| The glimmering gone. |
[Mar. 24th, 2007|07:23 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  crushed | ] |
I'll never shine again.
That spark that ignited the flame is snuffed.
I'll never glow again.
There's nothing within to luminesce.
The place you were inside me is hollow. The light you shone in my dark places is gone. Nothing there now, but the dying echoes of the tumult as I pushed, poked, prodded, cut, sliced, hacked, smashed you away away away
AWAY
I was comfortable for a moment... before that.
I was secure for awhile before that.
I was proud for a time before that.
And I was happy... so very happy... before that.
I was nothing at all before that.
Now I am something... but still no one. Because I wasn't THE one.
That realization burned out of control and razed the flimsy construct you had built.
Now only darkness remains. Not the slightest ember is left.
The glimmering gone. |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 1st, 2006|10:17 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  melancholy | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Faure's Requiem | ] |
Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine
et lux perpetua luceat eis
Grant them eternal rest, o Lord,
and may perpertual light shine upon them
She lay curled in upon herself beneath the sheet. The lines of her face at rest were much as they were in waking; nearly nonexistent. Only that deepening of the space between her lips and cheek betrayed her, the concerned crease between her brows. She was taking on the hardened profile of middle age. No innocence remained to fool the casual observer. Nothing of the child left here.
No one mistook her for 10 years younger anymore.
She stirred, small icy fingers clutching at the covers to pull them up closer around her chin. There was no warmth in her bed.
Her eyelids snapped open, alert eyes directed unerringly to the red glow of the alarm clock. 3:00 mocked her silently, as it had every night since July.
He was awake somewhere at this hour. Some nights she would offer a gentle benediction to him. Some nights she would wonder what thoughts occupied him so that she hadn’t heard from him in too long. Some nights she wondered if she even crossed his mind. Some nights her hands would slide over her skin as she thought of his hands, his lips, his eyes, his voice.
Cold. It didn’t matter. No point in getting up for another blanket. It would be the same no matter what she tried.
She had tried drinking herself into forgetfulness. That hadn’t worked out well at all, spending the night sobbing as bright and cheerful, 3:00 berated her for her inadequacy, only to fall asleep fitfully and awake with a horrible taste in her mouth, a headache, and the requisite urge to divest herself of whatever might be left of last night’s dinner.
She had tried depriving herself of sleep, getting up early, and working hard all day. Fatigue was powerful. Not powerful enough to blind her to those infernal numbers as her lashes lifted involuntarily, the haze dispersing gradually as 3:00 swam into focus with a mute shriek of triumph.
She had thought she would find reprieve when she had to go out of town. Once in a while they had a gig in another city, and she’d find herself sharing a queen-sized bed with one of her troupe mates. There was good natured conversation and laughter. They would all wash faces, brush teeth, and crawl into beds thick with blankets and comforters. They would murmur thoughts to one another until they had all fallen asleep.
Then she would awaken suddenly, eyes widened to see nothing in the absolute blackness of a hotel room with the drapes pulled. She could hear the measured breathing of her roommates. And all the while 3:00 danced in her mind’s eye.
She had come to dread her nightly ordeal upon pillow and mattress. It would never be her refuge of comfort and repose again.
Te decet hymnus, Deus in Sion
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem
Thou, o God, art praised in Sion, and unto Thee
shall the vow be performed in Jerusalem.
“I love this…” The back of his hand caressed her cheek, “and this…” his fingertips brushed over the faint striations on her belly that marred the flesh and marked her as a mother for the rest of her life, “and this…” his light touch between her thighs was calculated to be gentle; non-threatening. And it parted those thighs like clockwork.
Why had she believed that he meant hers in particular? Of course he loved those things. He would love them on anyone whose clothes he wanted off the body and on the floor.
“I… LIKE THIS!” Her thankful groan was directed to the heavens… and her feet draped over his shoulders… for being able to feel something so vivid and real. Finally. In this moment she was born.
