Vengeance

She stands still, looking out over the sea

I hold my breath, watching from an upstairs window

Does she know she isn’t alone?

 

A breeze takes her by surprise, and a curl

Of hair is pulled from her cap

Blowing gently across her face.

 

Does she sense another presence,

Another pair of eyes-observing?

There is a noise in the distance, and

She abruptly turns her head to locate.

 

I instinctively take a step back in my place

Of concealment

But I have no reason to cower

The shadows give me the upper hand

Does she know she is my salvation?

 

Everything is so much simpler than

I had previously thought

For all my calculations and detailed notes-

My breathe still catches every time

She moves.

 

Observation is not understanding, but

It’s pretty close

And anticipation carries a purpose

Does she sense, in her bones, my

Ache and longing?

 

Before I realize what’s happening

I’m reaching out to take hold-

My arm, exposed to the moonlight,

My hand slowly closing into a fist.

 

As the waves crash along the shore

She’s dropping to her knees

Clutching at her throat

Scratching for breath,

Staining her soft white neck

With a frenzy of red.

 

I realize this is my choice

I realize I deserve this

And at the same time

It will also prove to be my undoing.

 

But I have waited

I have kept still and quiet

In the shadows

 

And as my grip tightens,

I watch her reach out once more

To the hissing night-

Before tumbling down

Into the ocean.

 

Then all is still

The deed is done

I only hope to God

The ocean will

Wash away my sins.

Photo Credit: SageScapes Flickr via Compfight cc

The Ones We Leave Behind

Just whispers in the night
After they’ve helped us
Bury the body.

Dirty hands so raw,
Cracked and bleeding
Heavy breathing,

Once it’s complete
Collapse in the snow
And stare up at the
Howling moon.

I left you there,
Your image fading into the night
As I walked away

Because
What’s there left to say,
At that point?

Photo Credit: Rusty Russ via Compfight cc

Uncomfort

We do all sorts of things we’re uncomfortable with. We become all sorts of people we’re uncomfortable with. We keep changing, so slowly at first that we never notice until one day, we look in the mirror, and the eyes staring back are unfamiliar and glazed. We’ve not noticed that person before. That person with that look. How unbecoming-to look so real, so raw, so lost.
Do we grab the concealer, shake it off, and continue on, another act-like everything is okay?
Do we omit this strange and unnerving feeling from our daily conversation, so as to not disturb or confuse the flow of things?
Keep ignoring and you will explode. Maybe not now, but eventually you will see that face in the mirror, really see them for who they are: you pleading with yourself to notice what you need. You’ll finally take notice, maybe because it’s been years since you really said yes to that person, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of longing, but mostly from regret. That you were too stubborn or blinded to notice yourself sooner. Who else feels what you feel? Who else can possibly check in and feel what you need, better than you? If you learn how.
What about the why? Why do we find ourselves stuck like this? Why do we compromise so much of ourselves, our voice, our likes, dislikes, desires, and freedoms? For the smiling faces of others? Don’t fool yourself: behind most smiles therein lies the same disquieting thoughts that make it impossible for you to really be you. When people smile back, what are they really smiling at? How many times do we act a part in any given day?
No, don’t give excuses for why, just focus on the question: How many times do we play a role? Spouse, child, parent, guardian, teacher, businessman, writer, devotee, singer, caretaker, etc.
Is this our own decision, or are we prodded by the choices we’ve made to continue to make the same ones, in a revolving circle, so that the first choice we ever made to get us here is blamed for all consecutive choices since? Oh, if I hadn’t married him, I’d be happy, you might say. Or, if I chose a different profession, I’d be someplace different now.
That one choice does not define you, and that one choice has not led you here. It’s a compilation of millions of choices day after day, minute after minute, second after second that has led you here. In any given moment, tens of thousands of inconsistencies or moments within moments can happen, spurred on by all different moments, leading to the one you’re experiencing. Walk out the door and thousands of things can happen, all brought about by a thousand other things, some in your control, most not in your control. So no, that one choice did not bring you here.
But that one choice is keeping you here. That one choice is keeping your mind so locked up that you aren’t able to process the moments now differently enough, so you keep making the same patterned choices you made before, leading yourself to believe it’s because of that one decision. It’s not the decision, it’s the way you’ve patterned your brain, it’s how you think, not what.
Now, clean out the how, change the pathways, and your choices will be different because your fundamental thinking pattern will be different. Hopefully, more attuned to you, and less attuned to projections, flashbacks, and stagnation.

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A Plea

I want you.

How do you know someone, if not through their words?
And I know your words.
They speak to me each time I read a story or poem or essay.

Does it matter where you are from?
Or what you look like?
If you move me, isn’t that enough?

And yet, I desire more.
I imagine your touch-how your fingers would feel across my skin
Or how deep your voice might sound as you spoke my name.

A single word with you carries a thousand meanings,
And I must understand every single one
So I know you

All this subtext between us
Creates a fire in my heart and
I fear I will shatter with this aching.

To see you, to have you,
If you let me
I would take you up in my arms and never let you go.