And I want you;
more than ever,
the way that my right hand
wants to snatch a pencil
from my left
because it knows the left
will not treat it correctly.
The way you never
treat me correctly—-
But back then…
you were my right hand.
Reaching inside my chest
and tying tourniquets around
my bleeding heart;
the one he left a car crash
Telling me to breathe easier,
the room is not filling up with
I’m only drowning myself,
so you will drive a little longer
to get me out of my cesspool head
and into secure meadow,
head lying in the grass.
There was the
car turning into parking space I did not see.
You grabbed me,
I fall back into step
and his sidekick,
You only held one arm out to hug me.
But when I wrapped my arms around your neck,
you pressed my back into your chest,
and maybe that is when I started
to breathe again.
I let you go off somewhere else,
where people know how to swim,
and there is no me.
I am not certain,
but others have assured,
that when you’re without me,
you seem to breathe easy.
running through my
I am pushing down your hands
Mufasa is falling from the mountain
and in the dust
you are trying to
turn a lion
into a kitten—-
and wanting her to be both:
aiming for the purr.
You make me
Simba crying on a corpse;
never have I enjoyed tears more.
In this elephants’ grave yard,
you lie inside my bones.
Everything the light touches
There is a lipstick smudge
on the side of my mouth
and I am conversing
with two boys I’ve kissed.
The irony is this:
I had just finished lunch.
And while I am hugging one,
I’m talking to the other
and of all the songs to come on shuffle:
“I Won’t Give Up” on us.
God knows, you weren’t tough enough.
But you’re the one to see me in distress,
tell me to remove the lipstick from
Before I plea helpless and we fall back
into pattern of conversing
like the best friends we were.
But she comes over,
glowers in the corner.
Who don’t you trust?
But that’s enough for me to say goodbye,
but not before I get
one last hug.
And I’m glad there is no tide
of second chances rolling around,
that sometimes God speaks and other times it’s just a sound.
But my ex told of my smeared face.
My ex tried to fix the fake misplaced shame.
My ex laughs exactly the same.
And I don’t miss us.
when life is screwing me over,
I remember it’s possible
to find somebody
It is always by a counter top;
the bait of our first kiss dripping off my body in waves and somehow
your lips are none the wiser.
What does this moment taste like?
My hands are freezing cold, palms kissing the counter
and your arms encircle my waist from behind.
We watch a hummingbird drink.
A butterfly heartbeat passes between us and I think “This is it. This is what itmeans.”
And you press a kiss to my temple and hold me.
Just hold me; no fingers memorizing the dip between my hips and stomach,
no teeth grazing nape of neck.
My heart is a mermaid, swearing by a siren song,
only to end up in someone else’s net.
The hummingbird flies away and takes my breath with it. We stand near a sink with a leaky faucet, knowing each drop of water is not the only thing falling in this moment…
knowing what starts now,
may never end.
And pretty damn happy.
I have written some stuff I want to share with you guys again. So thanks for sticking by, especially in the drought.
If you don’t want to wait on the blog posts follow my tumblr at overturnedinkwells.
Mentally, I’m healthier. Emotionally I’m healthier.
Physically, I’ve been side-tracked, but I want to get back into yoga to clear my mind and stretch out the stress.
I’ve started school again, so that’s another reason updates haven’t been as frequent.
One thing I want but have yet to make time for (and should be chastised for) is reaching out to my devotions with my loving and gracious God. I value my Christianity, but do not always practice what he preached (I need to work on language, easy to succumb to).
But right now,
I am happy with my life, I don’t mind being alone, I’m not wasting effort on anyone who doesn’t make effort/time for me. That easy.
Who wants to be in my life, will make a point of it. And if I don’t want to put effort, I’ll make that known.
Here’s to happy readings.
Thanks for all your love and your commitment to this blog.
lay over me like London fog in 1940;
With my steel bunker heart
and your air-raid touch,
we are a mix of
and butterfly heartbeats.
The minute our clothes dropped
to the floor like bombs,
and our propeller
this was a losing battle to begin with,
and thank God,
because I never wanted to win.