Eyes wide, she stared into his in wonder. He seemed so delighted simply that she was so delighted.
“This… this was the best it’s ever been.” He seemed to stumble over his words a little.
“Don’t give me that. I know I’m not that good. I don’t know anything.” She chuckled as she stared up at the ceiling.
“No, I mean, it’s not the most acrobatic or the longest, and I’ve had a lot of good experiences… but this felt better than anything else has.”
She was still. She was listening.
“It’s because I love you.” Ah, those precious, disarming words…
She smiled, “I’m not the only person you’ve ever loved..”
“No. But I know I feel even more for you. I love you even more.”
She believed him.
“Go ahead. Reach down and tell me what you feel…” It didn’t matter if the words were text or spoken. She always did it.
Maybe if she had pretended just once, early on, she could have avoided the compulsion. She could have known that she didn’t have to. She could have taken control of her urges and her desires. They could have been her own. And he might have still valued her.
Exaudi orationem meam
ad te omnis caro veniet
Hear my prayer,
unto Thee shall all flesh come.
The first time, she had needed a chaperone. Though she didn’t know why she had thought so once she opened the door and he squeezed the breath from her in a hug. She had to lean back against the door a moment to regain the strength in her knees.
He was so much more than she thought he would be. He looked perfect. He moved perfectly. His voice was even better than on the phone. The smile was one she had never seen, but it was strangely familiar. Sitting near him was… safe. The eyes… always on her, accompanied by that smile, and she would try to look away, but never could manage to do so for long.
When he kissed her she tried to look away again to collect her bearing, order her thoughts, get a handle on what she was feeling. He didn’t allow it, firmly pulling her chin back to face him, and the next thing she knew she was wrapping her legs around his, trying to touch him with every part of herself. Not long after that she was half naked under sheets, and he WAS touching every part of her. It was like finding home for the first time.
She sat on his lap, staring at the computer screen, sometimes chuckling at what she saw. Then he kissed her again. Soon he was picking her up and carrying her into the other room and laying her on the bed.
Walking through the airport, her eyes searched, hungry for him. He rose gracefully from a chair almost directly in front of her and met her in a few strides. She had to clench her jaw to keep from bursting into tears at the sight of him. Her exterior was subdued and quiet while she held her emotions mercilessly in check.
She breathed in ragged gasps as the spasms subsided, but continued, and they twisted sideways together so he lay beneath her on the couch. And she was still moving. Oh god, it had never felt like that before. She had never known it was possible. She had been pretty certain it never would be for her.
And he said he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone. She believed.
Bruises and chafing. Aching muscles. Exhaustion. Near certainty that internal organs had been forced to move. One hand splayed against the wall to prevent her head from slamming into it. Stinging flesh. Raw and tender.
She had never felt so much, with such intensity. She couldn’t bear the thought of living a life in which she would never feel this way again. He loved her. He adored her. He said so. People he knew said so. She believed, and every time it hurt, she remembered, and she pushed harder. Tried harder. He loved her the way she loved him. It was only for her. He told her this many times. Meant only to be in her body, on her skin, and she did everything she could to pull it from him over and over. Because she deserved it, and it was hers, and she was his.
His eyes were so bright when he looked at her as she walked into a room. He smiled. It made her smile.
Because she knew he loved her the way she should be loved.
Finally, someone knew how to love her.
Completely.
Kyrie eleison,
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison.
Lord have mercy,
Christ have mercy,
Lord have mercy
Oh Christ. There is no mercy. Why isn’t there any mercy? He doesn’t love her the way she deserves to be loved. He doesn’t love her in the way he said he did. He doesn’t love her completely. He doesn’t want her always, entirely.
There is no mercy for her weakness. There is no mercy for her gullibility. There is no mercy for her lack of control.
Tremens factus sum ego et timeo
dum discussio venerit atque ventura ira
I quake with fear and I tremble
awaiting the day of account and the wrath to come.
