I'm going to try going over the Faithwalking material again by myself. I'm in a much healthier place, and I think it may be more effective the second time.
_____
What practices do you regularly engage?
Prayer, reading the Bible,
When do you engage them?
When I remember. When I am in a dark place or feeling far from God. When I feel exceptionally blessed.
How often?
I do better if I'm on some sort of reading plan. I'm also a big user of shotgun prayers. When I see myself walking into negative thought, or wanting to behave in a way I know is contrary to scripture and my own morals, or even when I just feel grateful.
With what consistency do you engage them?
Unless I am lost in shame, I can be fairly consistent. Even doing my devotional and the like daily.
What do you see about why you have chosen these practices and avoided or ignored others?
I probably chose these practices because they have concrete limits and requirements. I've prayed or I haven't. I've read my Bible, or I haven't. I know what to do, how to do it, and when I'm finished. Other things, like solitude and silence, are far less defined. How long do I need to sit alone? Five minutes? An hour?
What spiritual practices would you like to include in your Spiritual Workout?
- Silence - Solitude - Bible Study - Prayer - Worship - Fellowship -
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Should have known better...
Today could have been a happy day.
Granted, I did have to spend some alone time with one of my personal demons, but it gave me clarity on where and how it's hurting me. There's still much to be done, of course. Knowing that it feels like a character flaw, a blemish on my soul, doesn't make things better. However, small revelations about not knowing what to do with my body, or about the way I am careful to maintain my emotional distance, can help me set targets and goals to move me to a better place.
Then, a quick stop at my chiropractor and an hour or so of funny podcasts to brought me back to the light side. There will be times and places in which I must wrestle my demons, but when those times end and I leave those places, I have to be able to do so in a healthy way.
Dinner, tv, conversation, laughter. Spending time with my parents over spaghetti and french bread was a wonderful way to wind down the day. Soon after, I'd retreat to the comfort of my bedroom so I could use the wonder of the internet to travel far beyond. To people I had believed could be safe...
I should have known better.
Granted, I did have to spend some alone time with one of my personal demons, but it gave me clarity on where and how it's hurting me. There's still much to be done, of course. Knowing that it feels like a character flaw, a blemish on my soul, doesn't make things better. However, small revelations about not knowing what to do with my body, or about the way I am careful to maintain my emotional distance, can help me set targets and goals to move me to a better place.
Then, a quick stop at my chiropractor and an hour or so of funny podcasts to brought me back to the light side. There will be times and places in which I must wrestle my demons, but when those times end and I leave those places, I have to be able to do so in a healthy way.
Dinner, tv, conversation, laughter. Spending time with my parents over spaghetti and french bread was a wonderful way to wind down the day. Soon after, I'd retreat to the comfort of my bedroom so I could use the wonder of the internet to travel far beyond. To people I had believed could be safe...
I should have known better.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Sleep and Forget (A work in progress)
It wasn't like we'd planned it or anything. The room was silent save for the musical crescendo that accompanied the movie. Then it happened, and then it was over. There was no dramatic music for my sake, no rising terror or great struggle. It just...happened. In the movies, the heroine always struggles mightily before succumbing to the moment, but I had no such luck. He was stronger, I was drugged.
It's the sort of thing you always imagine happening at a party in the midst of hazy rooms clouded with shouted conversation, blasting music and undertones of sin and sex. A careless girl misplaces her cup, or sets it down to go to the restroom. The greasy villain takes advantage of the moment, slipping the inconspicuous white pill into the liquid before melting into the shadows until his target returns and falls prey to his machinations. He then sweeps her off and does the deed in spite of her muffled cries of protest.
In my case, there was no such thing. Just a friend, closer than a brother, and an evening home alone.
He always made the best chocolate shakes. Thick enough to stick, but smooth enough to feel like a caress when it slid down your throat. Besides, it was tradition. He made the drinks, I made the pizza and in less than fifteen minutes, we were back in front of the tv.
His chocolate shakes were always inexplicably delicious, and one of his most closely guarded secrets. Even I, the best friend and official keeper of his secrets, had been forced to give up on attempting to pry the recipe from his mind. There was an extra kick of tastiness tonight, but I didn't ask for an explanation I knew I wouldn't get. So, I settled down to watch one of the most ridiculous versions of Thumbelina that we'd ever seen. It was a favorite of ours. But when Thumbelina met the prince, the screen wobbled a bit and I felt a certain cloudiness in my brain. I thought the first signs of fatigue were beginning to show, but then I noticed myself sagging to the side. My thoughts started to jumble and swished around in my head like water. I tried to say something, to tell him I was feeling weird but all I could manage was a whining mumble.
