Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Roadmap

I thought I’d be put together by now,
but my evenings are just as dull and I’m as lonely as I ever was,
avoiding my face in the mirror,
so I can’t see how disappointed I am with how everything turned out,
you see, the thing I figured out is that nobody is really happy,
we just tell ourselves that
we’re happy,
or that we’re on the way to happiness,
so that we aren’t too angry at the thought of walking towards nothing.
You tell yourself that you’re happy,
or that maybe one day you could be,
and it makes it so much easier to survive the sadness,
because even if you can’t feel something other than sadness on your skin,
you can imagine a time when it will be different,
so that you don’t have to imagine a lifetime of remaining maddeningly unfulfilled by the empty chasm that capitalism leaves behind in your soul, every night when it is done with you.
Capitalism has never been a kind lover,
no matter how gently I kiss it,
no matter how many times that I wish it was so,
he has always left me in a sea of shame,
the room is always dark when I fall asleep,
and his arms never stay to comfort me,
no matter how many times that I wish it was so.
The girl I thought I’d be lies broken in the shadows of my imagination,
and I can’t put her back together,
no matter how many times that I wish it was so.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Purple Princess

My blood is violet,
my aura, lilac,
amethyst around my wrist,
soft kisses and passive violence.
Sweet as jam,
the right kind of timeless,
heather in my hair,
as I hold onto healing.
I was once reeling,
reaching outside the raindrops,
feeling nothing,
until I took a break from myself,
deciding I could smile,
if I wanted to,
and that I could share sensual summers with Saints and spirits.
I am the daughter of Prometheus,
Athena’s angel.
My cards are on the table,
telling me all the things that I already know,
weary sighs are my symphony,
as I sleep with my eyes open.
I am a widow of my own war,
sangria spills from my eyes,
and I am at peace with what I’ve done to myself.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Gemini Season Approaches

A warm, clear May day,
maybe I’ll see you in June, instead.
I just know that the steps I take lead to somewhere.
I’ve had dreams again,
the kind of dreams that I can’t run from,
the kind of dreams that wake up beside me and remind me that I have something left to do before I go.
So I go back into the world,
full of questions,
but full of the idea that I wouldn’t still be waking and walking,
if there wasn’t a plan.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Woes Of The Wife Guy

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun,
and I should be grateful that she was altruistic enough to exist that way,
for my own eyes follow hers with no cessation,
and were her gaze like the sun,
my own eyes would shrivel and burn,
my mind sent mad at the endless daylight.
She lets me rest, by her side,
my heartbeat, performing percussion against the cool, cruelty of her body.
I stare up at her with curious, dependent wonder in my stares and she states quite plainly, that I belong to her completely.
What can I do, but say yes?
What can I do when her breathing is slow and seductive, and she is on top of me?
What can I do, when she plays statesman, guiding me towards the safety of spread legs, obedient sighs and the kind of satisfaction that will make me put a cross against her name, again and again?
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun,
but in my eyes,
they are nothing short of spectacular,
stealing the colour of the deepest oceans,capturing the magnificence of roaring seas in her sweet stare,
and letting me stare, and stare and stare.
To share such beauty,
and let me go mad,
to let me go from blushing bride to full time wife guy,
is the kindest kind of cruelty.