Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

An Arrow

An arrow is still an arrow, no matter what it’s tipped with at its start. Sugar or poison? What’s the difference…they will both kill you in the end once they find their mark, released from the bow of a skilled, yet terrible archer. 

 

An arrow wrapped with sugar will cause an even slower death than that of its poison brother. Will still tear through your limbs and organs, rip apart your foundation until you are a bloody, sobbing mess on the floor. Harder to escape from its pain, because of the illusion of love it once gave you. 

 

An arrow doused in poison will cause a quick death of the mind, but the heart is slower to catch up, the blood moving sluggishly through your veins even as your mind frantically tells you to react. Causing you to lay in agony, fearful of each day despite the power inside you. There is no illusion of love here, only control. 

 

Give me neither sugar or poison from your damaged fingers and bitter mouth. Give me no illusion of love and adoration. Give me no marks or twisted deeds of your supposed control. Give me nothing of yourself, let me remain as I am. Broken but still standing. Dressed for the battle of another day, another night…

 

I do not long for your arrows of deceit. I long for your truth. Do you remember what that is for yourself? Give me the truest parts of your body, mind, and soul. I will bare the same to you. You needn’t rip me apart to succeed, I don’t need you to be whole again. I only need you to be capable of standing in both my light and shadows. 

 

For you to witness what the sugar and poison tipped arrows of before have carved in me and to understand. I would be yours if you asked it. But I will always be mine. I will always know the truth even if I cannot give it voice. I will not cower from this tragic state. I will embrace the life I am meant to live. 

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Witness the Art

They were like art, the way they moved together, living, breathing, glorious art that you could barely stand to witness and yet you could never tear your eyes away in their presence. 

 

So fierce was their devotion and loyalty with their passion burning just as bright, you could be across a crowded room when they caught eyes and you felt it. 

 

Time slowed like a thick molasses as their connection crackled and they spun a web around each other, catching those around them in it without even trying. 

 

Bodies moving closer until it all snapped into place at the touch of their fingers, then their mouths. Damn, but were they art…in the purest form. 

 

The kind of painting or sculpture brought to life most people see and ache at the sheer beauty of it, wish they were a part of it. 

 

Sensual, hell downright sexual, they breathed each other’s air, bodies always touching, mouths seeking, paying no attention to those around them.

 

They never cared who witnessed their beauty. They weren’t putting on a show it was clear they only had eyes and thoughts for each other. 

 

They just couldn’t help themselves, and when there’s art as beautiful as them in front of you, as bittersweet as it is at times, you simply can’t tear your eyes away from it. 

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

The Moon Calls

Restless, I heard her call like I did every other night, unable to sleep as she cast her long, pale, silvery rays over the bed. 

 

Her beauty quieter than the suns, but no less rare or magnificent in her own right. I lay with my hand tucked under my cheek, hair across the pillow, watching and wishing. 

 

On clear nights I watched how she appeared to remain unchanged, yet knew she came to me as if brand new each night. On those nights I also wished for simpler times. 

 

On the nights where the clouds tried to block her out, I watched for her to make a bold appearance. Then I wished for you to do the same. My arm stretching across the empty side of the bed and hand grasping nothing but air. 

 

I danced my fingers over the shadows she cast, imagining it was your skin instead of the sheets. That I was able to trace every dip and curve of your body however I may have desired too.  

 

For a brief moment that night as my fingers restlessly skittered over the bed, I looked up from the silver lines on my arms to the moon peeking through the blinds, the clouds had seemed to vanish in that moment and it was as if she promised. 

 

That one day she’d cast her silver lines over your body beside me and grant my wish. She’d watch over me as I’d watched her through the years, tracing patterns over your skin with fingers and lips. 

 

When the rain would start to fall I’d know she wept at the beauty she herself longed for but would never have. And that as many nights as you laid beside me she would grant me access to you with her long, pale, silvery rays. 

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

What Lies Beneath

Her lips dripped honeyed words sweeter than any bee ever hoped to produce. She was a goddess among queens. Beneath her sweetness a truth lay in wait for the man that would one day hold her. 

 

 

Her eyes caught you, always lit from within. A mystery untold even as her mouth would quirk up in a smile on one side. Like she was laughing at a secret only she was privy too. One she may not have found truly amusing. 

 

 

Her face showed youth, yet it also showed the wisdom of lessons learned. Of the life she’d lived to this point and that no matter ones age, they can always know pain and loss and a life lived. Etched in between the tiny laugh lines around her eyes, you would surly find both. 

 

 

Yet beneath her smoothed out veneer ran a savageness and hunger. One that she ruthlessly controlled. She could never truly be held unless she gave herself freely. Trying to capture her was like trying to capture smoke that the wind had already carried away.