Holding My Breath

What do you do when the other half of your soul wants to die? When the heart of the one who holds the pieces of yours together is dying?

What do you do when you know your soul will die with theirs but at least their suffering will end when yours begins?

Do you save them?

Let them go?

If you can't convince them not to die, can you convince them to live?

What if they can't?

Won't?

What if every smashed table, broken cup, shattered glass is a piece of one's mind coming apart?

What if every cut on their skin is felt in your heart? Every drop of blood spilled a tear wrenched from loving eyes?

What if a soul that shines so brilliant in its darkness, like glittering obsidian, wants to pass on but it hurts to release its beauty?

Knowing obsidian can be honed to the sharpest blade, can slit you open like a kiss, can you still relinquish it's beauty?

Can you sacrifice the love of your life when all they want is death?

Can you continue to live after they die?

Can you watch them go?

Or do you look away as though it will prevent the pain? Close your eyes tight and pray their soul to keep?

How do you save a life that wants to drown? That welcomes the shark-like jaws of death to their bleeding bosom?

Should you try, knowing you'll be cut by those jagged teeth, too?

Do you wipe their brow of plague knowing pestilence will pass to you?

Is it selfish to want to hold they who are your very breath, even though they beg you to exhale?

Is it wrong to fight for a brilliant mind and not let a lifetime of memory disappear like pages burning to ash in the wind?

How can you allow the light of your life to snuff itself out?

How do you let your heart drift away in the storm?

How do you watch life's blood pump out upon the ground without putting your hands to the wound?

But what if saving them hurts them more?

If for them living is pain and for you dying is pain, what's the better choice?

Do you have the right to be selfish when it comes to life?

Why is existence so painful for some to the point of sacrificing the gift of being?

If they throw it away, can you rightfully snatch it up?

Do I let you go?

Do I make you stay?

Do I even have the choice?

I refuse to let go.

But you're going to leave anyway.

You're already gone.

I love you.

Please don't force me to let you go.

I don't know how.

I don't want to.

Sorry not sorry...In so many ways.

Oh God... I've lost my breath.

Photo by Nica aka Eileen. Editing thru PicsArt

Vows

We live in a world of hate.
Where little orange men cannot lead but rather dictate.

Where hooded babies bang on black cop shields.
Where the peaceful fall before torches and wooden swords Evil wields.

Where Nazis are rebranded and terrorists are renamed.
Where people of color and fighters for peace are defamed.

This is not the world I want my children to live in.
This is not the world I want anyone I love to live in.

This is not the world created back then.
This is one corrupted by Satan and men.

This country where Evil no longer hides its face in shame.
But rather gloats and preens in its fame.

Where history repeats madness again.
And girls and boys of palest pallor pose as women and men.

This speaks not to age but maturity.
This is blind hatred most assuredly.

We must stand tall in the face of those that would gleefully see us dead.
Against their twisted logic I will hold up my head.

I will show our children that God created a rainbow of men, not a blank world of white.
That we all bleed red when we fight.

That tan skin, woolen hair, accented words and culture rooted in faith and tradition isn't a sin.
We ALL deserve to be here. So, Let's Begin.

Packing Memories

Packing away memories,

wrapped in paper,

in a box.

Symbols of a happier time,

awakens feelings,

as my heart knocks,

around in my chest.

The panic rising,

tears pushing locks,

I have placed on the pain.

My disdain,

for breaking down mental blocks.

Tears pressing behind eyes,

like burning waves,

crashing against rocks.

Must keep anxiety at bay,

hold panic prisoner,

in emotional stocks.

So I have a drink,

and pack up feelings,

and memories in a box.

[Photo credit: Unknown. Not my own]

To Create or Not to Create...That is Not the Question

I realize that I haven't written in quite a while. Art...Craft...the Entrepreneurial Spirit...has been calling me more as of late. It occurs to me that I am mercurial in what I wish to create...or if I even want to create at all. I have a million and one projects pulling at me and the reasons why I haven't pursued some is lack of time, supplies, opportunity, courage, or I'm unsure how to proceed. Or maybe it's not a full-fledged concept at all, but an inkling of an idea that hasn't fully matured to the point of execution. And yet, through all of this, I still crave to put well-sharpened pencil to crisp paper and let Muse fish from my stream of consciousness. But the stream is now a whirlpool, a maelstrom of muddied waters where the lines of thought are blurred and chaotic...or not lines at all, just scattered scraps of abstracts. Sometimes I wish I could throw words upon a page like splattered paint; where the laws of gravity, viscosity, velocity and trajectory will, thru the non-law of chaos, produce something I can build upon and grow...But no. Words, by their very nature, are ordered, defined, pure in their symmetry. If Art is putting sperm to ovum to see what kind of child will grow, then Writing is having a child full-grown and giving her a voice, describing her existence for those who cannot see her. She is the Idea. You cannot describe the Idea without first having it, anymore than she can speak without first existing. Art is Growth... Evolution. Writing is Definition... Existence. Perhaps that is the key to my aversion...no...diversion of creative form. My muse wants Evolution, not Existence. Perhaps I do not want to be Defined so much as I need to Grow. Oh!...So many forms of Expression, so little *insert word here*...!

