Captivating Criminal

Once again, you’ve changed me,
showed me the spark that can ignite
a fire deep inside by a simple
coming together of lips between two lovers
who can only refuse one another.

We are not right,

yet we cannot be wrong
with a longing like this, lasting
years of silence and months of
separation at a time because

neither you nor I have been ready
to love one another, though we
have always burned to. Your lips

stay locked on mine in my memory
and I hold on to that feeling of bliss;
the taste of your green cigarette;
the feeling of possibility that maybe

this year, this day, we will finally connect.

But I fear you soon will run away
as you always do; forget to call
for our very first date.

Your best at abandoning but I can imagine
the lover you could be to me and how
I could attempt in calming that innate anger
that seems to always be boiling inside
those beautiful eyes and mumbling
from those perfect lips that are

destined to someday be mine.

You are sweet; will wait on me hand and foot
in the moment but forget me when the sun
decides to rise. Our situation is difficult,

like Romeo and Juliet, and this may be
the only reason why we long so deeply,
because we are not meant-to-be.

But I love you and you in some way
love me, though you still are not ready
to act on this but instead daydream
of what we could be. You string me along

while you attempt to figure yourself out.

And I will wait, whether it may be
by choice or by default from my lack
of ability to long like this for

anybody else.

Mother's Day

reminds 

many of their wonderful mothers who

were there 

no matter what the situation was; only one

 who 

put your life ahead of their own,

you were 

the center of their world, the universe.

You know 

she will always have your back, never suspect she may turn.

Though this is not 

what some think of on this day. Some like myself

wonder 

what happened, where things went wrong.

Looking

at her–I don’t see a mom.

Some people

 like me, sit with their siblings and talk of how

embarrassed 

we are, how we wish we could help.

She’s so far 

off the path, hopes of hope are far gone, we continue on.

I’m thankful 

for what you have taught me in all your wrong doings of me.

 I’m deeply thankful 

for the scars you left and my dying insecurities.

Deep, Deep down,

I wish I could love you like others love their mother, but

resentment and hatred lie 

where your love is, though I did not plant those seeds,

 it was your hand that reached in. 

Dear J's of My Life

                Where do I begin to explain how all you J’s chAnged me. My first, stEpping up to the pLate to teach me how to never again need someone so badLy chEst pains sting at the thought of being without; volunteering to be the first to truly crush my heart and naïve hope that in men there is a sliver of decency. I was a slow learner and it took five years and two more J’s before I could leave you. 

J nUmber two, you Showed me That forbIdden love is fuN, but only disastrous when you get down to it; schooling me on how to see the clues of a better cheat. Our fling so quickly burnt out the smoke still rises years later as a reminder.

The ultimate J, J number three, the One; you Helped me see the evil that surrouNded me, the bitterness and self-loathing I had, though you created more in the end.  I came to you with a wounded heart and mind and you, at first, made me heal, but soon infected me with a disease I still cannot rid. The One, you taught me that when the rain is pouring things are not at its worse, but hail and wind can fall and break things already broken.

                My J’s, through all of your brave and selfless volunteering to teach me the cruelness of relationships, I have come out not only scared to once again show myself to a possibly judging eye, but am incapable to give what I gave to you; love. My heart continues to beat, ooze from the wounds you all have left me. With this, I don’t know whether to thank or hate you for tainting me so beautifully. My eyes may be open, my heart may be closed, but my mind is left to decide what lessons to believe and hold dear, like I once held each of you.

"Jo, Short for Josephine"

The lights stay dimmed while
a simple stage is lit. In a four
seat row I find myself

alone;

a vacancy sign propped above
my bushy head, till a lady
walks beside offering warm

conversation

and years of scenes played
over and over again—
with a family repeating

my name;

Just as Romeo and Juliet’s
family name gets passed,
repeated, over again in plays.

We

speak of teaching as I
am aspiring and she once
was, giving me tips and praise

                for what I haven’t yet done.

When the lights turn up
we walk each other
down stairwells and hope

one day

we’ll run into each other at
another play, and I can tell her
how she inspired me on my way. 

Secrets of a Tainted Heart

My words so sour as milk months old, forgotten, and spill so slowly from my oozing mouth of a wound through fingers typing away not knowing what they say. I spill, like fallen glasses breaking and shattering upon the dirty wooden floor they didn’t see coming while enjoying the bliss of freedom before they reached their final place. On paper this ink sticks and stays and I can’t delete the feelings that reside within me, though gruesome and sick as they may be, sunlight, eyesight, they must see, be read by those willing to believe that I am only human and I cannot help but feel and say these things that upset me. My mouth moves so quickly like the vibrations through the air as I speak this to you, stumbling over my own words. They cannot explain, never will show what it is that I’m really trying to say. In my stumbling maybe you will feel what I feel and understand that I do not mean to hurt or lie, I do not mean to let myself cry but I don’t know how to express what is inside this lying and filthy mind that plays tricks and trades and wants things to stay the same and change all in one breath. I go right than left and find myself in the same spot as when I first thought I left, realizing I haven’t learned how to move but think that I’m so smart, know it all, I’ll give you advice on things that I continue to fail at. I fail, over and over again and I can tell you the things I learned and help teach you but I can’t take these lessons and apply them and know what the new outcome may be because I have not graduated from stupidity, foolishness, thinking that people are decent and I can trust them. Where do I find the answers for how to be mindful and have compassion for those who continuously step on my fingers and toes and smile while they break and I’ll let this happen and smile in return and help them until finally one day I snap and ramble in this messy form of a poem or reading and I let it all out, show my bruises and scars and how angry I can be from the things they have done to me. I have self-pity, I do not understand because I move forward in my mind while my heart stays behind holding grudges and reminding me that I should never again let her go into the dark alone and experience the unkindness of my own kind. But I do believe that out there somewhere is a group of people who care so deeply as I and understand this message I’m trying to say, understand this confusion that continuously haunts at bay.

