he kept kissing me. He towered over me at 6’3”, his body sculpted and lean. It all felt so natural, so organic and sensual and erotic. He changed me that night with his greediness. He had an oral fixation and I let more than allowed him to fixate. He was obsessed with, and would beg to go down on me. 

We dated just shy of four months he was a military man and ended up getting stationed in Hawaii. 

He treated me like a lady and he was such a gentleman. Opening doors and pulling out chairs for me, standing up when I stepped away, I mean his manners were impeccable. And I learned that chivalry was very much so alive still. He wanted to know everything about me, he would pick me up for a date and he was so proud to be with me. He didn’t ask what I wanted to do, he just made plans and somehow it was always a wonderful time, excellent restaurant, or some cool experience we both had wanted to go do and he would call to talk all the time. I loved that, he liked to communicate and this was different. He would ask real questions and we would talk about everything and anything. He was brilliant and funny; an old soul, obsessed with live music like me - he loved jazz, and he would play on his pretty acoustic guitar. His eyes on me the whole time. His fingers dancing across the strings, a smirk on his face. 

I remember he would hint naughty things and ask to meet him in the bathroom of a nice restaurant where he’d bend me over the sink and bury his face between my legs until I was a whimpering mess. Or take me on a hike and take me off trail and ravage me in the woods. My hair and clothes covered in twigs and dirt. The bruises and scrapes; badges of honor. He would leave handprints on my ass; he loved to smack it and jiggle, laughing with fervor and devilishness; I knew what he wanted. He was insatiable, he was always wanting to lick me or taste my skin, like I was some delicacy and he was a cannibal. It was tenderness and savagery, a need he couldn’t explain, he would just say the way I tasted was an aphrodisiac and he was addicted to me and just had to feed. I never hesitated to let him satisfy his hunger. It was bloodlust, he would even ask when I was on my period, but I wouldn’t let him. 

He made me feel beautiful and exquisite, he didn’t care that my body had been marked by three children. He worshipped every inch of me and said I was the loveliest, most beautiful woman. He made me feel desired and it had been a long time since I had felt pure passion and yearning.

I was in my late 30’s and he was a couple years younger, maybe 3 or 4 years. He didn’t have kids, and he never met mine. I was still reeling from an abusive 4 year relationship and not ready to introduce him - I wanted to know he would stay, I didn’t want my kids meeting someone I was dating that might not stick around, and he was patient with me, he didn’t push or pressure me. He knew I needed to go slow. 

We just didn’t get very far. He came to my work the day he got his new assignment, took me to lunch by the water; we ate crabs and made a mess, (even though I wore a plastic bib). He was emotional as he was honest, he said he was moving to Hawaii and that given the distance and how long he would be there it was unfair to both of us to try to hold on. Strangely enough, and despite my growing affections for him - I agreed. His vulnerability in the moment was breathtaking and I could see in his eyes that he had also developed feelings for me. It wasn’t an easy conversation to have. And looking back he may have been the only emotionally intelligent man I ever dated. Deep down we both knew the truth, we weren’t in love and there wasn’t a future for us, I was still healing and he was moving on. We cried and held hands then made plans one more time.

We went on one last date before he left, it was our goodbye; no animosity, no jealousy, no disrespect, no expectation, just a man and a woman responsibly accepting that our time together, as beautiful and incredible as it had been, had come to an end. He still touched me with fire and passion, he still kissed me like it was the first time; but it was the last time. 

I would never see him or hear from him again. He changed my life and the way I saw sex as something that wasn’t casual at all or something dutiful in a relationship, it was bliss and he made me feel feminine, but also powerful, to him it was important that I take my time to learn myself and what I wanted to feel. He taught me that a man could be tender and vulnerable, without losing pride or masculinity. He was the most confident man I had ever dated, not arrogant or conceited, not insecure or possessive. He taught me that a man could treat me like a gift and a woman like me was meant to be cherished.

I needed that after an abusive marriage followed by a terrible 2 year divorce then a 4 year nightmare with an abusive fiancé. 

He changed the way I saw relationships, the way honesty was paramount and necessary to grow. We didn’t spend every moment together, but we were exclusive. He had hobbies and friends, he even had friends that were girls, his  sister would tell me he would get hit on all the time by gorgeous women but his respect and commitment for our exclusivity was never once rocked in the slightest. He would laugh and say he already had the most beautiful woman in the world. I learned a man can be focused and loyal even if he found other women attractive. He didn’t ever look at other women in front of me, he never disrespected me and that was new. 