Dies illa dies irae
calamitatis et miseriae
dies illa, dies magna
et amara valde
That day, the day of anger,
of calamity, of misery,
that day, the great day,
and most bitter.
She doesn’t deserve to live.
So I’ll kill her.
No mercy.
She has no right to exist.
Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine
et lux perpetua luceat eis
Grant them eternal rest, o Lord,
and may perpertual light shine upon them.
One day I will forget her. And 3:00 will pass unknown, unmarked. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 10th, 2006|11:58 pm] |
I wrote this some time ago, came across it again.
I am.
Real, manifest, product of generation upon generation of woman.
I am strength.
Endowed by the Creator with the means to endure adversity of many kinds, I am the willow in the wind, rooted deep, but supple and flexible.
I am majesty.
The lion paces with grace and power, as well through the tall grass as in a cage. I will not be diminished.
I am knowledge.
The gift and responsibility of choice is mine, to learn from experience and the experiences of those who have gone before. My mind is open, ever-seeking truth and beauty.
I am passion.
I am the wildfire of abandon; the surging expanse of sea cresting to break upon a rocky shore; the still, blue flame burning white-hot, searing in intensity.
I am love.
Let me enfold you in the warm embrace of my shadowy soul. Be soothed by the rhythm of the universe that is my heartbeat.
I am the feminine.
I nurture. I protect. I provide. I encourage. I discipline. I teach. I learn. I give. I take. I listen. I hear. I speak. I wait. I act. I indulge. I forsake. I need. I desire. I respond. I laugh. I mourn. I sing. I dance.
I am Alegria, Farah, Ananda, Laetitia, Kamaya, Chara, Rinnah, Gembirah, Hari, Tuwa, Sevinc, Simche...
I am Joy. |
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| Hope |
[Sep. 25th, 2006|06:15 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  pissed off | ] |
She's too exquisite.
Too clean.
She moves with grace and poise.
Her smile launches a thousand ships of dreams.
Pristine and perfect.
Her touch is intoxicating.
Her voice a breathy whisper of promise.
Oh, such beauty as to break the heart.
But I roll with a new crowd now.
She doesn't know what she's in for, stupid bitch.
Those eyes look on me with unconditional love as I approach.
Her lips turn up into the madonna's own smile as I slip behind her and draw my blade across her throat.
Stepping back, I'll let the others do their work.
Cynicism whispers in my ear, "She lets them do it to her all the time, any time. She never stops them." as Anger and Sorrow violate her.
Her delicate hand stretches out toward me.
Eyes filled with trust and compassion burn my soul.
Disappointment ties the weight of all my sorrows to her feet as she is dragged toward the swift moving current of time.
And still her gaze is locked to mine.
My God, she is beautiful, even bruised and battered as she has become through this ordeal.
I'm helping to pick her up to toss her into the depths.
And as I slouch away, following my new companions back into the darkness, her last whisper echoes through my mind.
"...but... maybe..."
Stupid, fucking bitch. |
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| What comes of Possession |
[May. 15th, 2006|03:05 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | crushed | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Faure's Requiem | ] |
you drink no more
of the fount from my bleeding heart
has it lost its taste?
just as you asked,
having to yourself every part of me
seemingly thin, but durable vessel
crushed in the grip
of greedy hands
whose only purpose is carpe diem
it doesn't mean 'seize the day', does it?
it means 'rape the day'
insignificant little vessel
raped
but not enough.
unfit.
for you,
and now for anyone else
insignificant little vessel
defiled
and tossed aside,
broken,
potential bleeding out and evaporating
She will die. |
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| Desperation or passion? |
[Mar. 25th, 2005|04:04 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  amused | ] |
Do you hear it?
It is the tumult beneath the silence.
It is the scream behind the whisper.
It is the shriek within the sigh.
Do you feel it?
