They call them laugh lines.
Down around the eyes telling stories
that turn out not so funny.
The truth behind them is simply
keeping up appearances.
Years of looking happy so no one
really knows the truth.
Smiling for work, for your boss.
At neighbors and parents of school events.
Smiling at the children, the husband
and family members.
Yet no one notices the pain in the eyes.
Fear masked day in and day out.
So much that even when you look at your own
reflection you don’t recognize the creature
His voice grew cold as he pushed her aside,
Shouting he never really loved her.
Crumpling as he spoke,
she waited for the floor to swallow her.
She knew it was the woman from the park that day.
Fate steered her to crossing paths with him
In his lovers’ arms, sunshine framed their tryst.
There was a complete lack of sound as her life exploded.
She could not look away from the devastatingly
beautiful way he held her face,
kissing her youthful mouth.
Perhaps whispering into her ear what were once lies
previously reserved for his wife.
It would be so much easier if she could hate him.
But any emotion she felt for him left years ago.
These days promises of forever were misleading.
I love you was simply a means to a cynics end.
Quietly she murmured for him to go.
Far from being that fairy tale story ending –
Hair tangled in rumpled sheets.
Touch fuels the fire.
Find your way again inside
to push against my softness.
He explained he loved her more,
Discarding me once it became too difficult.
That’s the trouble with falling in love
with a man who belongs to someone already.
Tends to get very messy when the owner
demands you remove yourself immediately.
A heart that never belonged with yours.
A home that was only a creation in your mind.
Future plans and curtains hung on imaginary windows.
At first the self loathing is all you have,
until the reality sets in that he held fault as well.
He told me how special I am, so beautiful,
smart, funny, and all of those bouncy charms
winning me over until my senses clouded.
It could be mine.
It might even be love.
Once it’s not,
once the pain sears at you
with that final call of goodbye.
Weeks of silence stretches into months.
and suddenly those simple reminders become epic.
Turn off the song you shared
during one long summer night.
Change that perfume you once
spritzed in a note to him.
Letters, cards, and trinkets scatter
when thrown in frustration.
He’s fine, she’s fine, they’re fine.
Like it never even happened.
Perhaps I didn’t exist to him.
This perfect creature he never really knew,
really live and love beside as
his spun stories led one to believe.
Sipping my coffee
staring out into the streets of busy days.
Learning to breath again.
It’s so hard to harness a bubble.
An iridescent upside down picture
floating off to an adventure
perhaps just down the street.
Tiny hands grasping at the fragile
texture only to feel the simple,
What wonder the easy pleasure brings.
Little feet wandering through
the dirt, chasing each tiny orb.
Laughter bouncing off the walls
just as we imagine these bubbles
Orbit out in to space
encasing our dreams and wishes.
Buoyant on an afternoon blue sky.
Float away. Float away.
I have really enjoyed the photography in this blog. Had to share it with everyone!
At the very moment no one anticipates
a problem, it happens.
Your world changes to something unrecognizable
yet it’s oddly calming in the same notion.
Day-to-day struggles, stresses and concerns
melt away in that moment.
Even though new worries can set
a blurred frenzy of doubt for the future.
Bills, gas, groceries, then a petulant child at the store
who may not survive without a new toy.
It just feels like it will be manageable.
I have to wonder if it is not the optimism of the middle class.
Those of us that have managed to tape and paste a modest life
for ourselves and our families.
Seems we were always one paycheck away from
having to move in with Aunt Rita.
As I turn in my keys.
Turn in my identification.
Throwing a tantrum in my head screaming, “You idiots!!”
Warm sun hits my face as I exit the building one final time.
I felt this tennis court at a school just down the block from me captured this bleak and dreary day in my desert neighborhood. Taken very quickly by my Motorola Blur, adjusted slightly by the Instagram thingy that I have not entirely figured out just yet. 🙂
Dreary Desert Day
Fumbling as I pour a drink
it spills down the side of the glass
and on my fingers
cursing in my head
I raise my hand to my lips
my tongue reacts to the strong taste
I notice you
and I linger
licking my finger
the cold drink in your hand
begins to sweat
I raise my glass towards you
your eyes follow the slow roll
between my breasts
at your smile,
one moment falls
and there I am
breathing your breath
my moist lips cover
sweet taste of your mouth
so loud there are no words
your eyes invite me
our quiet dark corner
full of sensual scents and sounds
feeling inside me,
my body guiding you
gliding with you
our flavors mix
and you drink of me
you moan against my skin
my thighs tighten
your body follows
our breath heavy
with sighs of release
you lean in towards my ear
and whisper, “Can I get you a drink?”
This particular poem is one of my personal favorites. It was one of four I had selected by a former webzine called Mind Caviar which has since ceased its creative processes but the archives are still available. I wrote under a different name at that time due to a horrific choice of marrying at the age of 20!! But that is a topic for another type of post. 🙂
I am now a few days in for my official writing efforts (let’s not forget those many years the papers hid in a box in my closet). During this establishment period I figured that I would rely heavily on my previous works or ideas that had been rumbling around in my head. Instead, everything I see begins to spark an idea for a poem or a post. It’s nice but I guess I may have to start walking around with a notepad since I do not have one of those fancy phones you can just recite your grand ideas in. Well, that’s not true, I am probably just not using the device to its full capacity but anyway, back to this topic.
What has been a further surprise is the way I look at things after reading so many of the other posts on this site. I rush home to read something again and again to see exactly how their turn of phrase speaks to me. On occasion I become so absorbed I think the person might be writing just for me. Which as eerie as it sounds is actually a compliment to the writer since they have involved me so deeply in their experience.
I am incredibly thankful that some of you have been reading me as well. This has been an amazing experience after all the years of reading my poetry to my captive audience (mainly family members) to have them nod and give the obligatory, “that is great honey”.
For April, I signed up for the 30 poems in 30 days. I plan to write as much as possible up until then but am looking forward to exploring topics I may have not previously envisioned during that time period.
Coffee cup clink to all! Julia