ensnared

There is an ache inside of me but
My illness is psychosomatic.
I feel a sudden disconnect
Within myself but also with you.

Where are the ties that bind?
I see none between us
Yet somehow I am drawn in,
Further ensnared in your web.

As the crescendo reaches its peak,
All the air is sucked out of my chest.
Listening to you talk about her,
I am left disoriented and weak.

Alone and antsy, waiting for a sign.
I imagine the impossible.
A wall, built by Montresor himself,
Stands to decimate our potential.

Nothing if not a realist,
I put a stop to these dreams.
But somehow they creep their way back
Into the back of my mind, my subconscious.

A glimpse of your face in a dream...
The thought of a day together,
Free to talk, to let my eyes wander,
Taking in your exquisite form.

My oft-broken heart, open and ready,
Has much to lose but far more to gain.
I'm left wondering about the future
And where I should go from here.

implode

indifferent to my surroundings,
content to be alone forever,
it's hard to muster up the feelings
others seem to have in spades.

riding on a haze of boredom,
coasting through life in solitude,
having pushed people away
at every twist and turn.

difficulties compound upon me,
wreaking havoc on my heart.

while others turn to friends for comfort,
i hold my sadness inside,
waiting to one day implode.

sometimes i dream of a day
when all of this is in the past.
a day when i am truly happy,
and feel no shame in myself.

looking at the world anew,
i see so many fresh young faces
ready to take life by storm,
as yet still blissfully unaware.

failures mount,
patterns reemerge,
nothing is quite the same
as it used to be
and yet nothing changes.

to break this spell i'm under,
to cast off the shroud of apathy,
i must summon up the courage
to finally allow myself to feel.

pressure building, insides roiling,
the day will come when i can stand it no longer,
these feelings i try to stifle through
my cynicism and negativity
will be held at bay no longer.

too long suppressed out of fear or shame,
all of my emotions come rushing out of me,
at long last escaping from my breast,
forever free to absorb the light of day.

raw intensity like i've never felt before,
the trappings of ennui a thing of the past,
i am open to the world, open to everything...

ultimately ready for whatever
and whomever comes my way.

potential

The truth hurts but lies are twisted,
their layered plot points overlapping
like so many unnecessary appendages.

Claustrophobic by nature,
lies are self-sabotaging entities
that attract more of the same,
creating swarms of disembodied deceit.

There's a sour taste in my mouth,
and the ever-present dread
rears its ugly head with
each and every call.

Far worse than an outright lie
is a truth that remains ignored.
You could not face your own heart,
so you chose instead to toy with mine.

Unwilling to take the risk,
the leap of faith - faith in the potential
for that certain something between us -
you receded into the woodwork.

Catching glimpses of you now and again,
I see no recognition in your eyes.

Life with someone this open and honest
is certainly a refreshing change,
but more important than that,
I have realized that there are good men out there.

The way he looks at me, with eyes that devour,
makes my skin tingle with anticipation.
I eagerly await the next step,
whatever that might be.

As long as we are honest with ourselves,
we have nothing but blue skies ahead!

without me

seething inside,
my entrails boil...

some wickedness
gives speed to
my racing thoughts.

from far above, harsh light
shines down upon my body,
striking me to the very core

to the crux,
as it were,
of my being.

i fall, slowly but surely,
tumbling downwards

while

a multitude of voices
all cry out as one.

i am caught, held aloft
in the sky below the sky,
as emeralds and indigos
engulf me completely.

the ever-changing canopy,
its branches stripped away,
coiled together like snakes

reaching out to find
only me.

wet tendrils snaking downwards,
arching past the small of my back
free-falling still, without me
and setting themselves free.

and yet

heavy rain pounds on the roof above,
drumming a beat that leads their dance

in all its intricacies and twists and poses,
they find that no music is necessary

taking a breath in, inhaling his cologne
she tells herself to be calm, quiet
while everything inside of her says
fuck that shit

straining to make sure that no sound
slips out of her while he slips in,
she attempts to keep her thoughts at bay

but they are no match for him

dripping down the back of her neck
hot sweat reaches out to him,
creating a tenuous connection between
their two bodies that nothing can break

nails raking down his back, pulling him closer
until there is no space at all left for jesus,
she whispers in his ear

so close and yet so far.

regret

Things are not always as they seem.

An old man, his gait unwieldy and back bent, barks at two teenagers across the street. As the ruffians scurry off into the distance, he hangs his head in shame, recalling the memory of his stillborn daughter. The pent-up rage has built up inside of him over the years, with no clear target or means of escape.

Three doors down, almost close enough to smell her perfume, a brunette in a yellow dress embraces a beaming man in plaid. Unbeknownst to him, only minutes ago she kissed her beau farewell as her husband's familiar flannel shirt entered the foyer.

Through the upstairs window of their pristine abode, beyond their close-knit forms - already indistinguishable from each other - one can see a woman peering down from the balcony next door. By all appearances content, cooing softly to her young charges (luckily in her care only for the day), the surrogate mother seems lost in thought.

On closer inspection, however, one might catch a glimpse of wistfulness in her otherwise neutral eyes, perhaps noting that they have ceased to sparkle when she smiles. They are seen less and less often with each day that passes.

Nostalgia for a life once lived - and for the person she used to be, before she knew the ways of the world - burrows its way through the clay that is her brain, whispering empty promises to the deep recesses of her mind.

If only for some semblance of unfettered appreciation, sans bells, whistles, or strings, the honorary matriarch takes on job after job. Spreading herself thin, like butter over too much bread, she overfills her life - pushing herself to the utmost limit - until every possible cup runneth over.

What she seeks, however, lies not in academia. Nor does it reside behind a desk or within a cubicle. The sheer bliss of unconditional love, even just some acknowledgement of a life well lived, an emotion perfectly expressed, is her nourishment. Her sustenance.

Unfortunately, she has spent her entire life in a famine.

seeds

emptiness engulfs me,
flooding every orifice,
until nothing is left
except long-forgotten thoughts
and dreams dashed to pieces
on the jagged cliffs below.

fear and self-doubt
crouch below the drop off,
on the outskirts of my mind,
waiting for the right moment to
strike, and break my heart once more,
from the inside, as usual.

a frail organ, it barely beats,
not wanting to appear overeager
in its desire for another taste
of that sweet requited love,
which it cast away on a whim.

confusion reigns supreme in this heart of hearts,
having never known anything but loneliness,
but somehow the seeds of truth have begun to
sprout, pushing their way out of the dark soil,
and rearing their marvelously ugly heads.

armed with the cold, hard truth
that is true love, the real thing,
the heart - unable to contain itself -
bursts...

...rendering it useless yet again.

what can you do with love?
hope for the best and let the
other party take it from there.