Friday, March 30, 2012

Girly as hell...

If I’m never able to utter another word in this life I want you to know something, not just hear me say it but know … that I need you, utterly, helplessly and without wish for a cure. I need your help, your calm center, your rational force, your playful sweet nature. Know that every time I hear your voice I am struck with the enormous luck I have to be in your esteem. When you send me a message out of the blue I am awed and subjugated by my overwhelming affection. My heart races, my soul flutters and I can barely believe that this is not the dream of you from which I woke. When you tell me you love me, I shatter every time, knowing I cannot deserve this gift and yet you place it in my hands anyway.  When you speak to me with love I melt, when you speak to me sternly I bend to your will, when you speak to me as your lover I am blest and when you speak to me with lust I become a flood at your feet. When you place yourself into my care I am humbled by the gift, so precious and showing me so much trust. I want to hold you like a blooming glass flower. Fearful I’ll drop it I may hold too tightly, fearful you’ll snap I may hold too loose. It’s easier to see us both as chapters, comprising a book. We each add who we are and learn who the other is and grow together. My clever fox, my prince, my little princess, my knight, my love, my lover, my sweetness, my all. 

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


You go to be who you need to be
You go to bleed
arms reach out to embrace
to feel the air you left behind
warm traces of the perfume of your smile
hinting madness at screaming dawn
it isn't quite cold yet
not again quite dead
all these sweet sorrowfull visions
wrapping around my head
I'm falling apart
but right now i don't care
all i need surrounds me
i can smell it there
the traces of the perfume of your smile in my hair.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Flower dreams

How are we getting out of this? He’d looked so plaintive before that the relief washing over his face now they were free was palpable… had a taste to it even of wildflowers at dawn after a dark, thick night… “I just need to focus on my happy thoughts” she’d answered. He thought she’d been kidding, any sane person would have thought so. Realizing they were finally free and safe he looked at her smiling unbelieving at their luck. Her face was turned away down and apprehensive. “What is it?” he asked, fear stealing back over his heart so cold and fast it hurt. His hand came down along her cheek, lifting it to see the internal struggle taking place behind her eyes. “You.” She said quietly and drew a breath of resolve.  “You are…  ALL my happy thoughts”. He brought his lips down to greet hers as his arms wrapped closer around her holding her delicately but protected. Just between their hearts it started a glow… a seed which opened like a crystal flower sending wispy tendrils through the air between them.. around them… wrapping around their bodys and lifting them up.. higher into the air  and becoming all to warm… the kiss intensified and so did the heat… consuming… burning… charring… exhausting… till the flower was all that was left shrinking into itself and falling just a tear drop to the ground.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Maybe i'm too sensative...

i am wishing i could crawl into a hole
the anger
the hatred
it hurts
this is not the world i love
not the one i'd prefer to live in
the one that holds each other
supports each other
loves eachother
cares for children
in your life and those unknown
so i'm going back into my world
till this one can be brave enough to love again

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Just Words

They're just words.
Falling softly on my ear.
It's just a story
drawing me near.
It's just hope
winging toward you.
It's just fear
holding me here.

They're just words.
Feeling them touch me.
It's just a story
holding me each night
It's just hope
lifting my spirits
It's just fear
making me fight.

I never know enough
I never know it All
I don't know how much further i'll fall

Are there rocks at the bottom
will i hurt? will i crawl?
will there be tears? bloodshed?
Or bliss after all?

