Touching you was once an afterthought, it just came as naturally as breathing. If you were within reach, I felt the urge to reach for you. I wanted to stretch out my arm so my finger could have a chance to touch your skin, your sleeve, your back as you walk away. It’s been a slow change, this horizontal move away from me. You’re still here but inching further away. Your hugs don’t last as long, or your cuddles. Your kisses aren’t as long and passionate. You won’t hold me every day like you used to. Where are you going? … Read the rest
Posts tagged writing
the last day of november
Today I messed around with my social media accounts so everything matches with the same profile picture and name – except for this domain, of course, but how could I not and wouldn’t you?
I’m forty-three fucking years old.
I go to therapy every week in part to hear my therapist tell me over and over again:
The only thing you can control is how you react to things.
I can’t control how other people react to things, I can’t control what they think about me, I can only control how I react or respond to things that happen to … Read the rest
not that but this
I’m glad the days of casual dating are over, and there won’t be anymore awkward first times, or men who woo and ditch me, or worse, pretend that I’m interesting and then forget what I said.
I’ve been there, and give the whole thing zero stars. They say you can’t find a man at a bar, but how is finding one online better? It used to be such a foolish and dangerous thing.
But what is a life with no hope for more first kisses on Providence Street? Is it better to sleep comfortably with the same man every night, … Read the rest
Writing poetry every morning, like EVERY morning lately has done some good things for my psyche.
But not watching the news in the morning probably helps even more. I used to come down with my coffee and turn on the news – no more.
I wanted to be part of the solution, I am not going to be part of the problem, and in my work and heart I’m doing good for people.
I have one life. That’s enough for everyone else to take. I’ve given quite enough.
lucky?
In the beginning
our sleeping arrangements were
“only once in a while”.
That didn’t keep it
from being a fairytale;
you were my whole world.
When the bed was ours
I won the damn lottery,
is this what’s called luck?
Today’s poetry prompt words were: sleeping arrangements, fairytale, and lottery.
Photo by Wyxina Tresse on Unsplash
in the golden hour
I don’t want a big life,
but I don’t want a
small life either.
I want a calm, happy,
fulfilled life,
which is one I
doubt I’ll ever have.
Can you believe it
when I tell you I
want my parent’s life?
That I want their
quiet, steadfast love,
their iron belief
in each other?
I spent so many
years trying to
run from them
telling myself this
is the worst
that can happen to me
and I was so wrong.
It would be the best thing
to go to bed and never
wonder whether
the one you love
wants … Read the rest
Attention
You can tell I’m nervous when I don’t shut up, when I turn into a chatterbox that will do or say anything to avoid having to do or say what has to be done or said. I am not brave. I am not fearless. I am not even casual, ever, it’s always all or nothing for me, this or that.
But when it comes to you I’m able to slow down. Really, I have no choice. Your skin against mine creates a still silence that comes from nowhere else, only you, you soft mouse.
No one will hear you unless … Read the rest
keep choosing
When you were younger you read that Robert Frost poem like everyone else in school and spent years dreaming of that point in your life where two paths finally diverge. All those years you spent trudging down that pin-straight road, fretful for the future, trying not to detour into the thick woods like the thickheaded people who think they know better.
You keep your eyes forward and back straight, plodding along as more and more people fall by the wayside or disappear into the forest, and you can feel it when you’re finally alone, when there’s nothing but you and … Read the rest
What a Life
It’s been twenty-five years since you’ve stood with your friends singing Hallelujah on a stage, feeling the vibration of a hundred voices lifting from the platform to the sky. It’s been twenty years since you listened to that same song on the way to your friend’s funeral. He’d shot himself to death at work. What a life. Now you can’t listen to that song without crying and you will always wonder how you couldn’t have seen it coming, and why no one ever usually sees it coming. There should be a prescription everyone gets at birth, an RX for love … Read the rest