I LOVE HER, but…

Could I be ready…
To leave…
My beloved…
New York…
Who has left me…
battered and bruised…
And has moved on…
Without a thought…
Without a second glance…
In the capital of the WORLD…
Do I even matter…
No…
I’m just a number…
A box on the census…
A demographic…
To New York…
I am nothing…
To me…
She is everything…
We have…
The ultimate…
Dysfunctional relationship…
Could I be ready…
To leave her…
After all these years…
Sadly…
She wouldn’t even notice…
But oh…
How’d I miss her…
Her music…
Her energy…
Her soul…
She is…
The greatest artist…
Of all time…
Effortlessly beautiful…
But I might be ready…
For someplace…
Not so bitter-sweet…
Someplace…
That loves me back…
But fuck…
How I’d miss her…

passion…

Trying to tap into

the wealth of passion

that once flowed within me

that once allowed me

to see beyond

what I could see

that once sparked dreams

that were so big

not even I

could shoot them down

passion that defied all doubt

all logic

that passion…

it’s still in me somewhere

I feel it.

In his eyes…

He smiles at me

wonders if I

secretly hate him

if I am

furtively

plotting

to kill him

he nods

respectfully

as he hands me my straw

I take my red bull

and wish him a good day

he is here

working

serving

we are there

murdering

his women

and children

to him

I 

am the Terrorist.

the chase…

my shadow…

keeps following me…

after me…

taunting me…

it’s a never-ending chase…

she’ll never catch me…

I’m too fast…

and she’s too slow…

she whispers…

for me to slow down…

but I ignore her…

it has become a race…

an endless one…

I’m always winning…

or am I…

she only wants to hold me…

she only wants to tell me…

to slow down…

that everything will be okay…

I wish I could let her…

I wish I believed her…

from scratch…

feeling the urge to create… to manifest… to build… to paint… to draw… to write… to assemble words… create a rhythmic… smooth flowing… aromatic… mentally stimulating piece of ART… i want to put it on canvas… rich hued… thick textured paints… covering the white blankness… giving it life… i wanna mold it in clay… ridges… depth… carved into it… giving it character… chutzpah… i wanna capture moments… not intended to be captured… stilled pureness… preserved… i wanna draw… the world in a million pieces as it falls from my weighted shoulders… i wanna release… my thoughts… myself… my ART…

create…

from scratch…

Sweet surrender…

Something in her… 

speaks…

to something in me…

quietly…

softly…

but my soul hears her…

loud and clear…

her touch…

tames me…

invades me…

figuratively…

and literally…

she’s so deep inside me…

she enters me…

through every orifice…

and pierces through parts of me…

seemingly…

impenetrable…

she enters with ease…

and has her way…

I love her way…

I surrender…

give her what she wants…

however she wants it…

as if my body…

has no say in the matter…

as if she has mind control powers…

she takes me…

she owns it…

I give it…

I lose it…

something in her…

has taken over…

something in me…

and I surrender…

 

Napowrimo!

 It’s day 4 so I need to get started catching up!  I was looking for motivation to do some writing and I found it!  30 posts in 30 days! Looking forward to it! 🙂

Napowrimo #9

Mi Paraiso
I have not yet experienced
I can only speak of
What it is not
Crowded trains
With grimaced faces
Heavy tense shoulders
Carrying something
Or the other
Blank eyes
Dreaming of better times
When there were no
Red striped envelopes
Waiting
Demanding payment
Funds that do not exist
Sky high rents
Minimum wages
Robotic movement
Like worker bees
Going somewhere
To do something
That needs to be done
The palpable stress
And anxiety
Like a ticking bomb
Waiting to implode
The tormenting
What if’s
And how’s
The menacing
I cant’s
The false promises
To self
And looming failure
Waiting patiently
To be acknowledged
This is not mi paraiso
Nor are the crystal blue waters
Or black sand beaches
Mi Paraiso is
A light heart
And a peaceful mind
And the ability to
Go to “Paradise”
If I want to

Napowrimo #8

List all of your old flames. Try to go back as far as your first kiss in the 2nd grade coat closet. Sit with your list. Depending on your mood today, choose the flame with the most sparks, or pin the list on the wall and throw a dart. Whatever your method or mood, write a poem about an old flame.

You were my flame
There used to be fire
You don’t touch me anymore
But it doesn’t matter much
Because I can’t feel you
I wonder
If it’s even worth
Lighting the fuse
To ignite a spark
In hopes of a flame
That might heat things up
And start that fire
That once raged
Between us

Napowrimo #7

Let’s write today about nicknames. Do you have one? Is there something endearing or embarrassing that other people call you now or have in the past? Fess up!

Daddy’s little girl
His butterfly
I’d spread my arms
As if they were wings
But they were torn
Each time
Daddy did horrible things
I tried to fly
But my feet never left the ground
And try as I might
I’ll never forget the sound
Of daddy’s fist
And mommy’s cries
Of all his promises
And all his lies
I can only sit and admire
As the mockingbird sings
Because Daddy left me
With tattered
Broken wings