Just Open the Door

Why do I try when it seems I will just mess it up?

Each time I feel
Like he’s giving up,
Little by little
And one day…

He will simply stop loving me.

Maybe one day
He won’t return.

The things I try to do
To show I care
Don’t count to him.

They are not
The things
He had in mind.

I didn’t do the right thing.

I didn’t open the damn door.

It was one of those moments…

If I had simply waited
Another five minutes…

None of this would ever
Have happened.

Our night may have ended beautifully
The way we both wanted it to.

But…

I didn’t open the door.

And now the night
Is lost at sea,
Being pushed and shoved
By currents of Anger,
Disappointment,
Hurt Feelings,
Damaged Pride.

He sits there in the kitchen silently…

And I can hear the thoughts
Of regret
Over having ever
Met me
As loudly and clearly
As if he was
Shouting them
In my face.

I will forever remember
This night.

The night
When I let him down,
Again.

I cried and
He yelled.

All because
I didn’t open the door.

And now…
I’m afraid…
It can never be opened again.

The Answers to Difference

I wonder if we will ever take the leap, take the risk, into difference. I think we hold ourselves back in our own ways. Maybe me more than him… I don’t know. We struggle with whether we should just be grateful for what we have — as society has always told us to be — or whether we should nurture our discontent and strive for what we want, despite the challenges.

I don’t know the answers.

I don’t know if I ever will.

The Wounded

While walking alone
Amongst the bare trees
With dried tears
Upon my cheeks,
The frigid air burning my
Throat and lungs,
I meandered through
The quiet community.

I looked for nothing
Yet found so much
In the vulnerable forest.

Near a stream stood
The tallest, most Awe-inspiring
Sycamore
I had ever seen.

I peered up to the top
Of the Grand Old Tree,
Standing strong against the
Bitter winds
And the gray winter sky.

My eyes scanned the height of the tree
From top to bottom.

When I stared
Straight ahead I saw
The markings
Of thoughtless
Humans…

Hearts and Declarations
Of Love
Littered the trunk
Of the Majestic Being.

I placed my hands
Upon the deep wounds
And transferred
All the healing thoughts
I could muster
Through my cold fingertips.

“I feel your pain as if
It were my own…”

How could such a
Beautiful Creature
Be harmed in such a way?

I laid my my cheek upon
The source of the tree’s
Strength
And tried to absorb its
Resiliency.

I admired how it wore
Its wounds, its pain, its vulnerability
And yet did not seem
At all phased by them.

I detested the lack
Of benevolence and respect
In this World.

I stood with the tree
Until the stars came out
And my body was numb
With the cold.

I could feel nothing
Of my physical self
Except my Aching Heart.

Tenderly, I wrapped and bandaged
Its wounds with
The gray woolen scarf
From around my neck.

I bid my companion a sorrowful farewell
And I promised to return
To the place that felt
Like Home.

Stepping away,
I looked back
For one last look at
The Being I had felt closer to
Than any other.

Tall Tales

The three of us rode in the sheriff’s cruiser to the morgue, no one speaking a word the entire way.

We passed through the sleepy town where gossip flies high and fast, casting its droppings on the heads and in the mouths of its inhabitants.

I wondered what I would hear from the grocery store clerk who only had love for the juicy tales she intercepted, and nothing else. I wondered if the old folks at the bakery would infuse all of their pastries with the secrets and lies of the town that drifted in with the cold December air whenever the door was opened.

I wondered what they would say about what came of my parents…

What sort of eccentric tall tales, or truths, would penetrate the ears of everyone around me. I wondered if the man next to me, too handsome and kind for his own good, was capable of guarding and defending me against the plight that was sure to come.

I was doubtful.

Masterpiece

With her paring knife in hand, she set to work.

Alone in the bathroom she shared with her older sister, she expressed her pain in ribbons of deep red running down her arms and dripping onto the tiled floor.

Her writing on paper and painting on canvas helped ease the torment in their dark expressionism – but it was never enough.

She always felt the need to combine the two art forms into one…

To create a permanent masterpiece upon her own body.

She had not felt complete relief in so long… She had become convinced that it would never come.

There was no way to provide her with a different childhood, a different life.

So, she took matters into her own hands.

In secret, she published the pain – relishing the indelible impression it would make.

There was so much to say…

Yet so little space with which to tell her story.

NaNoWriMo Day 4

Participant-2014-Web-Banner

I just finished up my NaNoWriMo writing for the day, and my current word count is 9,253. I have never before in my life been so prolific with my writing. It feels both strange and exhilarating to take on this project.

I honestly didn’t know if I would be able to find the chance to write at all today, as it was a tumultuous day with my Little Monsters. However, I just tried to use that frazzled energy to my advantage while squeezing in my writing this evening.

What about you guys? How are your creative ventures coming along? I would love to hear!

Happy Writing, everyone!

He Knows

I wonder if he can tell…

I thought to myself when he got home from work.

He’s usually so good at reading my mind, my body language…he can always tell if there is something amiss. Why did I ever think I could hide this from him?

Things just haven’t been the same for so long now. It started as one small thing – as all things seem to begin – and more small things piled on and on and on… Until now there is a huge omniscient presence lurking over us all of the time. It eludes to the fact that there is something not right, but not letting on to what exactly went wrong. Is wrong.

I hug my Darling and try my best not to feel stiff in his embrace. For a moment I forget, and I am enraptured by the unique feeling of being held by someone I love, no matter how flawed things are between the two parties. The moment passes too quickly and I am struck by the remembrance of what I have done.

Act natural. If I can just act natural, he may never know…