Not Quite Shards

Cracked pane,
lightning splintering jagged
edge to edge

Not quite shards,
Plates hold
Balanced

New space created
One to many
Delicate footing

Held fast
With hope and
Sheer will

Not quite shards,
Rumbling trucks pass by
Rattle the smallest piece

Loose
A glinting shower
Of dreams

All shards now
And an empty
Pane

Willow

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It seems our agreement shifted. And if I wanted to I would. If I believed anything other than the past would repeat itself, I’d behave differently. If I had it in me, I’d be right back on board. But,

I don’t have it in me. I don’t believe anything other than the past will repeat itself. In my deepest depths, recesses of my heart and mind, all my hidden coves, I know that nothing will change. I know that I will go through this over and over until I’m completely destroyed. Angry. Hateful. Resentful. Incapable.

And that’s not who I want to be. Not who I am. Not a person I’m willing to become.

I believe in goodness, in love. I believe in awareness, in knowing when you’re done, in trusting to know when we’ve reached an impasse.

It’s not that your aren’t worth it. You are my greatest love. You are everything I hoped and ever wanted. You are a kaleidoscope.

But I have scar tissue built up around my ability to go back. It’s marbled, knobby, held fast. I can see no, feel no, believe no other way.

The distance stretched too far this time. My heart is hardened. My hope proved insufficient. Asking for work, effort, belief, is out of the question. I’m tired. And I can’t.

I won’t.

A Measure of Weakness

Weakness exists in the mind of the slighted. You’re weak
In the mind of the one who cannot own. I was weak
Weakness, the idea of it, is an excuse. Protection against truth, honesty, ownership.
Weakness exists in heart of the broken. I am weak
In the heart of the lost. They were weak
Weakness, the idea of it, is a comfort. A barrier against pain, reality, ownership.
Weakness exists in the breath of the disillusioned. Crushed, forced from them until the final wisps trail out
Along paths worn deep.
And Empty.

i think i’m the worst sort of person. when is it okay to hurt someone else? when is it okay to say i can’t do this? only the worst sort would consider it. a person who thinks they deserve more than what they’ve got. that it could be better somewhere else. that constant waiting for the other shoe to drop will leave. the ebb and flow no longer dictated by desire or addiction. just ebb. ebb and ebb and ebb. til it’s gone.

but it’s never gone. even if you flush it out. chase it away. cut it from your heart. it’s still there. always hidden in the unsuspected. no matter the precautions taken. no matter the questions. no matter the reservations. always there. always ready to show me i’m wrong.

i am the worst sort of person
for wanting more than what i’ve got.

Musical Dreams

Oh how I long
for a romantic song
Not
about co-dependence and
lack of boundary keeping.

Make it mainstream
With thoughts for the teens
To ponder
Perseverate
And perhaps inspire change.

Communication and
owning what’s yours
Admitting a wrong
and forgiving.

A new world will begin
One we wish we lived in
But never realized it’s ours
for the making.

Puma Passes Out

Puma paced, preoccupied.
Perhaps, she went too far this time.
Her heart, she followed, though plummeting inside.

Puma played it safe, you see, her designs always quite clean.
Pedestrian, pacifying, plain.

Please.

Puma pulsed within, craving dynamic peppy seams.
Passion for fashion pushed her over the edge.
Now she waits for the critics to drop their sledge.

The paper slips under her door.
Puma pounces, peeks, prays.
And before she can pull her eyes away,
Puma sees Princess Pud
On the full cover front page,
Parading about in her new favs

The headline reads:
Princess Pud Proudly Prances in Her New Puma Puffy Pantses!

Puffy Pants are all the rage
Thanks to Puma and her plucky passion for forward thinking fashion!

Oh, good god,
She can hardly believe it.
Puma passes out
Just to conceive it.