I could say he ruined me, but he didn’t, he helped me grow. He opened my eyes. I saw a good man that didn’t entertain a dozen other women or disrespect me by commenting or looking (even when I looked because a woman was stunning) he taught me there are a few good men left, and they can be real men. Responsible and respectful, honest and loyal. He taught me to love my body and embrace my imperfections. He taught me sex wasn’t an act, it was emotion and feeling and an exchange of energy, its true essence was pleasure. He taught me a man could be patient and a gentleman. I will never forget him, though it has been a while since I reminisced on our brief but beautiful moment in time. 

I genuinely hope he knows the lasting impression he left on my life with our shared experience together, and I hope he’s happy and thriving, living a beautiful life with someone caring and doting on him and in love with everything he showed me a man can offer and provide. He made me feel safe. And that’s all I really wanted, and despite the men that followed that said I asked for too much or that I was unreasonable for wanting the relationship I know I deserve, I do know I can have what I want, need and deserve. And maybe, just maybe I can even have all of it with someone I love. 

Wherever you are, if you ever see this… thank you. My gratitude is endless and I will never forget. I wish you love and beauty and grace in your life. I am ashamed that I haven’t told our story until now. It took the sound of the revving motorcycles on a quiet morning to ponder the brief wrinkle in time we shared. I almost thought I imagined it, I almost thought you weren’t real. 

*** I didn’t mean for any of this to be eroticism and perhaps it was a bit graphic or overshared, but the rawness was necessary. I write for me and the experience of anyone that may read this. I am not ashamed, nor will I ever be again, to say exactly what I want. It is my story, and I am only human.***

Barbwire kisses and picket axes

Razor blades and hand grenades

Some pretty girls do ugly things.

If only you could see the untold stories behind my quiet eyes 

Empty cup

I’ve been waiting for this rain, 

so I too could weep

This storm brewing; 

it’s at my throat.

I want to scream, 

with every echo of thunder 

I’m just going to

let the storm take me.

The cold wind has a bite,

And I have tears to dry.

Tonight my heart is heavy, 

but my soul is light.

My memories are like lightning, 

lighting up the night.

I am a little all over the place, 

that is very clear

I’m going to wait until this rain 

stops whispering in my ear. 

I’ll let the rain wash away 

this foolish notion of love.

My cup is empty 

this rain is a gift from above.

Wealthy

We are all born to be wealthy. But your perspective of wealthy is what defines how well you live. 

I am wealthy in love. Surrounded by the people that mean the most to me. The people who share in the same ideals and values. The people that show kindness, not as a small act, but as something much bigger- a genuine belief that hope and love will always prevail. 

Flight

Just a blurred sunset

Skies the color of pomegranate wrapped in swaths or dark gray.

Painted but smudged

The fire too far to touch the tip of the wing.

The orange bleeding into green and yellow, being swallowed by hues of shadow blue.

From up here the sunset seemed to stretch for days. Like it was reaching and reaching.

I wanted to touch it

The veins of the city pulsing but faint from thousands of feet high. 

Magnificent 

A sliver of the moon dangling above the line of the clouds.

Hanging there, patiently waiting for the fire to stop breathing.

Lana Del Rey is in my ear, singing Cherry and I fall to pieces with her voice.

I have torn myself apart and dismantled my own reality… all in the name of love. 

Chaos

His fire dances with my shadow. He breathes a fire that scorches my horizon, and my shadow lingers as witness.
We dance like war and fuck like rain.
We are both tempest and stillness. 
We are undone, unholy, and spectacularly human. 
Ravishingly alive, our bodies burning with desire.

We are lightning in a bottle, trembling with want. 

Time falls away and we become the intimacy of chaos. 

Lofty platitudes

Lofty platitudes or was it elevated truisms? Did it matter? Strip away all the familiar tunes. What’s left?  It’s the same old song and dance. 

Let my actions bite me in the ass, I am growing tired of all the play it safe stuff. Back to the nothing ever happens unless I make it happen. The time to throw something at the wall and see what sticks is over. 

I am going to need some fortitude and courage, all that I can muster. Time to get unstuck and let your actions back up all those pretty words. 

There has to be balance

Leaving for work, the skies dark and full of promising rain, I took a somber moment to avoid stepping on a dead baby bird in the middle of the sidewalk. The ants were making light work of its frail little broken body. It must’ve fallen from the nest in the middle of the night. 

