i didn’t think the rain could get any better. now the pitter-patter plays to thoughts of nights together. and i couldn’t be happier, you Rasilo man, you.
i did not think, even now, in my happiness, that you could hurt me like this.
i had thought i was drifting away, from the anger, from the pain, from the betrayal, and from those lies.
those lies. those lies. those lies.
but when you know me so well, you know at which points i break.
and when you said, so clearly, you simply just didn’t like me
i fell back and again, you left me floored. gutted. spilled.
and even though i didn’t think i had any tears left for you,
i cried, and i cried. and i cried.
you’re good you said, but your personality…
and i am shaken, because it was that very self
that once loved you so well, that loved you so deep
it is the very self you hate now
who i have come to love, to accept.
i have found confidence, assurance,
myself, i cherish.
it is the same me you wrote to say you were afraid to lose from your life entirely.
but i suppose that too was a lie. it would have to be.
if your intention was to hurt so completely, you succeed.
even now, i think about spring fires on mountain tops
and where once there was magic and warmth
here on out, those memories burn.
and you with it.
she was birth of age
the screams of her life led
and lost in the screams of others
she arrived, fists shaking
to the rhythm of the walls
and the sway of the ground
blood spilling, flesh splitting
in the pain of life
and the terror of death
born into rubble
breathing in dust
her first home,
her final resting place.
i think about it
about why one needs it. where does one go to find it? what of when it cannot be found?
i look around. i keep an open heart. and eye. and mind.
all i feel is calm. and the promise of something.
i think then, about happiness. about how it has often inhibited me from writing. from how there are less words that way. wouldn’t you know, all the crap writing as of late–it stems from such a good place.
such a good, good, good, place.
and in this i am conflicted by a trade: words for happiness.
it doesn’t quite seem fair.
maybe it’s time (high high time) i introduce discipline.
can one make the time? is it attainable? where does one go for writing prompts?
where does one find inspiration.
take me to the edge
let me adventure on this
of humor and absurdity.
let me launch forth
into lucid lunacy
and i’ll let you know
if anything has meaning.
i’ve been prioritizing things differently recently. i’m not as drawn to commitment, obligations, responsibilities. which isn’t to say i’ve thrown caution and adulthood to the wind, i’m just focusing on some other matters which i’ve summed into three categories: health, happiness, and healing.
by this, a lot of it is mental health. for the last year, i’ve been seeing a therapist. and i am so fortunate to have found a therapist who is terrific. being a willing member of this process has been filled with wonders and discoveries. learning about myself has been difficult but (as cliche as this sounds) it’s rewarding. i have benefited from this, i hope i’ve become a better person, i hope others can be better because of me. and all of this is possible if i’m healthy, mentally.
i’m also happy to be healthy physically! through some unknown magical mystery, i’ve recently lost weight. (a person theorized maybe it was emotional baggage i’ve shed, i could agree.)but for whatever reason i also want to eat better. i just want vegetables and fruit and fresh yum things. i treat myself to what’s good, to what’s nourishing, what is fulfilling.
i feel healthy and fit, i feel up for things. i look better and i’m feeling pretty sexy. i’m out and about exploring. i’m reading. my mind feels warmed up and energetic. and all of this leads to…
seems silly, so entitled, so selfish. to pursue my own happiness. but it’s harder than i thought. to give into myself so much. to ask myself what it is i want. and then to ask for that. to make it happen. to move toward my desires.
a lot of this is moving toward good things. surrounding myself with good people. finding myself in good company. trying new things. having experiences a plenty. a day gone without learning anything is a day wasted. these are the things that make me happy.
i allow myself a lazy day. i allow myself book, coffee, dessert. i allow myself all these pleasures big and small. it is good to feel so happy. to feel like i can smile through anything, even the hurtful bits which persist. maybe when i’m happy, it moves to others too. i’d like to think i’m responsible for a few smiles out there, a few laughs, a few good memories.
while allowing myself health and happiness, what i’m doing is allowing myself an incredible healing. although always ever aware of scars and sores, there were many things i wasn’t addressing. this past year has been one of so many confrontations. a majority of them with myself. it has been painful. and it has been enlightening. to allow myself to move away from things that cause me pain. discomfort. insecurities. to know i don’t need to accept certain things. i am worthy of better. much better. i am deserving.
it is healing to allow myself a confidence that borders on vanity. to laugh as much as i want, as loud as i want. laughter is the best thing. when do you ever feel better than when you’re laughing, and laughing, and laughing? it’s a high that warms everything. that leads to balance and calm.
and so, i am finding the road to a slow recovery.
sweat seeps into sheets
and the taste of salt on skin is body sweet
i wake up to soft knowing smiles
and mild morning kisses
lips and finger tips aroused
to echos of indulgences
as hours follow separation
a scent lingers in hair, sheets, skin
and with each little waft
i breath a little longer
i fall a little deeper
but it’s not love/loving/love making i’m craving
it’s not a relationship i’m seeking
somehow, in the madness,
i have found a place for both
happiness and contentment.
it’s him. it’s you.