Her decisions were unwise

But she embraced the mentality

How bad could it be

What could go wrong

To let go of any prohibitions

And give into the impulses that she so carefully kept under wraps

 

They were always hidden there

Smooshed down and tied up

Thrown and locked into the far corner of her mind

Where on occasion she would crack open the door

And let some of them seep out

A breath to keep her satisfied

And relieve the pressure of the room from overflowing capacity

 

But this time

 

This time a taste opened up so much more

And she found herself standing outside the door for too long

Embracing the shadows that slowly caressed her.

They turned on her,

the very things that she was trying to prevent

The very things she had spent so much energy confining

Rushing out at her, invading the other aspects of her brain

 

Words and motor function were tainted

And she watched as her actions became controlled by her impulses

 

 

The words won’t come, he said

They’re stuck in my body

Bound by my skin and fingertips

My bones vibrate with an energy that cannot escape

And there is pain, pain everywhere.

 

There’s part of me that regrets coming down this pathway; the last time I was here the leaves hadn’t fallen yet, and those that had were sparse, sparkling an emerald green as they lay still upon the trail. Now they crackle, their brown edges bursting into dust with every step forward. It’s a different type of beauty with the essence of gold and copper coating my path rather than the fresh green and whites of new life. But perhaps even in death there is beauty.

Last time I walked this path, you were with me and there were two sets of footsteps behind us. I can still remember the sunlight in your eyes as you lifted your head to the sky and laughed.

I don’t remember the joke anymore. Like so many other things, it’s lost in time and memory. Somewhere deep inside my mind I know it still remains and I think that maybe if I just concentrate hard enough it will surface and I’ll have the chance to grab it in my palm and hold it once again.

Maybe that’s why I started writing again. You were always the one who would smile and laugh as you read my silly stories, cry at the sad ones, and critique the ones that didn’t quite match the standard that I had set for myself. And when you left, the words left with you even if that would be the farthest thing that you would want for me. But the words wouldn’t come. Sitting at our great bay window overlooking the ocean and the people who went by it everyday, it used to be so easy to write their stories. It was easy to put words in their mouths and create the lives that they lived. It wasn’t so easy to do that anymore when if felt as if nothing mattered.

My heart feels as if it has cracks running across its surface. Some days when I wake up, they’re shallow and my heart has enough power to beat without shattering, but others just the thought of moving from our bed is enough to feel the cracks start to spread. I’m numb without you and the tears don’t come.

Writing takes the place of my tears. With every word I write down,  I can feel just the smallest bit of sorrow make its way from my body onto the paper and I find myself touching the moments that I had forgotten.

Nostalgia is powerful and brings with it pangs of pain, but if I don’t relive our story, I won’t be able to keep writing my own. I suppose it’s the same way with the leaves as the old fall and provide for the new who follow. Yet as they fall, they clothe the earth in rich hues, leaving their last gift of beauty.

A New Beginning

The faint wisps of morning light began to appear onto the sky above them, a glow of different colors circling over the horizon. Her lips were but inches from his- her eyes open, wide and vulnerable. The stars which had been so prominent in the shadows of the night sky before, now were only a whisper barely perceived in the reflection of her eyes, with their last little flecks of power flicking off her eyelashes.

Yet he could see that in their vulnerability, they silently beckoned him forward.

And as he leaned in, the last traces of black night dissipated and the murmurs of day rushed to the surface to meet them.

Realizing this, he paused and the sun stopped its ascent and waited for him to take a moment to gaze upon her face -eyes now closed, any trace of the stars disappeared- for the sole purpose of treasuring  the slight curvature of her lips and the absolute serenity in her features.

And then he kissed her.

He kissed her and in that moment the sun burst up from its in prison in all of its glowing splendor. And the sky was alight with all the hues of the world- love painted across its surface, radiating pure joy, its colors leaping and bounding across the sky. It marked the start of a new day, a new moment. And the sun sang for them as it welcomed them into a new beginning.

Rest

Danger won’t come charging

but rather creeping

slither around you

entrap you in a lovely comatose state…

sleep my child, it will say

just sleep and let all your worries fall off your back

all can be dealt with tomorrow

just sleep…

All the while the world passes through its phases

seasons changing and time moving

encircling around you like a rope grazing your neck

until you wake up suffocating

The words that must be said aloud

When will we learn
That history repeatedly manifests itself
Yesterday’s ghosts become today’s children
Unrecognized, misunderstood
Scorned, spit on
The same people in different clothing.

When will we learn
That living in constant fear
of the fabricated, foundationless future
Only guarantees turmoil and suffering.

When will we learn
That fear of humanity overshadows love only at the most wicked of times?

Home

Home.