[Photo Credit: thejourneyback.wordpress.com by way of Bing Search]

MarkeD/s

As I touch my bruises,

See my marks,

It reignites like

Lightning sparks,

The memory of

each pleasure-pain,

How passion flowed,

Its ebb and wane.

Where you stood,

Where I'd lain,

How each touch, each strike

Drove me insane.

Every bite, every kiss,

Every caress and thrust

Pure bliss.

You make me scream,

 You make me weak,

My complete surrender 

Is all you seek.

You spank and pinch,

And taunt and tease,

Your voice in my ear 

Demanding release.

You push my limits,

Erase my lines,

You tighten your grip,

Weave our bond like vines.

Then passion erupts,

Lust flows like the tides.

We ride out the storm

Til the wave subsides.

And so with each flashback

And memory etched on my skin,

My heart and body lay open until

I can see you again.

I will see you again.

Sir. 

[Photo credit unknown - not my own]

Synchronicity

Energize...

Your love is like a

spell you cast so well.

You make my spirit rise...

To meet yours among

the clouds of ecstasy,

of bliss,

You mesmerize...

Me with your love

and admiration

of my breasts and thighs...

which you part to rest between

as though my very womb

calls to welcome you.

Oh, those eyes...

Which see the truest me,

and delve into

my essential self.

So no goodbyes...

don't ever let me go,

'cause I won't

give you up

Without pained sighs,

My heart will shatter

worse than ever before.

Please realize...

What you've meant to

me and my sanity.

Don't patronize...

my sentimental ways

when all I see is you...

So recognize...

that what we have

is real, so real...

baby,

Synchronize... 

 

Choices

The choices I make are all my own,

I'm a big girl, my ass is full grown.

I'm the happiest I've ever been

but it comes with a price.

I don't have it all

but what I have must suffice.

I know some don't approve

of the choices I've made.

I've built my fretful bed

and in it I've laid.

There are too many labels,

definitions box me in,

Some see me as living well,

some as living in sin.

And I can't fault either logic,

both are definitely true.

But I need to do me,

I can no longer do you.

I'm searching for Me,

I'm following my bliss.

I may only get one life,

But My Life is more than this!

Push Thru...Or Not ~ a Haiku

I'm writing haiku.
"Be productive!" "But it's late!"
I'll just go to bed.

Procrastination ~ a Haiku

Work is piling up.
Need to maintain GPA.
But I feel lazy.

Decisions ~ a Haiku

Podcast or a blog?
There is so much to say, but
She asks, "Why not both"?

Lightbulb Moment ~ a Haiku

Inspiration comes.
Ideas are expanding.
Mental Orgasm.

Travel

Search the sky.
Fly high,
On breezes,
Currents,
Soaring,
A pouring
of freedom
Upon the winds.
All sins, worries,
Left behind.
Sun shining on air-cooled cheeks,
Spirit seeks flight,
Miles streaking past,
So fast, breaking sound and light.
Soar bright,
Like rays to the heights!

Contrast

Like chocolate ganache over toasted almond,
or newly fallen snow over rich, dark earth.
Fingers intertwining like the undulations of a zebra's stripes.
It's wet ink on fresh paper.
Such is your skin against mine...
Gotta love the contrast.

Nerdy Haiku

A burning question,
Why are Comics called Comics?
Like...Were they funny?

The ABC’s of My Favorite Things (The Short List)

Art that inspires

Books that take me away

Creating things that bring joy

Dancing til I’m breathless

Eating new dishes

Finishing goals I’ve set for myself

Giving gifts to see the smiles

Helping people

Intelligent conversation

Joking around with my loved ones

Kissing passionately

Loving with all my heart

Music that resonates with my soul

Nature in all its peaceful beauty

Opening a brand-new notebook to write in

Poetry as the art of painting with words

Quiet mornings drinking coffee by the window

Running like the wind in the moonlight

Sunlight warming my face

Touching soft skin while in a lover’s embrace

Uniqueness as opposed to the typical and ordinary

Victories however big or small

Watching ocean waves while salty breezes run fingers thru my hair

Xenomorphs, Dracula, Frankenstein, Godzilla…love old monster movies

Youthful laughter from my children as we snuggle

Zoos, aquariums, museums and planetariums… educational outings at their finest

The Music of the Poet

Writing verses like playing piano,

The words flowing effortlessly like notes on the wind.

Painting phrases on paper like lyrical pictures in the air.

Galaxies of ideas expanding in tone and volume,

Resonating thru one’s soul and bursting forth with deep feeling.

Composing art thru one’s fingers gliding across the expanse of pages or keys…

This is the Music of the Poet.

Poetry Deconstructed

Positivity juxtaposed to negativity

Opening of soul, mind and heart

Entering worlds of emotion, idea and dream

Traveling thru swirling paths of color and monochromacy

Rendering art to its very essence

Years and moments existing as a single moment in time