I’ve always been the intellectual type
with a slight touch of squee
but all I see these days are swaying hips
and my heart skips a beat
not for some strange allure or sass
but for the memory of you
and the future that I longed to have
when my mind met yours
and with one look you lit my soul
Hope is a glass half full wishing for a refill while being trapped in an entity that’s easily broken, its shattered remnants piercing your heart with fragments of dreams long crushed, scarring your soul if you don’t find the essence of your one true love.
Two days of summer this year. August 30 and finally a clear blue, no clouds anywhere to be seen except those plane-painted lines up high in the azure. To say this year so far has left me unscarred, my soul untainted, my heart intact would be a lie, but through my tears I’m finally able to embrace my blessings. No need to count them really because for every blow I took, a gift was there to help me breathe, so they were plenty. I just had to see them through the mist of heartache, rage and longing. My favorite season blown away by wind, the heat I need to make it through a long gray winter washed away by storms and heavy rains – the weather matching my mood so painfully, my life, my situation. Or was my mood inflicted on me by a sun just smiling in absentia, depriving me of energy and warmth? On the days that counted she was always there, however, shining through a cloud-cluttered sky. And although my skin’s still pale, my heart still bleeding from every dream that burst this year making my smile look crushed, these two days of summer have lifted my spirits and patched me up. With autumn fast approaching, I hope this vigor, verve and and vim will last.
I hear a seagull laughing in the sky as it passes by my window and instinctively I turn around to share my amazement with you, but you’re not there of course. I often feel your presence like this, see things I’d love to show you, details I know you would appreciate. But then I remember, you are not part of my life the way I wish you were and yet you’re always there. It’s that kind of madness that drives me out of my mind, an ambiguity laced with longing, palsy and desire. I close my eyes just for a moment, my heart taking me back to us first sharing an honest smile, a joke, a laugh. It sent a jolt through my body then, made me quake. I was so unprepared for how you made me feel, so at ease and yet so tense, reminding me of everything I wanted and everything I missed. It was then that I realized what an emotional wreck I had been and without knowing it, you told me why and showed me a way to be true to myself again.
Now this is new to me: I’m numb. I hear your voice and wish to cry but I have no tears left, nor do I feel anything else. No joy, no pain, no indifference – nothing. It is as if my feelings have dried out, my heart, although my soul is still aching for you as it hears the fraction in your voice, that little crack as it breaks away while you’re trying to convince me of your well-being.
I do not like not feeling, not being but a shell of myself, stripped of my emotions. Is this a side effect of loving you so much without the rewards of having your love in return? Has my heart decided to take a vacation now from being bruised and has forgotten how much you also lift me up by just being you, by being there – if only in the distance – that your mere existence means the world to me and lets me breathe?
I never expected to miss shedding tears over you, to crave the impact of your soul revealed to me like no one else before, pulling me down on the floor, crippling me. But never have my tears left me as jaded and empty as not feeling anything, not even my heart beat in my own chest. And I wonder how long this will last, because I rather break down every night and long for you waking up than being stripped bare and soulless like this. Without emotions I simply do not now how to exist.
There they are again, my tears, because what you say resonates so much, touches my heart in a way you’ll never know but probably understand without me saying anything. I just don’t have the words to express myself to you, admits the writer, the one whose love flows right into another poem to hold onto them, my feelings for you out of control. Before you I never believed in that bond I feel whenever you send a picture or a line. But your timing is so impeccable, throws me off balance for you always seem to know when to say what I need to hear or when something preoccupies my mind.
And then last night
they all crushed down on me
forced me on my knees
shook me deep
and left me curled up like a ball
lying weeping on the floor
my heart ripped out
my gut wide open
gaping like a wound
Your pull so strong
my love so raw
How was I supposed to know
that you could reach me
oh so deep
uplift and hurt me
kill me sweet
your voice a dagger in my heart
a rose with thorns
my chocolate salted in a cup
A rainbow on my cloudy days
a smile from you
and through my tears
I do feel blessed
and love you more
although my eyes are red and sore
from wanting you so much
my number one priority
“I won’t mention her to you,” he said, “I promise.” The smile he gave me genuine. He was convinced I was the lucky one for he was interested in me. After all, hadn’t I been the loyal friend to lure him into bed? The fact that he had just left his wife and now asked to move in with me a form of flattery for him, a sign of devotion not shared by me.
For anyone who knew Elsie, the story I’m about to tell won’t come as a surprise. Elsie was hands-on, her clothes often covered in mud, her behavior boisterous at times. In her family, she was the quiet one, for everyone else, she was rather peculiar with a sense of humor bordering the crude. With a heart too sensitive for the outside world, she kept her feelings hidden behind a facade of I-don’t-care, her emotions aggressive whenever she feared someone threatened to expose her inner world.
Her stories always rather gory, her friends were used to hearing fables of lost limbs, wives celebrating their husbands’ deaths and infected dog bites. They didn’t flinch at pet names such as Ebola or Plague and had learned to laugh off her regular slurs. So one day, when Elsie started to tell one of her stories in a voice bubbling with suppressed rage, no one questioned the name she used to describe a beloved family member and that, in return, said a lot about Elsie’s friends themselves.
“Didn’t I tell you,” Elsie asked half annoyed. “She’s finally dead. I can’t believe how long it took her to finally call it quits.”