I can’t speak for everyone, but in some way I believe that it must invoke some kind of emotional response for all of us. There’s part of me that melts at the word and tears spring to my eyes because somewhere deep in my heart I can still feel the joy that arose from certain moments from my childhood. The swing still hangs from the great oak tree in our front yard, the edges of the rope frayed from too many summer afternoons spent drifting to and fro in the warm haziness of the lazy days. Now it just sits, only the wind pushing it on a rare occasion, and even then it barely manages to move from its permanent resting place.

Donny’s gone now to Los Angeles. This place was always too small for him. When I was little he would let me chase him to the top of the big hill and catch him before taking me back inside. There was one time when the sun was setting and Papa was calling us back home– he never wanted us to play in the dark- and I ran up to Donny who was standing on the top of the big hill, looking out towards the far away cities. I pulled on the frayed grey sleeve of his shirt and told him that Papa was calling us but he didn’t even look at me, just kept staring at the setting sky.

“One more minute, I’ll be back,” he murmured to me.

He always did come back, but the more he looked at what was out there, I think the stronger his eyes got, and one day he looked and saw further than any of us could.

He didn’t come back then.

I guess that this never was home for him. But I don’t think that he realized that when he left, he took part of my home with him. Now there’s a hole in it, like a puzzle that has one piece left out in the middle. The rest of the picture is pretty but it’s impossible to look past what’s missing. It will never be as beautiful as before.

I hope he’s doing well. He doesn’t answer my letters very often, and when he does he usually doesn’t answer the questions I ask him. I just want to know if it’s all he imagined, if its just like the books he would take out from under the covers when it got too late at night and point at the pictures for me. His eyes always would be a little brighter in the dim light of the flashlight. I hope he still has that look. People say that the city takes it out of you, that in a sea full of people its impossible not to drown. They don’t talk about what its like to suffocate alone with no one around you. You don’t have to be in a sea to drown.

Home.

Mama still makes her pies every Sunday. Sitting on the porch right now I can smell the crust just beginning to take shape in the over and the sweet spice of cinnamon and apples. The wind likes to blow through the house and carry the aroma to me. Sometimes it’s exactly what I need. Donny and I used to always spend our summers with our fingers sticky with the sugary glaze. Now, it’s like he’s right here with me.

Seductive Voices

My dear girl, when will you learn

That sadness follows every path of life

Happiness may come and hide it

Like sunshine dissipates the clouds

But light does not last forever

And the sun will fall at the end of every day.

 

My dear girl, when will you learn

That you cannot mask your pain

For your silent tears leave streaks behind for all the world to see

You cannot pretend to be a luminous being

When the place where your heart rests is now an empty hole.

 

My dear girl, when will you learn

That you cannot be rid of me

For you have listened to my voice for so long

That its echo will ring out through you forevermore.

Broken Dolls

Please don’t treat me as if I were broken

And the cracks that run across my porcelain skin make me crippled.

Because don’t you know?

Broken things serve only one purpose- to be thrown out.

 

These webs weaved across my features don’t make me damaged

They make me marked and worn by time and its lessons-

Lessons that I’ve learned from

But ones that people don’t understand when I try to explain.

 

I have no need to be pieced back together

Because I haven’t fallen apart just yet

I’m held enough together

To still be of use

 

Let the way you hold me, make light shine through my cracks

That rid me of the darkness that put them there

For you alone can bring beauty from tatters

 

So don’t throw me out

Or shove me to the back

But treat me as if you could see the beauty lying beyond the fractures.

 

 

Two Cities Promised

She stood on the mountaintop overlooking two cities

Gaze limited, ears picking up the whispers of joy and laughter riding on the wind.

She knew what lay before her

Inhabitants of different lifestyles

A city promising success

Another promising adultered freedom,

Each boasting a taste of happiness.

They proclaimed and shouted to her

Follow her heart

Give into her desires

Success and pleasure did not go hand in hand

Choose one or the other they told her

And then happiness would be found in its wake.

 

But she did not give in to their proclamations

 

For outside their golden gates lay vast land so barren,

Watered by the tears of an anguished people

Whose hands had reached out in eager expectation

Only to grasp and touch empty air

 

Their cries couldn’t overcome the gates of the cities

The inhabitants lived in gleeful ignorance

But up on the mountain, their cries rose

Anguish could be heard

It rang louder than the groans of pleasure and prideful acclaims

For this sadness, stood far from temporary happiness,

Resonating in their souls like only truth can

And so poured stronger than the noise of the inhabitants

 

Their duress and blindness pained her

Tears ran down her face

For there was nothing she could do to help the hopeless and brokenhearted

And she could only but watch as others followed suit into the pit