The "Big" Show

Of all the acts I’ve played,
maybe but three were worth
a memory; worth counting.

You my dear, are forgotten;
lost to my denial that we
may have acted as one.

A glorious pit fills my empty
stomach when a scene of you
on top of me begins

to unfold so disastrously,
much like the actual events;

You lasted but only a minute.

Proven Fool, Round 22

How angering, frustrating,
foolish, better yet,

disappointing

to have believed You
were a better man than

You really are

just like those other
boys—believing Your

a big, burly man

because You can grow
a beard and pubic hair.

20 something years, You
still haven’t learned

a woman’s worth

is something You should
not take for granted, though

                time and time again

You do.  Your mind and heart
may never grow, but Your

penis surely will

become infected with
uneducated diseases
while You wonder

Why did I let that one go…

Excuses Are For Boys, Not Men

I must have been bored, settled
for a boy with the name of a 5 year old,
height of a 12 year old. I should have
known you wouldn’t be much more.

Mr. CENSOR “Danger” CENSOR,
pfft, danger please.
I’ll show you what danger
is; soon you will see.

It’s no wonder you’re fiancé left
and you’re living at 28 with a cat—
Iron Man, Bruins, doesn’t make you
a man, just a dud who can’t find
a women foolish enough to stay.

Everything was quite lame:
amateur screenplays,
the way you’d say my name,
tell me stories while I
would listen patiently in pain.

I put on quite the face, don’t I?

You never would have expected

the things I am capable to do; how
my mind can figure ways to truly
screw with a boy like you.

You’ll have no chance now
finding anyone but a paid whore–
well you couldn’t even manage that,
you’re far too poor, pathetic.
I was most definitely bored.

So feed me your excuses; plead
you didn’t know, you’re sorry
and whatever other bullshit
falls out your useless mouth
and watch while I peal pieces
of you away, stripping you down–

you can't be saved.

My Heart Knows Dates (17 Months in Healing)

I sit amongst a burning flame, remembering
how you are the only one to have seen
my bare skin by candlelight, the way my hair
would fall and I’d smile at you with love.

Remembering moments of joy between
us two undeniable lovers that were meant

to one day break, leaving scars and memories

like the smoke rising from those burnt
out wicks after they had been blown out
by your sweet, sweet breath. I remember

the nights by moonlight, where fireworks
lit up the August sky and you held me,
promising it’d be better this time. I

believed and you tried. We walked
down paths just for the sake of walking,
exploring and seeing where dead end

streets may lead—to broken hearts we’d see.
I remember your face in the night, how you

seemed to light up my lonely life. Yes, you

were once my white knight and I’d
come to you to cry, back when I could
shed a tear and feel. Those days revealed

a softer side to me; a side I may never
again see. We’re too broken now
from one another’s love to believe

another love is waiting for me.

You are but a distant memory, coming
to life only in the night when I wonder
if you’re thinking of me in this moment too;

Wondering if our love was really through,
what might happen if I spoke to you, or
you read this poem one day and saw

my undying pain that I cannot love.
My heart stays dormant, beating slowly,
waiting for something to blow out this flame.

The Marathon

The distance seems so far away.
Dreams lie waiting there, watching
while she runs towards them― slowly.

Her stride holds strong though many,
many miles lie ahead on the path
leading to the end. She hopes

to find new dreams forming
from the seeds of those accomplished.

This is what she lives
for— to accomplish.

She pushes, fueled by the possible
outcomes or her boundless ambitions.

Happiness begins there.

But happiness ends there. Where
there is nothing to be reached
but fruits on tall trees or ancient,
dusty books waiting atop a broken,

rotting, wooden shelf filled
with pictures of the life she led;
the moments that passed by

while she continued running.

A Motherly Snake

Stabs of pain

from ghostly knives―

Reopened scares

on starry nights.

Dead silence,

(sounds of cries.)

Hear her whisper;

never goodbyes.

I beg, just leave,

slash these ties;

this umbilical cord

of deceit and lies.

I’d die to help.

(I’ve already died.)

I tremble― afraid

to let you inside.

You will not leave;

stuck by my side.

Echoes…                                             

Echoes…                             

Echoes…

I fall behind

into the past―

                my corrupted mind.

Knee Deep in the (K)night

This feeling is nothing
more than that of a fool;
longing and desiring what
I deeply do not want.

But you are near now; I plot
how to make you nearer―
cure my lonesome boredom.

I feel cold beneath my skin.
That awkward question settles
in; would he even…

I am a woman. He can-
not deny my advances,
should I make myself
a desirable, reckless fool.

The Miss-Mate Shoe

It’s not that I’m sad; it’s just
the feelings I have when

I look deep in my past—

(Remember the times)

We had a blast
or all the things you
happened to smash.

Everything went by too fast.

Now, I sit here watching time
pass, thinking of how

to get that feeling back.

I don’t honestly fear
that no man will ever

love me,

but that no man

will I ever love(?)

An anxiety I’ll only ever be

just

one.