Accepting Lonely

The heart broken is still a heart.

The heart broken is still a heart.

Tonight I feel

lonely

tired

and

full of fear

fear of the what if’s

and

the how comes.

I have to take my mind

to free myself

by accepting that tonight

I feel lonely.

Nothing more

and

nothing less

I cuddle lonely

not to change

it

but to simply

see

and

accept.

Yes?

You think of me again

yes?

You wonder if the reality was warm

Yes?

And it was but

God

it is so much richer now

in distance

Let us be lovers of words and watch each other

grow.

You are whispered on my lips

and

hips

as well.

Thank you far off lover.

lets write and sing drastic songs sent from afar

but close.

rodoor

Period Piece Poetics

Photo on 2013-02-14 at 21.51 #2

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when so many others bleed.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when so many others bleed like me…

“It’s a damn shame.”

I say to myself in a way so no one else will hear me.

“It’s a pain.”

I proclaim as I can’t rest today when my insides are pulsing with moon.

All the world born from our womb.

Yet we are silenced with the claiming that to be treated equal I must pretend

to be the same.

Pretend

every month

again

pretend.

Pretend I do not see nor let anyone else see…I bleed.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when it brings me to awareness with all senses flaring as I, woman, embrace my place in the Universe’s cycle.

My place in the visual connectedness of me to Universe through season’s of blood which bring forth life.

Beautiful blood held close in the womb emptied to feel again, begin again, heal again…

Damn shame I am meant to keep this magic to myself.

For I am medicine woman.

For I am woman.

We take our stance to heal the place of the her.

I taste her blood and give thanks for it’s existence.

Give thanks to the monthly sacrifice of self and time and comfort for life to exist.

I hold her blood.

I hold my blood.

I hold alls blood.

I give thanks for it and it’s pained keeper.

“Thank you for this taste of life again.”

She circles through.

Each time I taste her.

Each time I thank her,

each time for each one.

Each time for me.

It’s a shame to be alone in all this lovely bleeding. When so many bleed and have bled…

just

like

we.

Photo on 2013-02-14 at 21.52 #2

The decomposing of me.

Crisp moon at my feet, reflect to me my truest nature.

Lie to me not, for you know no such thing as ego.

Tell me, let go.

“Let go.”

 Tell me…

Arriving at the green blades edge, my spine straightened by the freeze of the mountain water.

I fall into cold.

                                           .

                                                              .

                                                                                                           fall into feeling…

Memories once shoved into the cozy corner of the forgotten, are now jolted from their slumber.

Rushing the front of my brain like daggers shot from a booby-trapped tomb. Piercing the core of my denial.

Moods flooding, the murky reflections of meant to be.

The smell cringing in bubbles exiting my mouth.

Let me feel the burn of it.

Let me drift to the bottom, toes touching upon mud

Allow the fish to eat my eyes first.

No longer needing to see.

The pain they have witnessed, not just of myself, is enough to ache for the tinge of the first nibble.

The decomposing of me.

Hold death, let me feel the weight of water filled lungs, mouth gaping, deceived by the assumption of oxygen’s availability to me at all times.

Let me feel the disappointment.

Let the childhood stories, beginning with sledding and ending in crumpled panties and lost innocence, tag along with my last scream.

Allow me the release of knowing I am food.

Not driven with purpose yet fulfilling THE purpose…to feed what I have eaten.

No permission needed,

All are welcome to the piece.

Whispered Flaws

I write to you in my sleep.

Diamond sky, stardust lining ALL skins.

The waters touch quenching ANY thirst here or after.

The desert crumbling beneath toes dipped in valley.

You are there.

Visioned.

Seen.

Falling from risen.

True in being nothing.

Giving everything a meaningless meaning of seeing.

The dreams, like clouds, we dance upon their vapor.

Whispered flaws yelled from clasped claws…

Sleepily you write to me also…

Super Human

“You need to remember you are strong. You’re unstoppable when your strong.”

She tells me this while she sits in her own soft sadness.

