Don’t Walk In Anger

I twist in the night, in anger.

I wake in the morning, in anger.

I know the dreams are just dreams

but the aching is tangible,

it’s at the forefront that I can’t shake.

It’s too early to feel this way, with holes punctured through the heart.

A feeling that I’ve been used as target practice.

Congratulations, you’ve won

You’ve robbed me yet again from waking with the delight of a new day,

from appreciating the sound of rain

from appreciating the joy of sleeping in

from being eager to seize the day

from wanting to spark a conversation

from the lovely moments a couple should spend in each other’s company.

No, what you’ve done is created years of silence and regret.

You’ve created a longing to escape.

You’ve created thousands of miles between us.

And each step I’m taking, I’m moving in the opposite direction.

I don’t want to waste years in anger.

I don’t want my children to witness silent anger filled with despair.

I don’t want to hide my feelings when they question what’s wrong.

I take a deep breath and sigh.

There is love out there waiting.

These years will pass.

The storm that consumes and derails will pass.

And we will live under the sun.

Yes, these rainy day Mondays filled with aching & longing will one day be filled with the peace of love.

Or so we can dream.

You’re So Sentimental

*spoken word*

he says as it relates
to a date
of another first
we’ve had.

It reminds me of things
I shouldn’t hold onto.

It shouldn’t matter
when I first noticed
the way light hits his beard,
or how his colors blend
as in a Monet,
only that I see them.

It shouldn’t matter
when those butterflies first flew
from our insides;
only that they fly every time.

It shouldn’t matter
the date of our birthdays;
every day we exist
should be celebrated.
Our presence is a gift.

Yet I die a little every time
when it doesn’t matter.
Details matter.
And I love all of our details.

Memories serve as my card catalog
to pull out certain pages of our story
at any point in time.
The who, what, when, where, and how;
all those details matter.

If you want to know the song that played
as we kissed on Christmas Eve,
I’ve got it.
If you want the song that played
as we made love in my college apartment,
I know that one, too.
For when I hear those songs again, I set myself
into that space, that moment, that Autumn afternoon
as the sun set and we slipped quickly into the night.

I have them all stored and ready to play,
just say the word.

It Can Be Wonderful and Terrible, But It Always Tickles the Right Spot

The way grey hits the wooly fibers across his chin,
like individual spikes of a wheel
poking in multiple directions,
with fusing colors like a Monet.

I graze my fingers through the fibers
like walking through cornfields
with long, mysterious paths that
lead to depths I long to uncover.

He rests his hand upon his cheek,
pondering his next move
then stroking back and forth the ebony & ivory,
like the piano keys he gently plays for me.

The tune of his melody, deep and sweet,
intrudes my darkness, brushes away
the sagging of years upon my back,
and aligns our eyes to meet.

Speak for the Trees

Photo by Guillaume Meurice on Pexels.com

tears fall from the tips of leaves,
no longer heaving but finally at peace,
no longer a place for relief,
no longer bending to the constant breeze,
no longer kept afloat meandering rivers,
no longer subject to raging fires,
no longer a victim to defeat.

tides no longer pulling at the heart,
stars no longer hovering above,
no longer tormented to be part of the world
that casts itself forcibly upon a need for an anchor,
as the only surviving hope.

life no longer to be cradled within these branches,
the forest now lives inside the heart
of everything we once knew.

Fallen Pieces

An accelerated pull, or a pushing forward, disregarding the existence of brakes.
A collapse into fallen leaves and twigs.
A slow pluck of fallen pieces.
Looking up into the sway of the trees, between a glimmer of light.
Dodging, swerving away from becoming a future target.
Do I rise and escape these fallen pieces?
Or do I bask in the moment and let them consume me?