They're only Words.
but all i've waited to hear.
The sweet i love yous
falling softly on my ear

It's only a Story,
but much more than a dream,
all of this fantasy
driving all my screams

It's just Hope
of what may yet be
It's just Fear
holding me here
afraid of who i'll be

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Why i really hate X-mas

No i don't mean in a "Grinch like" i don't want anyone else to enjoy it either. My last real secular Christmas ended let's say poorly...
My Mother suffers from insanities as many and varied as traditions on Christmas morning. Being adopted she had always wanted to know her birth mother and biological family to the point where she was willing to accept a woman named Paula into our lives. Paula seemed a nice enough person if somewhat delusional herself, and with her came her husband who i rarely saw and their two young children. My baby brother at the time was living in a private school in Albany where they could study his behavior 24/7 to understand his learning disabilities and behavior/mental issues. I'd gotten my certification to babysit and perform first aid at the local college and was expected to babysit Paula's young children constantly with no pay as part of my rent.
I was 12... I was set to be Mary in the Christmas pageant that year, a high honor considering i'd typically been cast as the present nobody wanted, the elf with low self esteem and the angel that was just a little quirky ( think Larry the Cucumber). My mother was going to go pick my brother up from Albany that night and my father was working, i'd been looking forward to the time with my mother and brother but was informed last minute that i instead would be babysitting Paula's kids while she and my mother did some last minute shopping in the city. I relented on one condition... be back in time for me to be in my pageant that night. As they were going out the door Paula whispered to me, "Don't count on it." I was so mad but what could i do? And besides my mother would make sure they were back on time right?
10 o'clock came and went... then midnight... her little boy peed the bed, her daughter had a nightmare... 1 am. or shortly thereafter they came in the door laden with bags. I was mad. I asked where they had been that it had taken so long to get back, i asked if they'd remembered i was supposed to be somewhere hours ago. "Paula wanted to shop" insisted my mother as if that was enough of an explanation to avoid any responsibility. "But i was supposed to be at church..." Paula laughed a little bit and said "I'm your cousin."
"You're NOT my cousin." i whispered. It felt brave... This woman had no actual relation to me... she had convinced my mother that she was her cousin not with paperwork but with a similar build in her face that i never could see and with a "psychic feeling" that they belonged to each other. It was b.s. but it was life with my mother's ever evolving idiosyncranicities and madness. It wasn't brave, it was most decidedly stupid. If this was a movie or a story i am fairly sure there would have been the traditional "What did you say?" followed by either a retraction or swelling music and a brave gesture of defiant youth in reiterating the statement louder. What there was instead was a fist knocking me down onto a couch face first. This woman was short but not light, at nearly 300 pounds she was about double my tall but chubby weight and all of it came down knee first into my ribcage. She beat me...
I'd been hit before, by my mom and her plastic hairbrush that she broke over my jaw attempting to spank me, by fellow students ( i used to thank people who hit me in the face for saving me the cost of paying the orthodontist bill by straightening my teeth for me ) and in more extreme cases by fellow students, many of them older, who had a club named Kids Killing Cat... lovely moniquer right? who beat my brother and i one day with boards with nails stuck in them. (One of them has actually apologized, my friend James asked me how long after that he asked me out... yeah, i guess that doesn't really count.)
I'd been hit, but this was an adult beating me and she was pissed off. I remember my brother trying to help me and my mother holding him back telling him that i had been a bad girl and i deserved this for being disrespectful to my elders. The beating went on for what seemed like forever and no one stopped her. She stopped herself when she was too worn out to hit me with any real force. Panting, she stayed on my chest a bit longer then let me up and told me to go to her daughter's room. I couldn't stand. My mother and she picked my up under the arms, dragged me there and threw me onto the floor of her daughter's room and shut the door. I was alone, i didn't remember her kids getting up but they must have at some point. I rolled onto my side and coughed. Mixed in with the spit i was choking on was blood. When the door opened i had been expecting an apology... for no earthly reason... what i got was a terse, "when you are ready to apologize to Paula, you can come out and we'll leave. I can't believe how badly you embarrassed me tonight." I...i...
I have always been a creature of impracticality but with that comes a heavy dose of creativity. I couldn't bring myself to apologize for putting my body in the way of Paula's fist but they were expecting some kind of apology.  I got up, slowly using the bed and walked even slower out to the kitchen. "I'm sorry..." i said pausing but not breathing so i could tel myself it was one big phrase. "i got blood on your kids carpet." "Well there is going to be blood in the kids' Christmas cookies this year too" she said displaying the single scratch i had managed to get in in an attempt to defend myself.
I was excused to the car just after 3:30 am Christmas morning, it was freezing cold and i sat there and had probably the most worst decisions of my life to make. Do i report this? My mother would deny it, and be blamed for it... I would be removed from my home... and placed with the people who had been suing my parents for custody of me for 4 years at that point. So at 12 i'm sitting in a car at 3:30 am Christmas morning a walking bruise and asking myself which is worse? Do i want to be beat or raped? I decided being beaten was by far the better answer. Almost an hour later my mother and brother came down the stairs and out to the car and we went home.
My Father freaked out, by then i was turning a darker shade of purple and looked pretty alarming. My mother tried to convince him that it was my fault and failed. I tried to convince him that this was still better than me being dragged out of the house to live with my mother's parents. I succeed. We all sat down to open the presents we'd been eying under the tree for weeks. Mine were plentiful though as we opened them it became clear it was a misnomer... what greeted me under the tree was individually wrapped socks and underpants, my father had let mom do all the shopping and mine had been done at the dollar store. I was then instructed to bring Christmas cookies to the neighbors houses and forbidden from hiding my bruises... I snuck my scarf and hat and gloves in my jacket and but them on around the other side of the big trees where mom couldn't see me and refused all invitations to come in, removing them in the same place before coming inside again. What to my wondering eyes should appear returning home but mom... destroying all the ornaments, throwing them hard into the box of decorations, since i had ruined Christmas for her and then.... she kicked me out.
When i was 14 my dad did the best thing ever by kicking her out instead. His following girlfriends insisted he spend Christmas with their family and one year i even went along sat in the back bedroom watching movies and everyone forgot i was there. When i was 20 we opened presents one night it was small and fake in a way i couldn't stomach but it wasn't even on Christmas night. If i had a husband... If i had kids... I might be sitting at the foot of a tree all lit up and sparklie, singing carols and drinking egg nog ( well nog ... i'm egg intolerant) but i've gotten a tree... put it up and decorated and it just feels... wrong somehow... I love Christmas service with the candles and pageantry but i am sworn off typical x-mas for a time undisclosed... please understand that i just don't want to play with this fake Norman Rockwell image of a perfect happy Christmas day. I am much more satisfied with quiet lights and nog.

