can’t sleep thoughts

can’t sleep muse won’t let me rest I don’t want to go back to work I keep procrastinating but I have to bite the bullet fuck I miss Madeline the sound of her laughter is the sweetest sound in the world bowed under the weight of all I need to do I’m very angry with my Mother tonight
FUCK YOU and Scott and Caroline, FUCK YOU TOO, and my fucking lawyer who won’t call me back, FUCK YOU.  talking to god give me some guidance show me the way I’m so tired of this limbo I;m so tired period I feel like an empty gas tank and no one’s coming to fill me up so restless I’m prowling around the house I want fingers brushing through my hair I WANT I WANT I WANT I WANT

I need.

Mother

I felt you go
knew you were gone
I knew from that last phone call
“Jenny I love you”

To much of a coward
to go to you myself
I pick up the phone
hours go by

Then a knock on the door
blue fills my vision
as they say “I’m very sorry, can we come in?”

Numbness descends
as the intuition becomes reality
giving my statement
taking the coroners call
Huddled in my bathrobe
Please someone come get my daughter
I am a machine

You tried to leave so many times
Never feeling at home in this world
Who am I to keep your chains locked tight?

I could have saved you

But I didn’t

Lonely

I am so freakin lonely.  It’s been over 2 years since I’ve had a relationship.  I don’t count Saeed.  Not even a casual mostly sexual relationship.
Granted, I haven’t been in a good place for a relationship…I’ve had a lot of work to do.  But still, I have that loneliness no number of friends can fill.

 I feel everything SO intensely, emotionally and physically, that it’s almost overwhelming, and I have to try and block it sometimes, usually by being sarcastic or making a joke out of everything..because I feel like if I let myself fully experience everything I…I don’t know, won’t be able to do anything else except receive this flood of sensations and never be able to stop it. I hate lack of control..and I always fear that if I show everything I feel to people it will be too intense and scare them away. I’m scared it will come across as being needy or clingy or possessive, and it’s never that…experiencing things with someone is not a binding thing for me. People need to be free, only then can they give themselves to you..and it’s something to be given, not taken.

I feel such a need to possess and be possessed by everything..and have it all in my grasp, to give myself to someone and have them give themselves to me. Not with false promises and ties and guilt..but with trust and freedom. I can’t stand superficiality..it kills me. It’s a waste of my energy and emotions. I want fireworks, explosive intensity, to be filled with something so wonderful that all else is swept from my sight, and all doubts and fears and inhibitions are gone. I want to look into your eyes and see your soul looking back at me.  I want you to sleep in my arms in perfect trust.  I  want you to whisper your deepest hopes, fears and dreams to me in the deepest, darkest part of the night.  I want to see you smile, one that’s reserved only for me.  I want to feel your skin shiver when I touch you.  I want to hear you breathe, and hear the cadence of it change when I’m near.  I want you to crave me.  I want my heart to skip a beat when I hear your voice.  I want to soothe you to sleep with my warm hands and wipe away the tears from your eyes.  I want you to want all of these things of me.

These are the things I hope for.  These are the things I want, wonder about.   Are they possible?  I don’t know.  But I want to find out.  These are the things that are important.  I want to close my eyes and have the memory of these things well up inside of me in the sweetest, sharpest emotions until it takes my breath away.

Poem

                                                                                                    My Epitaph

She walked the Earth
Always searching
Above, below, without, within, and in between
Now on the other side of the looking glass
She has found.

Poem

                                                    When I am Old

I want to fall in love when I am old.
When the path that has brought you to me
Shows in the wrinkles on your face,
In the lines of laughter and pain
That surround your mouth, your eyes.
When you love the soft parchment skin.
The rounded belly, the soft doughy breasts
As signs of life lived

When we have the patience the walk with each other
Matching each other’s slow, unsteady steps.
When there is no rush to move on
To the next experience,
To tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
There may be no tomorrow, there is only you,
Here with me,.
And that is enough.

Poem

                                                        This Emotion

This emotion -
a drop of hot gold
burning the tip
of the heart’s tongue
melting the soul’s
deepest desires
inflaming the walls
of the mind -

Has brought me here
where I am blind
where I hear only
a distant melody

I have no memory
of what was
no desire of what is
to come

I stand engulfed withing
a robe of desire
heavy, tainted, inflamed

Watching, waiting, wanting
something without a name
something with no form
beauty on the other side
of this gulf of happiness
beyond what is obtainable

Here I stand
waiting, wanting, watching
desiring, desperate, devoted
to something with no name

A soul with no body
a body with no soul

This emotion –
a rush of wind
where the eagle soars
high above my chained heart
my tortured soul

No promises made
no truth but these lies -
holds me prisoner
beyond this bridge I crawl to
wanting salvation
waiting for promise

Not knowing
understanding
this emotion
this longing
this need

Poem

                                                                                            The Passage of Time

Maiden, Mother, and Crone
are stirring the cauldron of bones

The soup of a life that shows the passage of time.

The feet that walked the roads
The hands that held the soul
The hips that welcomed the lover
The arms that rocked the child
The knees that bore the crushing weight
The spine that bent in the wind
The skull that saw it all

Maiden, Mother, and Crone
are stirring the cauldron of bones.

Poem

                                                                                        Angelic Healing

Lying there,
eyes closed,
waiting for nothing to happen,
when You surround me in a nimbus of fiery light,
wings spread in a cocoon over my tingling body.

I hear Your voices raised on high
and I hear You sing,
a sound so pure I cannot comprehend,
only begin to cry at the beauty of your song,
my face wet with tears as your hands lift me up
pulling me to the sky,
crying “Glory be to God, oh Glory be to God!”

You pull this filth from me
and lay me down with soft hands,
stroking my trembling muscles,
your feathers drying the tears from my cheeks,
until I am asleep in your arms
pure as the paper I write You on.

Poem

                                                            Anxiety

The shriek of a bird of prey
cutting through the air
like a knife through butter
piercing the stillness
of the early morn
He hunts

                                                                          Panic
A panicked bird
wings a blur
heart beating too fast to count
smashing itself senselessly
against the bars of it’s cage.

                                                                         Insanity

Waves smashing
surging and receding,
each time tearing pieces of my sanity from the cliff
hurling it to and fro
sucking it down into the maelstrom.

                                                                           Hunted

A cornered wolf,
backed into a place of no escape
turns,
lips curled back to reveal
sharp, deadly teeth
A low, rumbling growl
giving warning,
he leaps

                                                                         Poison

A snake biting it’s own tail
coiling endlessly into itself
a squirming, heaving mass of cold, scaly skin
until it devours and is in turn consumed.

Poem

                                                        Creativity

A drop of water,
hanging from the faucet,
glistening in the sunlight,
distends as it drops,
PING!
Into the sink.
The moment is my inspiration.

A hand holding a pencil,
crooked between the thumb and fingers,
hovering pensively above the paper,
dropping down into it’s white depths
to rend and tear it’s purity,
forging it into a new being.
My poem.