Then I was floating. Boneless. His face appeared before me and I thought, at first, that he'd realized there was something wrong. Instead, that's when I realized there was something wrong. The expressions I'd seen on his face so many times were absent. His eyes scraped over my body with a frightening desperation, the path they made burned and I would have recoiled if I'd been able.
His breath shook, even as his hands did. They were gentle when they first touched me. Reverent to a fault, and so clearly afraid. At first, it was just my face, then my arm, but as the time passed, his touches grew bolder and more insistent. Just a finger, then his entire hand slid beneath my shirt pushing the fabric higher and higher. His eyes devoured my exposed flesh, even as it was slowly revealed. He lowered his head, as though in awe, to kiss the skin there.
When he looked up, it was like the bonds of restraint had snapped. His kisses became more insistent, his hands were all over me, his eyes were wild and hungry. I screamed inside, praying it would wake us both up from this nightmare. I saw his eyes change. I heard the catch in his breath, signaling each new discovery. Each new violation. I finally noticed that his lips had transformed from the hard line that had accompanied his concentration, into an endlessly shifting series of shapes. He was talking to me.
He had wanted me for so long. I was so beautiful. He was sorry, but he couldn't help himself. I had to have seen this coming. He would be gentle. I was so hot. He wanted me to feel good. He wanted to feel good. He wanted us both to feel good.
Each sentence fell on stunned ears, just as each piece of our clothing dropped from his unsteady hands onto the floor. Horror battled with a curious numbness within me. Even in my fear, my traitorous mind still whispered insecurities and doubt. He only wanted to get laid, I was just an easy target. He probably wouldn't have done it if he knew what you looked like naked. After this is over, at least you can pretend someone wants you. Treacherous thoughts fell like acid rain, and his unending string of empty words only increased the burn.
A pinch of pain cleared the fog for a moment, but it soon settled back in the crevices of my mind and I could no longer think. I was abandoned to the reality of my experience, only able to feel, to witness my body's reaction, to watch my best friend turn into a demon.
The drugs plucked at my thoughts, trying to drag me deeper and deeper, and I found myself willing to drown. I didn't want to feel the heat of his hands. I didn't want to acknowledge his sloppy, selfish kisses. I wanted to fall so deep that I wouldn't even hear the echo of the harsh grunts that marked his pace. It was too late to make it stop. Too late to take it all back. Too late to uncross the line. My violation was done. And so, I decided not to fight it. I closed my eyes, and let myself sleep.
It's the sort of thing you always imagine happening at a party in the midst of hazy rooms clouded with shouted conversation, blasting music and undertones of sin and sex. A careless girl misplaces her cup, or sets it down to go to the restroom. The greasy villain takes advantage of the moment, slipping the inconspicuous white pill into the liquid before melting into the shadows until his target returns and falls prey to his machinations. He then sweeps her off and does the deed in spite of her muffled cries of protest.
In my case, there was no such thing. Just a friend, closer than a brother, and an evening home alone.
He always made the best chocolate shakes. Thick enough to stick, but smooth enough to feel like a caress when it slid down your throat. Besides, it was tradition. He made the drinks, I made the pizza and in less than fifteen minutes, we were back in front of the tv.
His chocolate shakes were always inexplicably delicious, and one of his most closely guarded secrets. Even I, the best friend and official keeper of his secrets, had been forced to give up on attempting to pry the recipe from his mind. There was an extra kick of tastiness tonight, but I didn't ask for an explanation I knew I wouldn't get. So, I settled down to watch one of the most ridiculous versions of Thumbelina that we'd ever seen. It was a favorite of ours. But when Thumbelina met the prince, the screen wobbled a bit and I felt a certain cloudiness in my brain. I thought the first signs of fatigue were beginning to show, but then I noticed myself sagging to the side. My thoughts started to jumble and swished around in my head like water. I tried to say something, to tell him I was feeling weird but all I could manage was a whining mumble.
Then I was floating. Boneless. His face appeared before me and I thought, at first, that he'd realized there was something wrong. Instead, that's when I realized there was something wrong. The expressions I'd seen on his face so many times were absent. His eyes scraped over my body with a frightening desperation, the path they made burned and I would have recoiled if I'd been able.
