Why I Didn't Catch Myself
Falling with slow motion grace -
a belly flop on familiar ground,
numb to the breakdown of my circumstance.
The yelling in my mind
echoes the reality of yesterday
and I am subject to hear my humiliation
repeatedly, a wearisome waterfall in my mind.
My encounters steadily undo my laces
so I trip over my feet to fall flat
into this pungent pit of despair.
With unconscious scripts playing out
I am ignorant of how to catch myself.
Surrendering to what seems inevitable,
I suddenly awaken stinging and shaken -
I should have known, but didn't think I was human.
Your Secret
orchid from the mud will rise
to feel the razor's kiss
the satin ribbon of silence
caresses my dark secret
I protect you
Father
from choking on the shame
of my misery
with muffled tears
and too many years
of waking nightmares
you corrupt my body
and yet
you will not curse my spirit
though I am frozen
in terror
from vampire kisses
and what goes unspoken
I must unwind
the satin ribbon of silence
no longer will
I protect you
Father
from choking on your shame
because it is my spirit that drowns
in the muffled tears
so I will forgive myself
for surviving
prayers for my lost innocence
answered
no more suffocation
from satin ribbons of silence
Rags
touching the thin silk
I want to fall forward
fall in and forget
perhaps the fault is mine
stepping backward
to behold the beauty
I hope will never fade
but I know better
those who are ignorant of his story
are doomed to repeat it
I can't see silken beauty
I only see history
silk so breathtaking
and I'll just let it slide
sacrifice a smooth silky swatch
so my spirit can survive
storing this queasy, uneasy feeling
I always feel like I'm leaning back
on a chair about to fall
but catch myself in time
maybe this time I'll turn
and walk away
falling forward into my future
his violence rips at my heart
shredding my silk into slivered rags
because that's all it ever was to him
just an imagination
never to know what could've been
silken secrets spun in silence
blow their whispers in the wind
my special beauty was something
more than he could have imagined
Forget-me-nots
After the rainfall, a dry wind takes root
admiration adrift with the chill of dispute.
Will our marriage amount to memories of a garden's flowering scent
congested by the selfish weeds of resentment?
Falling drops bathe my packed bags
spattering the ink of airline tags.
I tear away these paper banners from our honeymoon
My hopes and dreams were flowers unable to bloom.
I find myself falling for your cruel tongue and deception;
twisted words make me question my perception.
Touching the thin membrane between decision and indecision,
I don't really want to go through with this division.
One day my love, you will understand what it means
to tend our marriage garden and grow Love's greens,
You will repair broken fences and water Hope's grass.
Treasure the blossoms because they don't always last.
You told me I was no longer your honored flower
while you sat smugly righteous and glowered.
The season is ending and with winter chill
the garden dies, but my love never will.
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Pictures (A Seven Chapter Story of Struggle)
I.
She slides on silky softness;
whispering words she hopes
will win you.
Wondering what beauty she has
to gift you
that will be worthy of your wanting.
Many men have tried to tame
this unicorn...
But she has chosen to love you.
She is anticipating your affection,
your touch...
Are you thinking of her too?
Does your desire for her daze you?
II.
Unbelievable adoration
as she hears you say,
"It's like I have a hot model for a girlfriend!"
Undisputed when your friends tell her
she's the most smoking hot
you've ever been with
and your love...
the most love she's ever felt.
III.
Pristine pixels appear
offering salacious innocence.
An adoring Asian exhibitionist
with ear-to-ear amusement,
pornographic Angels in pink panties
smiling platinum approval,
while bosom blossoms spy on you.
A stripped stranger in the clearing,
in your seeming accidental seclusion
her hands pull you down to screw her.
A sweaty sock spasm
an important daily consolation
from the battering burden.
There is comfort in the ritual release
and simulated significance;
a way to get through the day...
IV.
Appraising her evanescent esteem
she smiles smoothly and slides
down between your thighs
and falls flat-faced.
This becomes a mundane formality
of her fractured friendship.
Rejecting her invitations
time and time again...
she deliberates her defectiveness,
and resigns her dreams.
Silly to suppose she could arouse
with her dull, discarded design.
You've illuminated your hunger
You want women,
(not woman)
It goes unsaid...
your wife cannot be variety.
You reassure her that this is man's machinery.
Trusting in acceptance
she resigns her hope
that you would want her more than anything
and not for convenience.
Silent sightless rivulets
flow down her cheeks
as she contemplates being special to you.
Why do you prefer pixelated pretenses?
V.
She is on a slow motion march
to insanity
so you promise attention
and she trusts she is a priority.
Confidence's blossoming beauty
becomes the garden she struggles to grow.
She constrains her crushing concern;
envelops you in an emotional embrace.
She bequeaths her body
and shares her soul.
Her hands caressing her hopes
across your arms and down your chest.
Your mind so far away...
enclosed in frivolous fantasy
of your friend's wife neglected,
eager and found wanting
suggesting shower time play.
She holds you hoping,
She holds you waiting,
She holds you anxious.
And asks again,
"What were you thinking of?"
She holds her breath...
You tell her of his wife
and how hot in time of need.
You tell her of imagined
shower scenes
of how special it makes you feel.
She blinks.
The words choking off her air;
her belly throws a two-year old temper tantrum.
Don't forget to breathe.
It isn't as bad as her birthday
when you pretended she was Japanese
(because you love the variety)
or when she was your friend's daughter...
VI.
Bending over in springtime tank top
handling her household chores
she hears,
"I love that camera angle!"
Descending into alignment with
carefully crafted photographs,
she tastes despair like bleach.
"Wanna do it?"
VII.
Courage asphyxiated by doomed hope
she hopes for doom.
For acidic annihilation
bests anguished heartache.
Beautiful brightness in her bosom,
and stunning sexiness in her smile.
She barely sees herself
beyond bare-breasted pale porn stars.
And you barely break through breasts
to see her heart breaking
while in fear, she never turns you down.
Aware that in her "camera angle"
you will want her,
she bends over the counter...
"Sure"
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