Time Passing

it’s been over 14 years,
of chasing my tail ‘round and ‘round,
simultaneously bored out of my mind,
and saturated with touch and sound

5,177 days
of being lonely but never alone,
of being physically and emotionally drained, 
while my brain atrophied, shriveled to none

124,248 hours,
full of ideas and personal revelation,
so many things I’ve needed to say,
but no one with which to have conversation

7,454,880 minutes,
of creative thoughts popping into my head,
but never enough time to write them, 
to see where they may have lead

447,292,800 seconds 
wondering if I’ve wasted too much time,
worrying about the little things, 
instead of experiencing joy in this heart of mine

-image via Pixabay

Friendship

I’m not the most book-smart gal,
and I process rather slow

no formal education taught me
the things my heart knows

no golden plaque on the wall
could measure how my spirit grows

and no fancy dress or bank account 
could replace my love that freely flows

I’m just a girl who pays attention,
who shows up when others go

who listens and loves all of you,
who in tough times helps you tow

who isn’t embarrased to share deeply,
to let down barriers and overflow

and, I need that kind of friend, too,
whose love isn’t afraid to show

who understands that the only way
to be truly loved, is to be known 

-image via Pixabay

Gardening

the sweet glow of summer rests,
ripened to golden on cheeks,
as fastidious fingers tug and pull
that which is not meant
to take root

a curious breeze blows welcomed secrets,
as deliciously sore muscles
and hard-earned sweat
unearth truths once hidden
beneath the now upturned
soil and rocks

anxious leaves rustle a whispered concerto in the tree tops,
as she gathers herself in handfuls,
piece by organically grown piece,
leaving behind for fertilizer
that which is no longer useful
above ground

and when the work for today is done,
she rests,
under the blue light of the August moon,
ready for the change a’comin’

-image credit Pinterest; shared as part of dVerse Poets Open Link Night; also shared as part of Mindlovemisery’s tale weaver 

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

Rented Sin


sitting in a row of ducks and gooses,
feeling out of place, 
squarely obtrusive,
amid the proud peacocks with their
never-ending pretending,
whitewashed souls dipping fingers 
in a bath of masks,
hiding flasks,
seeking absolution solution,
pocketful of beads,
conveniently erasing greed,
living in flashy suits of rented sin

come on in

-image via Pixabay

Transparent

she’s imperfect in a world that strives for perfection,
instead seeking connection,
while embracing those ill-fitting grooves,
nothing left to prove,
challenging the rerun tapes,
and trashing the old capes

alive in her willingness to be free,
as she

finally able to see with clarity,
who it is she’s meant to be,
exposing her heart,
whole, not just part,
embracing her vulnerability,
and the risk that accompanies

for, that is her true self,
an open book, no longer on the shelf

yet there are days when weighted tears streak the menacing mirror,
when her heart is tired, sadness deeply spearing her

when the looking glass seems transparent,
and others’ stares are overwhelmingly apparent,
when she feels trapped on the inside,
desperate to hide

while others peer in

-image found via Pinterest, artwork by SAUL LANDELL 

Pickle Jar

she snuggled into him,
resting her head in the nook of his shoulder,
finding it was made just for her

here, her soul was at rest,
a rest she hadn’t ever known before,
and closing her eyes,
she savored

the way his palm delicately glided over her curls,
fingers grasping in silky handfuls and lifting,
each individual strand falling to a goose-fleshed tickle against her back 

the whispered words, warm against her cheek, 
swelling her heart and causing her lip to quiver,
the gentleness of his soft lips against her forehead,
and arms which drew her so close, 
she could no longer tell where he ended 
and she began

she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting –
she wanted to preserve each breath  as she breathed it,
every feeling as it overtook her

scooping each fluttering second into an old pickle jar,
she filled it to the rim,
illuminating like a warm summer night’s fireflies

alive,
and forever lighting 
the way home 

-image found via keywordsuggests.com

Bleed

it’s said we bleed the things 
we love the most

all I can think about
is the way you sneak behind me
in the kitchen and squeeze me into you, 
nuzzling your face into my neck,
whispering sweet and naughty
phrases as your whiskers tickle,
giving me goosebumps 

the way you tuck me in at night,
pulling the covers up just how I like them,
smoothing the white duvet, 
tucking it over my exposed shoulder
so I don’t get cold, 
then crawling in to mold your body 
around mine

the way you watch me when I don’t know 
you’re watching, 
and I look up, meeting your gaze unexpectedly,
only to see that expression on your face
that still gives me butterflies,
the look in your eyes saying much more 
than words ever could

the way we laugh till our bellies hurt, 
and cry free tears,
our emotions free to be exactly 
what they are

the way you exude appreciation 
and gratitude

the way you make me feel 
safe and wanted,
protected and adored

the way you make me feel 
like I am exactly where 
I belong 

if we bleed the things we love most,
then surely I bleed 
you 

-image via Pixabay

Forever

You allowed me to silence the noise,
To listen to my voice,
A conscious choice,
To feel the pain to find the joys

You are the sparkle in my spirit,
The waterfall to my basin,
The steady voice; I always hear it,
The capital to my nation

With you, I can finally exhale,
Adding tools, while sinking nails,
Trading anchors for billowing sails,
Building foundation, while blazing trails

You allow me to dig deep, finding me –
To stop fighting against rules,
Because we write our own, as it should be
Freely fashioning our own tools

-image found on Tumblr