We are the same. Craving love and attention, we have starved for long enough.

The nuclear family was not the support beams they were cracked up to be.

In fact the cracks were huge and she slipped through them.

Thats how we found each other.

I still have not healed fully from the chaos that was the co-dependacy and I feel her want to pull me back in and yet at the same time it is the safeness I have yearned for.

The  home of, “All things are possible.”

Don’t tell me I need you…

No answers are needed…

Only tell me I am doing it already.

I am able and strong.

I am great at doing this for others…now me…

They are nothing with me and everything with themselves.

I need this as well.

Turn to the ones living the dream.

She has to remember.

I have to remember.

This time…I am here for her.

Who will tell me?

No One. I have to tell myself.

I tell myself I am strong enough, thank you for the idea.

You, strong enough too.

Strong enough to let the world into the private warmth and chaos that is me.

Comfort while icily looking forward.

Crave the intensity of love and not the ambition.

Dance soul.

Get the hell up and dance.

Bear the soul that is deep as the ocean, the world is watching and in need.

All you envision is all that was given to you by the Universe, for the benefit of the Universe.

Sanity feeling like insanity.

Enlightenment feeling like darkness.

The tingle begins. It begins with in her grasping. . . HER.

You are the super human you have been envisioning.

Intense is the leader, hold your hand and let you guide you.

The soul is within not out, so again. . . Dance. hands high, voice just as big.

Take it all on, it was all meant for you…

Happiness is what I speak of damn it!

Enlightened with music, art, sight and sound. Take all on and be all.

For all is nothing. And nothing is simple right?

No choice. It was what she was born to do.

Me?

I am just fine. No aches at all thank you… good day.

Agreed upon pronunciation.

She believes the human lives for the story.

The story of who they were, who they are, who they want to be and who doubted them as they still believed in well, the story of . . . them. . . of her…of you.

She ponders wishing on stars in the definition of  labels.

 Believing in grimacing and taking on the TIME as hers.

Thinking  she was given IT, time, to invest in her  life.

She sees now that you are the giving of nothing.

Nothing beyond the limits set before you, by others and the little they believed of themselves.

Which was fed by others who believed  even less in themselves…and so on…

So.

She questions.

Questioning who she thought she was, who she thinks she is.

Questioning the dream created during a time of escape and survival.

Questioning even, the agreement of  ink in relaying speech.

Agreed upon  pronunciation.

Questioning, for even speech, same as God and Jesus and lack there of, was birthed by humans.

Created and passed on for the purpose of , what else but,  a STORY.

Yellow

Third person, fourth person, none person…

Change inevitable.

Like the clouds changing from dog to tornado and ripping away the child from your arms.

Speak  freely of the liquor you ingested to tell you the truth of  all things out side of yourself.

I looked at you today and you looked ill for a man of 40.

Eyes yellow. Burnt yellow like the stains on  your finger tips from endless tobacco burn.

I wondered if you knew, that we know, you are an alcoholic.

I know you fear the inevitable grave or closet.

But I am here to free  you.

Step out into this air  I call, you.

I call it  you because all air is you.

All air is all things.

So simply complicated at the moment that you must drink to take it in.

If you are wanting to die, and you will, eventually, but if you are wanting to die from alcoholism then you are on your way.

You are allowed to choose to die this way.I will support you in all you choose.

I support you in all you have no control over.

I support  you even though you remind me of my father. Do you stick your dick in everything too? . . .I care not.

I judge not.

I only live to witness and to comfort the soul inside the ailed body.

I am  here for you.

I am here for  your yellow eyes and your nicotine stained hands and lips.

I am here for you while you sit in the basement alone  hating everything about yourself, wishing something would change, knowing it is you but wishing it weren’t.

I sit with  you and I let  you put your head on my shoulder. shhhhh, breathe. shhhhh, take your drink. or . . . don’t.

Either way I am here .

Only the eyes.

Only the story.

Only the poem.

Only the forgotten daughter.

Nothing more.

Nothing less. . . Just witness.