Monday, October 25, 2010


She awoke with a start. She wasnt' breathing. Why couldn't she breathe? Scared and panicking she snorted air in through her nose. Good. It smelled awful and each intake was sore and headachy, like she'd just run a mile and couldn't take in the air fast enough through her sore and tortured lungs. She drank the air in like cool water except it was a hot hose on a summer day.  When her thirst for air was manageably sated, she moved her lips. If she moved them back and forth she could feel the sticky canvas backside of the duct tape over it. The more she wiggled the more freedom she gained, but such triumphs were small and increasingly frustrating. Her nose was broken, she was aware of that now. She could feel the splintering and swelling. The swelling that made it so hard to breath in through her nose in the first place. Her hair was wet with sweat and blood. She could feel it sticking to her forehead and tiny tugs where blood had started to dry it to her skin like a scab as she tried to move her head around. The room pitched and vomit rose at the sticky sweet smell of her own blood and the blinding white pain behind her eyes as she reached unexpectedly the limit of her motion.
Her head bobbed there for a moment and it all sunk in very quickly. The itching feeling of the rope around her wrists and the burning where she'd been trying to wiggle free in her sleep.  A quick tug told her the efforts had caused her wrists to swell, any hope she had of slipping out was dashed. The shooting pain in her left arm let her know that when they'd been wrenched behind her it had been either strained or out and out broken. She'd have to worry about that later. She was on her knees on concrete. The tiny bits of gradient bit into her kneecaps and shins. So she was knelt on her knees but standing was impossible not just for the bounds around her legs, arms and hands but as the bonds were  connected. 

... Not sure what to do with this yet the first part came to me suddenly and the rest is fading a bit... maybe because i'm sick or maybe cause i don't want to go here...