Uncomfortable Defaults

I ask permission

for even

the smallest actions,

because too many times

I was stripped naked

and never questioned.

I learned to gather

any enjoyment from

being of service.

Nervous,

I learned that

shutting down

made me safe.

I’m uncomfortable

unlearning

that which has protected me,

even though I know

the hands that now touch me

offer home;

My fears

vibrate in this healing space, because

I still hesitate.

I still shake,

unable to know how

to offer more

than

my default.

Unsure if I ever will.

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Surrender in Process

Hands still shaking from

the way you fucked me,

I sit solemn,

staring across the room

at a platter

of Christmas cookies.

Inadequacy breathes down my neck,

Reflecting how

I faltered with rules

and temptations

Out of sync in sensation

Gagged by an inability

to express how I feel.

I kept it in, mouth shut,

But my body let it out

Bloody nose,

orgasmic flow,

tears falling

hot,

and unrelenting.

My body has learned to surrender,

While my mind has not.

It only accepts that sometimes

my body is weak.

And I benefit from it.

I’m cold,

but the heat is on,

I have words,

but you are gone.

The pillows, the blankets,

my fingers-

they smell like you.

But this poem

is for me.

 

 

Thanks to the person with whom I able to figure out these kinks in my own time, and my own way.. No pun intended. Okay, maybe a slight pun.. ❤

Emotions Born of a Feminine Cage 10/17/16

There is a different pain

in understanding

than there is

in blind anger.

Revenge and hatred

rob you of opportunities.

The keep you in limbo, smoldering..

But they also take the edge off

through distraction and action.

Understanding means

you must accept

double the pain.

You must drop to your knees,

you must offer your heart,

Be vulnerable to start

over

again.

There is no immediate-

no direct effect- of understanding

but perhaps humility.

It keeps you not in fire, but in grief.

Both can exist in the same body,

but often

this burns bridges before you can cross them,

Floats signals of smoke before you speak.

We are often trapped then,

to condemn ourselves,

to one or the other:

As the women who react,

or the woman

you can walk over

and away from.

 

Written from the point of view of a woman living in a world where our emotions are often trivialized, and our experiences minimized.

Caked in Memories 12/07/17

I can feel myself enshrouding in isolation..
Its a curious temptation.
The desire to be alone

when all I crave

is to connect.
Birthdays are of only

 

one use to me:
Comparing myself

to previous incarnations

and
future assumptions

about where
this time and energy will place me.

 
Its always the hardest for my partners
When they want to get inside

 
And I let them pretend
By creating an outer layer of myself

 
That protects the most vulnerable parts of me from
Being seen. I cannot handle being seen,
as much as I desire.
I’m not sure there are many of us that can.

Compassion for the Suffering

Lovers,

They don’t mean to lie.

They tell you they’ll love you at your worst,

(because that is what we all want)

They tell you they won’t leave you,

(because no one ever wants to be left)

They say they prefer communication over distance,

(because its hard not to know) .

They say these things

(meaning well)

And so it goes.

 

Then they see you at your ugly/

Engorged in your deepest fears,

and those phrases become

simple mantras

to spear

the beast,

relinquish her

and bring you to “peace”.

 

….

 

One of the bigger fears is still here:

that now that they’ve seen the ugly,

they won’t be able to un-see it-

and its talons are only

shackled by a hope

it won’t matter.

(That you can come home)

 

 

But hope is not reality, and reality is that

we are human.

And so as soon as the armor drops,

peace bargained monsters subdued,

it can be expected

they will decide to take space,

to shelter their thoughts,

and leave you

alone.

 

This is not unprovoked.

You recognize why they asked you not to do these things.

How much it hurts.

You understand.

And so instead you say “Okay”.

Instead you say “Go on”-

Because you understand their desire to heal.

And how big all of this feels.

 

Trusting, you tuck away your fears, once more.

And relay on what they’ve said will bring them back-

in the past-

in their own anxiety backlash.

…..

 

You begin wondering again:

why you are so hard on yourself

for not being able to accomplish the things you are asked

(by others, by yourself).

 

Answer:                                                     We are only human.

And we are trying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Foe be a..

As you glance away,
I take the opportunity
To cup my hands
And scoop up the entity
of pain
You left in front of me.
Bending my elbows
I draw it into me
tender
And slow.
Here it sits
Encased in the
Warm,
clammy,
darkness
Of my palms: Fluttering

As you return your gaze
Words continuing
to slide off your teeth,
I’m only half listening,
Catching cues that tell me
When to nod or
murmer agreement.

Worry has traveled up my legs
And is now
tickling my spine
Uncomfortably.
The concern tells me
that
the longer I
hold on,
The more likely
I am
to release this being
Accidentally.

You haven’t noticed this
Struggle,
My primary focus
on getting
outside the present,
Where I can
release
this pain that resists
the confines
Of my skin,
And study it in the light.

You haven’t noticed,
Because I don’t want you too.
And you don’t want to either.

New Maternal Verses

 

I entered this world

Into the arms of a

Woman

To whom

I was equal parts

blessing

And

curse.

Addicted and ill,

The thrill of a child’s love

Could only break the wall

At the right time.

I, too little

To care for myself,

Was another let down in her

World of resentment-filled-giving.

Through her reactions,

I learned that love was

Only earned

Through tears spilled

Voice strained

into silence

from crying

Mom

mom

mom

While she muttered

Through drunken breath

About how she hated

Her existence;

Alternatively I learned

through the effort

Of lightening this burden,

Her burden of being

Little hands attempting

To wipe windows

Without streaks,

To keep being the best of 3,

Living her dreams,

To make her laugh endlessly.

It didn’t matter though,

Because she still left,

Despite my best efforts.

11 years old

And she never came home.

And when I reunited with her,

She was still gone.