they say that dreams are woven
from threads within our hearts
the thickest one in mine was hope
which existed from the start

all I ever hoped for and dreamt
was to feel happy, safe, and free
to express myself openly
to be loved for being me

I hoped to give, to be recieved
to offer my whole heart
to love with everything I am
and to be whole, not just part

for 23 years, you’ve stayed by my side
weaving moments into memories with me
even through the toughest of times
when the thread was difficult to see

with you, I get to live my dream
I’ve found where I belong
this quilt we’ve sewn together
made to last, forever strong

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown 


Not One

I am not one of you
I’m a sieve
A sponge
I adsorb your cue

I am not one of you
I’m a strum
A reciprocal vibration
I hear your hue

I am not one of you
I’m a bubble
A transparent vessel
I see right through

I am not one of you
I’m a translator
A personifier
I feel your askew

I am not one of you
I’m a palate
A canvas
I soak in, imbue

I am not one of you
I’m a double-take
A tip of the tongue
I’m Deja vu

I am not one of you
I’m a moment
A slide show
I’m a tribute

I am not one of you
I’m a quarry

An excavation

I’m a revue

-Image found on Tumblr, source unknown


trapped, pacing cavernous halls of yesterdays, in a labyrinth of memories, edges torn and frayed

soul dreading the echoes, reverberating of years,
flesh bearing cool patina, corrosion by fear,

her tired heart but a shadow of what could be,
thrumming erratic, amidst suffocating debris

-shared in response to DVerse’s Quadrille Challenge, Shadow

Some of Us

You don’t want to see the things
That rest behind your eyes
You don’t want to feel their weight
So, keep telling yourself more lies

You don’t want to feel their wrath
But while you try to hide
We all suffer watching you
Act out of ego and of pride

You don’t want to know yourself
Dig deeper and pull through 
To fight to hear your spirit speak
But some of us do

-oil painting by my oldest daughter, age 15

Clean Slate

Tell me, do you see me?
Or am I just a dream?

My being feels it’s moving 
My thoughts are racket-grooving

Tell me, are things as they seem?

Cuz, when I speak no sound escapes
And in the mirror, I have your shape

Tell me, do you see me?
Or am I just a scheme?

Could my heart be playing very cruel tricks?
Cuz, I’m starting to feel rather sick

In my gut I have this twisted feeling,
Telling me your heart is tired, needs some healing,

Perhaps you need something from me?

Am I but a harrowed memory,
Playing repeat on your screen?

For, it seems to me the reel is stuck,
Your feelings are running all amuck,
And you wish you could be freed

Tell me, how do you see me?
What does this all mean? 

Oh, God! I just realized – 
Perhaps I’m better as unseen
And I wish that I could find a way,
To wipe your weary slate clean

-image credit My Body My Image


Her heart was nearly frozen, hell in reverse
Icy cold chambers, pumping all perverse

Cracking like glass as it labored in frost
Protecting itself, whatever the cost

But it labored in vain, its freezing pointless
For, under the ice, was the unhidden mess

And, it wasn’t aware of its transparency
The freezing a disguise, through which we could see

Image found on pixabay.com.

Left Behind

you helped me to pick up the pieces,
to begin to mend and to hope,
your love gathering momentum,
tessellating itself around my heart,
creating something for which I’d only
ever dreamt 

you let me count on you,
believe in you,
need you 

and then you spoke those words,
ominous, dark clouds wafting  toward me,
filling all the space between forced breaths

those words I’ll never forget,
but watching your back as you walked away,
that’s when my breathing stopped,
that’s when I shattered into a million pieces of stained glass, 
becoming only the lead shell you left behind

I gave you everything,
and you left me frail,
nothing of who I once was

who we could have been,

-created for the daily prompt (tapping into feelings, not created in the wake of any current happening), image credit theodysseyonline.com

The Meadow

I dreamt of a wicked meadow beckoning,
of bashful blooms a rubescent red,
of a silvery sliver moon, 
clothing carelessly strewn,
and wily wildflower, watching ‘round our heads

I dreamt of dewy green, glimmering grass,
of making bed with petal and plume,
of passionate eyes,
carefree, primal cries,
and the plummeting pinnacle untombed

I dreamt of liquid stardust sweltering,
on fevered flesh, as cores collide,
of celestial glow,
bodies shimmering below, 
and shadows refusing to hide

Image credit http://www.wallpaperup.com
Shared as part of Dverse’s Open Mic Night