Pinch


I love you, I smile,
like always

but like anything I wear 
that doesn’t quite fit, 
it pinches

-image Mümin Sarıkaya via Pinterest

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(Re)Visit


I don’t visit often enough.
I tell myself it’s the distance,
work, time’s pull, insistent;
my schedule is rough.

But there’s unrest in my heart
that tells me that’s not true.
Instead of feeling closer to you,
seeing you only rips me apart.

Every time I see your face,
a little piece of me dies;
I feel the sadness you try to disguise,
the years of running a losing race.

I see too much
I see how you might look on my face.

-image via Pixabay

Hooked

below them,
the dark streets beckoned
with crimson light,
come dance with me
in the pale moonlight

as their eyes vibrated electric
in fight or flight,
with hair drenched in sweat,
whole-body tremors,
and no appetites

hooked, no money in their pockets,
they hunted like wolves
in the night,
lines so bent and blurred,
wrong looked a lot like right

they did what they must
to feed the hungry demon’s grip
all day and night –
ain’t no sleepin’ tight tonite,
out there, the bedbugs bite

-image via Pixabay; created in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie First Line Friday, where the First Line was ‘below them the dark streets beckoned with crimson light’

Weapon of Choice

I am alive,
so awakened by the magic in my life I chose to create,
I’m bursting at my seams to explore,
but this life’s constraints allow only so much exploration

I’m afraid if I don’t explore these parts of me,
I’ll explode

and if I do get the opportunity to explore them,
I may also explode

so, here I am,
stuck,
a caged bird,
pulling out my own feathers to keep my mind occupied

famished,
ravenous for something food can’t satisfy,
though I sometimes try

this extra weight my battle scar,
the tangible evidence of my fight against myself,
and not taking care of myself my weapon of choice

-image via Tumblr

Drown

words, words, all around;
what was lost, now is found,
I took off the shroud

that’s how my spirit feels;
diving deep, keeping it real,
my heart offered, your next meal

devoured with skimming eyes,
white lies, no replies,
the ‘like’ a disguise, bleeding me dry

why?

sometimes I drown in this digital sea;
can’t see the real me,
lungs choking on hyperbole 

-image via Pixabay

Fate

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried

my soul became raw from fighting against itself;
everywhere I walked, my fate walked with me,
dragging along, crashing into my heels,
a suitcase with two broken wheels

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried

lugging around that suitcase, 
I told myself fate was that which nestled itself inside,
and the only way to outrun it, 
was to keep that zipper closed tightly, 
and to fight like hell

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried 

what they don’t say,
is that fate is a living, breathing thing,
which is not static;
it grows and evolves along side us,
wisdom lying in wait,
a fairy godmother with no wand

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried 

what they don’t say,
is that truth and love are magic,
and seeking it is our fate,
and the only way to find it,
is to stop fighting against it,
to unpack,
to listen

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
so I stopped trying 

-Image via Pinterest; submitted as part of the dVerse Open Link Night #207

Don’t See Me


opportunity doesn’t knock, it slithers,
it wriggles and burrows with its chattering teeth,  
until it tunnels down, down, down,
clawing and eating away at my insides –
and I feed it

I nourish it with eyes that see, but pretend not to,
with haunting excuses hovering in wait, 
gathering to lock fingers and create a wall no human could possibly scale 
alone

they hide my most precious secret

knees to chest, arms wrapped tightly around, 
and eyes unable to meet yours – 

don’t see me

I am not what you think
(I am not what I wish I was)

-image via Pinterest

Shameless

there was a void inside her,
a dark closet with a locked door
where she dare not ignite the filament,
for, when light spread its ominous tentacles, 
fearful tears came and eyes averted, 
while scratchy, well-used voices shouted at her from shadowed corners,
reminding her she shouldn't, 
couldn't, 
didn't measure up,
doesn't deserve

'good girls don't, 
curvy girls can't,
what would others think?
you can't be worth the effort

but, with him,
there was no tick on the wall
in which to measure up

with him, not only should she,
but it was expected of her

with him, she could open the door,
demolish the closet,
make room for light and dark
and all the in-between, 
all the time

he made her feel worthy,
and forget about what anyone else thinks 

he made her feel beautiful,
powerful,
herself

with him,
she is shameless

-image via Pixabay