Putting love where it should be

If I could transform the hatred in my heart for what you do into chisel strikes, with each flake of stone representing the love for you I hold onto when you treat me like this, then maybe the sculpture could represent my compassion for you.

If my pride could be the hammer of nails onto a chalk board, slamming my shames into the wall behind it, then maybe the dust that mixed with the plaster and slate at the bottom of the wall, could be my humbled tears…for you.

If the leaping that I’ve done into the pit of misery isn’t enough, can I at least now give you what I know, in the interest of the ledge being something you begin to acknowledge with hope?

I’ve waited all my life, anticipated tomorrow as a plan to do the same, and see in this moment, my purpose in the satisfaction of loving you.

If I can take all my anger and turn it into a match, lighting my frustrations up with the air of my fears, stoking the fire of me with the kindling that is our reason for caring at all, maybe then I can build the wall I need, to be who I am without worrying what you think.

If you could see that the wall built with the rocks of me saying no, is my best attempt at protecting your potential to shine, then maybe we could be together again.


The spunk in her bones

Feral eyed the young man came in, he walked beyond where he was told to be willing, and a taint of happiness trailed behind in his footprints. As the sand of time trickled into the barely contained rattling inside her bones, he became nervous, as he’d seen the inside of the tigers mouth….and he loved it.

She sat there as a hungry wizened maker of madness, a whippoorwill across the valley of hopes in boys. With each breath there was a timing in her heart, it brought memories of deep sighs, open armed with claws reaching, and the steep fall of broken Stupids in ruin. They should have let her sink the lock, brought they’re dreams into her conversation, and showed her the actions of years building them true.

He ran into the stream of her boom, it’s beckoning force catching the gale and whipping the sheet-bends across her bow. The stutter stepping began with questioning the directions of the other men who had failed, and he paled while hoping for her smile. It may have taken hours, weeks, or years, but the colors fading in her hair brought him satisfaction in the moments she met his gaze.

Anyone could see the well watered roots of her sight, a fine layer masked little, and the shock was painted across it in his dirty. She grins now as a perfectly placed approval, curling back his doubts, and an offer for the same lay barely hidden within her lips. He shifted his stance, having gathered into his joys, by her wanting of him more.

The sign said, “KEEP BACK OF SIGN”, so I did that and met this cliff. Returning at high tide is forever a hope buried in time, as the water below crashes into the rocks, and blossoms into rumblings through my feet.

Drained of politeness from her reaping of his underbelly in questions, as a source of glee he wrote transfixed, on the potent of her plots. With each broken line of snow balls thrown to miss, he hoped they made her blush, and dusted her feet with tickling snowflakes. The tea didn’t help wake him up after that, and he passed out in a honeyed bliss, because she had shared the wish of a restart…for her heart.

The unstable mines that I love

Thinking it was safe to know you, boredom set in. Stable thoughts all the time, are the wild horses pulling a carriage desperately looking for wine. Friendship is finding the instabilities in heart and head, seeking the clay to pack into the cracks of the eroding foundations, as kids running around a broken heart. It’s hard at times thinking and knowing what they look like when they’re crying, but it feels great to forge forth in innocence and glee, on what could have been without sin.

Your human, and filled with bacterial hopes and viral dreams. Genes are tattered with wars fought, and filled with the dead carcasses of mites the ancestors didn’t let suck them into dread. A blinding light resides on the hilltop of your soul, it’s blinking silvery in the moonlight, and flowing molten turquoise in laughter.

Catching a ride on the express of kindness straight through the tunnel of your sorrows, while the falling boulders shattered my windows, and blasted against the parapets of the mysterious memories of mine. Jumping down into the pit of your demise, looking up at the sunshine birthed shadows of your yester-years grins, I can hope your guarded trust becomes unmet in my mind.

Swindled of grief your shames may stare at me with spite, becoming actions bent on punishing me for the gift of my care, but even then I dare. It isn’t fair, and it isn’t fun, but I’m waiting here in the furnace of your hate, praying you will wake up to a friendship we once had in the fixed miseries of my aid. The cavernous ceiling may fall, it’s faults looming overhead and as the weariness of anxieties sets in, I tremble no more about you.

You never paid, and that wasn’t the deal, but still you want to steal my joy, and stink along my trail of successes in your heart. Fear resides in the let down of your abandonment’s, not in the follow through of my appearances. I am not there to strip away your caged satisfactions with my love anymore, as a lizard I will bask on the hot rock of your scorn to survive.

When I begin to thrive and you return tuck tailed, open-handed and wanting what we had before, notice the glint in my eye of a faith betrayed, and please don’t attempt to break me again. As the balance of my sheet is torn by winds of your choice in a fate, and the sickness of infidelity that resides in you festers, I can see them mix, and yet, I ride the wave pitying your losses, and I still cherish the idea….of us.

Shrines and altars with symbols representing spirits like this sun torn Budai, especially the ones on mountainsides with rocked walls and birds above in the sky, are enough to fill the tear stained pages in my soul.