The poor thing was just lying there next to the stairs, you had to walk around it. What struck me the oddest, was that it was the second dead bird I had seen that week. 

Sometimes sitting on my porch tending to my plants, a blackbird likes to mess with the little sparrows in the tree outside my son’s window. There’s always plenty of predatory birds; I live near a protected sanctuary. The nest is empty now. 

I have seen a bald eagle in the area more than once, and there’s countless osprey. It’s probably the biggest reason there’s not a lot of tomcats in the area. Sure one or two will show up; but they’re never large tomcats, though they are battle worn, and it’s just an observation, but they never stay long. We have to keep our domesticated small cats and dogs leashed for a reason here. 

Not three days ago, there was a dead sparrow on the sidewalk between the building I work at and a stripmall shopping center. I walk through the breezeway between the stuffy buildings to take in the lovely fragrant plants and get fresh air and walk. 

Strangely enough this bird was just laying there, reduced to tiny bones; the feathers sprawling, it’s eyes hollow, peaceful, the beak turned downward. Poor sightly little thing. It took two days for maintenance to remove it. I was more than mesmerized by the way it looked, something very tranquil in its expression. 

I couldn’t help but wonder, is this a sign? What did it mean? Why do I have to make it into anything other than the fact that the circle of life is constant. And death is natural and always all around us. Nature is both full of life and full of death. There has to be balance. 

I might not say much, but I notice every little thing. 

Energy speaks so loudly where words fail and fall silent. And vibes write the truths that no tongue or pen can twist.

When my thoughts go dark, I look at the whimsy in flowers. 

When routine bores me, I go outside and walk barefoot in the grass. 

When my mind is caged, music sets it free.

When erotic thoughts consume me, I love myself. 

When I am sad, the sky paints colors that embrace me.

When I can’t shut out the world, I get lost in a book.

When I am lonely, I write and the words hold me.

I want to look away, but I don't. Everything in me is screaming to stop watching the news, but there's a part of me that knows I have to know.  I cannot always look away. But it gets too heavy to carry and my heart is breaking. 

So many people are hurting. Why is the world turning to such brutality and awfulness?  

There’s something very delicate, very soft and sweetly devine, deep within me. It’s a shy whimper and a giggle that purrs.

Balance

I used to meet my emotions with pure fire. I would stuff down the pain, the terror, the worry, the anguish and anxiety. I would sweep it to the side and focus on surviving and getting to the next moment intact. I didn’t have time to open myself up to my emotions and stand in the rain of my own vulnerability. I had to act. I had to mom. I had to work. I had to keep moving.

My emotions caught up to me and stared me down until I relented and let them in. I sat with them and felt every single little thing. It nearly killed me. I had to experience emotions from my childhood and trauma that I never truly let go. I was dying quietly. I told no one. It was and still is one of the loneliest moments of my life. 

I fell apart and absolutely no one knew, no one saw and no one came to save me.

I lived in an emotional whirlwind of unresolved pain and fear and trauma by myself. I met every single emotion with open arms and let it kill me. 

Until one day, I stood up again. I stood taller and my heart and mind could make sense of all these emotions and feelings. It was heavy, but I felt lighter and I felt the flame within me grow stronger than I had ever felt it.

It hurt and I can’t even write this without becoming emotional and tearing up. But I don’t run from it anymore. I let the tears flow, and I dry them.

I don’t want to just survive things anymore. I want to live in the truth of who I am and what I want my life to be. Turns out, survival is only reactive. 

Living in my emotions and my fire gives me balance. This is me living my life now.

No one is coming to save you, get the fuck up, feel everything, and you will find your strength, strength beyond what you can imagine. 

I always thought by not feeling things I would be better off. And it would help get me over that hump. It was a strength during those times and it did help me get through some unbelievably difficult times. But I never got over them, because I never allowed myself to feel my emotions so I still carried these things with me. It was survival, a coping mechanism that was necessary at the time. 

I don’t do that anymore. It doesn’t serve a purpose anymore to ignore my feelings. Now I feel every little thing, even if it makes other people uncomfortable. 

I don’t live my life to please anyone else anymore. I live for me, for the love inside me.

I don’t entertain disrespect, bread crumbs or mediocrity anymore. I love me. I know there is magic in this world, because I am magic.