Mine

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Ahh, look at her –
there’s something inevitable about her that draws me in,
my eyes can’t get enough,
I’m addicted

she has this quiet, humble confidence and these kind, welcoming eyes,
a classic, artful line about her

the graceful curve of her shoulder muscles eluding to her tranquil strength,
her delicate neck and the unpretentious way she holds herself, mesmerizing,
a tactile symmetry that whispers my name

the way the silky, black fabric rests on the soft edges of her collarbone,
making me wish I could follow them beneath

her exposed upper back begging for soft kisses,
for finger trails that cause the rest to arch in anticipation,
making me want to see just that

and there she sits,
tucking in a few stray strands of that beautiful, auburn hair,
twisted so effortlessly off her shoulders,
completely unaware of the attention,
her beauty so natural,
an easy, feminine elegance,
all woman,
mine

I’m gonna walk over there,
gonna wrap my arms around her and lead her to dance floor,
kiss the muscled line running from behind her ear and down her neck,
the one that leads to that inviting dip in her clavicle

I’m gonna listen to her gasp against my cheek,
feel her heartbeat quicken beneath my palms

I’m gonna hold her so close,
she won’t ever forget how I feel about her,
she won’t ever remember a time she wasn’t loved

-image credit Öykü, found on Tumblr

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yes, I can hear you
but I can’t let you in
I’ve gotten so lost
in these webs that I spin

I open my mouth
but no sound comes out
I can’t find my voice
my throat is all drought

my heart is the opposite
it’s pumping too much
overflowing and clouding
everything that I touch

emotions so large
they threaten to break me
I want and I need
but I fear you will flee

so, don’t come too close
you’ll get stuck in here, too
I’ll pull and then push
until you’re black and you’re blue

…unless, by some chance
you really wish to stay…
the key is all yours
I have so much to say

Created in response to the Daily Post, Voice

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

Confession

please forgive me, for I have sinned,
it’s been so long since my last confession

on my knees, I poured out my heart,
but only left with more questions

the penance you gave, brought me no absolution,
I counted and prayed, slid the beads trough my fingers

yet the weight on my shoulders, just felt much heavier,
each step so wobbly, with a guilt that still lingers

what do you want from me?
haven’t I paid?

I walk with compassion,
on this ground that you paved

I give of my core, hope for each soul I encounter,
my heart is so open, it often gets crushed

and why, oh why, does it seem,
that my own voice is always hushed?

can you hear me?
do you care?

Oh, God – what if the one not listening,
is the me who’s too scared?

-image credit fineart-photos via Tumblr

Someday 

many days I’ve asked myself,
when will someday come?

daydreaming of a future when
the busyness fades to a hum

days when work and alarms and cars
fade to choice, no longer need

when less is more, and I can close the door
and go as slowly as I please 

many days, I’ve asked myself, 
what if someday never comes?

but, I wonder, have I been asking 
the wrong questions to myself

for, isn’t today, a someday, too?
and I need to take it off the shelf

-photo by Richard Meeks

Stuffed


Standing at the kitchen counter, she stared at the bag of Doritos. She’d promised herself she’d treat herself well, energizing her body with fuel that truly made her feel good, inside and out. She knew how, she’d done it before; she’d lost 80 pounds naturally, with will, and sweat, and tears, and finding what worked for her, over and again, through every misstep and plateau.

Yet, here she was, staring at the open bag of Doritos, sliding in her hand, promising herself she’d eat just a few.

Oh, wow. I forgot how good these are. A few more won’t hurt, I deserve them. 

That few allowed a few more, and a few more, until the rest of the bag was gone.

It was so easy, even now, after all that hard work, for her to squash that reasonable voice which begged her to stop, that reminded her how awful she’d feel after. And she knew that awful feeling! She’d stared at the bottom of dozens of Dorito bags in the time before. She’d rationalized that voice away hundreds and thousands of times, allowing fear and stress to twist her thoughts ass-backward and tell her she deserved to eat yummy things, to be rewarded for her hard work and effort, and not feel deprived. She’d felt that all too brief euphoria after the indulgences, stuffing that rational voice to the pit of her gut under all that junk. She’d stuffed it away until the scale read 260.

It had been been an endless cycle of stuffing feelings, feeding them with food, and feeling guilt and shame. It would be now, too, if she let it.

Staring at the empty bag, she was sure her shame would more than fill it. It grew and grew, until it took up all the space in the room, permeating her pores, infiltrating her gut to a wretching level. Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the bag….crack, crack, crack. She winced at each crack, the sound a tangible reminder of her weakness. 

Wiping away the tears, she walked the six steps to the bathroom. She glared at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she contemplated sticking her fingers down her throat, purging and purging until all that molten shame was out, flushable.

That’s too easy. I have to live with the consequences, that’s what I deserve. 

Again, tears came, trickling down her cheeks, dripping from her jawline into the sink, although she paid them no attention.

Oh, God. How did I get here again?

“Help me,” she whispered, to no one, the no one looking back at her.

-image found on Pinterest, source unknown; this is a fictional piece based on real life

Swimming in Circles

’round and ‘round and ‘round I go
hope in circles, love below 

waves behind, ripples ahead
undertow above footbed

in a school, both lost and found
yet chasing tail, ‘round and ‘round

off’ring scales like Rainbow Fish,
unrealistic was my wish

down below, I do belong 
the ‘round and ‘round feels all wrong 

aesthetic is not for me 
I must dive, exhale, be free

-image credit afarcry.org