Add dash of giggle, splash of molasses;
powdered sugar all over our asses.
Throw in boisterous grin,
as he gives me a spin;
cookies would taste grand, but he’s delicious!
Image found via Pinterest, shared in response to Mind and Life Matters’ Limerick Challenge, Taste.
she was inevitable,
undeniable;
he was drawn into her wake,
a balloon tied to her wrist
he loved her;
she filled his thoughts,
compelled his actions,
stole his heart –
he would do anything for her
he loved her,
and he listened;
he listened,
and instead of drowning,
instead of getting lost in a world
of her pain and fear,
he tried to be the map out of it
he knew her –
so there was no swooping;
he just took hold,
almost imperceptibly,
becoming the truest thing in this world
she could count on,
so that anything she did,
every seemingly trivial thing,
became like everything else she did –
free
-image via Pixabay
sleepy eyes wake to salmon hue
sneaking between the window shades
inviting feet to follow, out
to savor what the gods have made
billowing cotton stretches the sky
as I breathe in the chilly air
and little paws dance on frosty grass
reluctant to leave his lair
warmth radiates in steamy wafts
from my favorite coffee mug
filled with the best pour-over blend
made for me, the perfect hug
thinking pad and clean white sheets
lay before me, calling me home
I sink to inky depths, welcomed
direction completely unknown
her heart was hand hewn,
a butchered block of aged wood –
heavy,
weathered,
cracked and dry
it no longer beat;
it only pained her,
its weight a foggy barrier,
keeping distance or closing in –
she wasn’t sure which
all she knew was that it hurt,
its splinters scraping against its walls,
gnashing at the soft tissue,
tearing through
and flooding her chest with dust
-image via Pixabay
That’s all our history is to you,
isn’t it?
Or, rather, that’s all you hope it is for me.
Scar tissue.
Itchy,
too tight for proper range of motion,
tender,
limiting.
Lasting.
Your mouth says you never meant to hurt me;
I hear your words.
But your actions say something entirely different,
every time.
Because there’s always another time.
You think you’re a knife;
you aim to slice,
deeper, and deeper, still.
But you’re not;
you’re a blunt object.
You hover, in wait,
bludgeoning hard(est) at those who open themselves to you.
You try to take advantage,
to gain trust,
and then trap,
confuse,
mame.
But you’re blunt, after all;
so let’s not mistake you as sharp or keen –
you’re perceptionless,
brusque,
dull.
You’re a one-trick pony.
You’re a bulldozer when a trowel will do,
a hammer when there are no nails.
And there are those of us who are sharper,
keener,
complex,
quicker.
Able.
Sure, you hurt –
but you don’t last.
We are able to leave you in our dust.
-image via Pinterest, original source unknown
marrow’s running dry,
soon, you’ll be left with dust and bone,
who will carry those burdens, then,
when your soul is called to home?
time’s ticking’s creating echoes,
heavy heart holding you still,
you and your loved ones grieving,
yet your feet remain planted here
will you dare lay burdens down?
will you let them inside?
will you allow someone to help carry?
or, will you continue to hide?
the last train will come, no doubt;
it will leave them all behind –
will you find your ticket,
or will you be taken by surprise?
-image via Pinterest, original source unknown
Once upon a time never existed;
her childhood was mangled and twisted.
Grief she’s finally feeling,
her heart mending and healing;
creating her own, hope persisted.
-image by fabrizio.panattoni via Pinterest
I am not what you see
or who you think you perceive
I do not exist as you believe
or in which state you deem as truth
behind my eyes,
beneath this skin,
is an entire universe
apart
and you can’t come in;
you’re not invited
here
-image via Pinterest, original source unknown
they slide in beneath the downy white cover,
and she scoots over to him,
snuggling in,
her entire length making contact,
leg draped over his own,
arm resting upon his chest,
her head pillowed onto the crook of his arm,
and her breath a hot rhythm upon his chest
he closes his eyes –
she’s so close,
he isn’t sure where she ends and he begins –
he can hardly believe the warmth of her,
and not just the heat her body permeates,
but the way her presence is this peaceful seed that plants itself deep inside him,
growing and growing,
blossoming from his center,
making him completely aware of the thereness of her
and all he can do,
is hope
-image via Pinterest, original source unknown
I dare to close my eyes,
to be still and content,
despite the blackness,
threatening ascent,
almost instantaneously,
feeling rapid descent,
but it’s not black,
where was I sent?
it’s all so bold,
and lines are bent,
in technicolor,
with vivid accent,
non-linear and sharp,
the not-shapes torment,
rippling hues spinning,
a vortex of dissent,
hands and fingers paw at me,
a sea of malcontent,
this sensory kaleidoscope,
I’m overwhelmed, spent,
rapid breath in all blues,
but it’s stuck like cement,
I can’t feel my skin,
is this going to relent?
am I still sleeping?
where have I went?
if this is dreaming,
I don’t give my consent,
bring back the blackness,
this is not what I meant
-image via Pinterest, The end of yesterday by Delira