My brushing fingertips are meant to adhere.
My caress wants to cling.
My embrace is possession.
Can you sense it?
The need lurking just past the desire.
The desperate hope surrounding the smile.
The ache that anticipates your absence.
It’s only pathetic if you don’t love me as I love you |
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| Burning Woman |
[Jan. 13th, 2005|10:01 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | A clock ticking. It's a rhythm, anyway. | ] |
I've never been to Burning Man, but I've heard a bit about it. Sounds interesting, fun, odd, a little frightening. I doubt I could live for more than a day without all my amenities. I never did like going to the dirt. But anyway, here's what it inspired:
I think...
We’ll migrate in the fall,
Shrug off these burdens.
East into the desert.
It rained today;
Steaming, sultry, hair-sticking-to-face weather.
The car rocks, filled with pre-adolescent enthusiasm.
A floating iridescent swirl is shattered by the tread of an Explorer.
The perpetrator pretends not to notice I was standing by the puddle.
His diesel-guzzling behemoth gives him entitlement to disregard.
They’re old jeans, anyway.
But we’re all sucking at the same oily teat under this brightly illuminated Shell.
Damp frayed denim smells of his sin,
this odor of heavy machinery seems to fog the windshield during the claustrophobic jaunt,
careening down slippery streets,
breathing the miasma of too many moist bodies,
ignoring the shrill cacophony of this concentration of exuberant feminine innocence in a space too small to contain it.
Each time the door opens, a cold caress kisses hot eyes, reminding that somewhere there is freedom, if not peace.
Smile. Yes, goodnight. No, she was no trouble at all. Alright. See you next week.
Which each disgorged passenger, the atmosphere shrinks, deflating me a little more.
I exist as no more than a pinpoint when I reach the green door.
I remember...
We will sprout autumnal wings.
We will fly,
Where the air is dry,
Where the heat will suck this stifling moisture from our skin,
The sun will burn the pallor from our visages,
And sink deep to bleach resignation from our bones.
A pilgrimage from the mundane,
to transcendence.
Where we can celebrate a masque as our true selves. |
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| Adrift in Men's Seas |
[Oct. 18th, 2004|12:53 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | good | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Rainfall | ] |
It started as an ache,
Herald of the void.
I hardly understood, plagued with adolescent fears.
It wasn’t something I was needing.
The vague impulses of a child
with no concept that wild
abandon
could be had
if she only knew
what to do
with what was hers.
Instead I saw it as a curse.
Then it was something they could take.
And when they took, I was destroyed.
Trembling with hope, ending in unshed tears
and self-loathing to which it always was leading.
Clumsily groping in the dark,
trembling and stark
naked,
I’d fake it,
couldn’t feel,
it wasn’t real
the way it always was for them.
My rising tide something always would stem.
Then I realized I could make.
The curse could be employed.
A work of many years,
biological compulsion: breeding.
A means to sate
the desire to create
a genetic bridge,
in my image,
to carry on
when I’m gone.
Send out my girl
in the world.
Unlike me, unfettered.
For her it will be better.
Now, more than ever, I am awake,
Thoughts and senses jointly employed.
Your voice is faint, but my soul hears,
and has set my heart beating.
A rose in full bloom
only embraces her doom
with her beauty,
a duty
to flower
until the hour
she is destroyed
even as she’s enjoyed.
But somehow in this necessity
she finds her ecstacy.
Always the ache.
Always the void.
I didn’t know it was you I’ve bled for all these years.
I’m still bleeding.
And needing. |
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|
| This is shit. Don't read it. |
[Oct. 10th, 2004|11:34 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | sad | ] |
Sing me the blues, baby.
Tell me of blue.
School me in indigo
While I cry.
Sing me the blues, darlin’.
Recount it true.
My blues are the blue
Of the starless midnight sky.
Sing out those blues, honey,
Like only you do.
Be the voice of my sorrow
While I die. |
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