His breath shook, even as his hands did. They were gentle when they first touched me. Reverent to a fault, and so clearly afraid. At first, it was just my face, then my arm, but as the time passed, his touches grew bolder and more insistent. Just a finger, then his entire hand slid beneath my shirt pushing the fabric higher and higher. His eyes devoured my exposed flesh, even as it was slowly revealed. He lowered his head, as though in awe, to kiss the skin there.
When he looked up, it was like the bonds of restraint had snapped. His kisses became more insistent, his hands were all over me, his eyes were wild and hungry. I screamed inside, praying it would wake us both up from this nightmare. I saw his eyes change. I heard the catch in his breath, signaling each new discovery. Each new violation. I finally noticed that his lips had transformed from the hard line that had accompanied his concentration, into an endlessly shifting series of shapes. He was talking to me.
He had wanted me for so long. I was so beautiful. He was sorry, but he couldn't help himself. I had to have seen this coming. He would be gentle. I was so hot. He wanted me to feel good. He wanted to feel good. He wanted us both to feel good.
Each sentence fell on stunned ears, just as each piece of our clothing dropped from his unsteady hands onto the floor. Horror battled with a curious numbness within me. Even in my fear, my traitorous mind still whispered insecurities and doubt. He only wanted to get laid, I was just an easy target. He probably wouldn't have done it if he knew what you looked like naked. After this is over, at least you can pretend someone wants you. Treacherous thoughts fell like acid rain, and his unending string of empty words only increased the burn.
A pinch of pain cleared the fog for a moment, but it soon settled back in the crevices of my mind and I could no longer think. I was abandoned to the reality of my experience, only able to feel, to witness my body's reaction, to watch my best friend turn into a demon.
The drugs plucked at my thoughts, trying to drag me deeper and deeper, and I found myself willing to drown. I didn't want to feel the heat of his hands. I didn't want to acknowledge his sloppy, selfish kisses. I wanted to fall so deep that I wouldn't even hear the echo of the harsh grunts that marked his pace. It was too late to make it stop. Too late to take it all back. Too late to uncross the line. My violation was done. And so, I decided not to fight it. I closed my eyes, and let myself sleep.
Sometimes...
I hate myself so much that I can't even stand to be comforted. It all sounds like mockery, or like someone's unwillingness to see the truth. Or worse, someone who doesn't care enough to tell me the truth.
I desperately want something to soothe the pain. To hear a familiar voice that will calm me, soothe me, restore me. There is no such thing. And if there were, I have no idea what I'd want it to say. Every compliment would ring hollow, every encouragement would be a reminder of the things I haven't done for myself.
What do you do when even the words "I love you," bite like a whip, because someone who could love such a horrendous creature, is far too good to deserve all the heartache and pain and extra effort their connection would bring.
There is a war. I scream inside, hoping that my cries will call to the hearts of others. so I can finally rest in the knowledge that I am not alone. I can dream of using my voice as a way to join with others, creating the blissful harmony of true connection. On the other hand, I know the scarlet letters that mark my skin. Pariah. Failure. Invalid. Disabled. And I would rather slice my skin and bleed my penance a thousand times over, than drag those who are genuinely good into the mire of my tainted existence.
I would start to cry, but there's already more than enough rain.
I'm supposed to know better. To think better. To do better.
But right now, rock bottom seems to be my very best.
I desperately want something to soothe the pain. To hear a familiar voice that will calm me, soothe me, restore me. There is no such thing. And if there were, I have no idea what I'd want it to say. Every compliment would ring hollow, every encouragement would be a reminder of the things I haven't done for myself.
What do you do when even the words "I love you," bite like a whip, because someone who could love such a horrendous creature, is far too good to deserve all the heartache and pain and extra effort their connection would bring.
There is a war. I scream inside, hoping that my cries will call to the hearts of others. so I can finally rest in the knowledge that I am not alone. I can dream of using my voice as a way to join with others, creating the blissful harmony of true connection. On the other hand, I know the scarlet letters that mark my skin. Pariah. Failure. Invalid. Disabled. And I would rather slice my skin and bleed my penance a thousand times over, than drag those who are genuinely good into the mire of my tainted existence.
I would start to cry, but there's already more than enough rain.
I'm supposed to know better. To think better. To do better.
But right now, rock bottom seems to be my very best.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Leave My Loneliness Unbroken
I have no idea why this part of E.A. Poe's The Raven was copied into a draft, but the passage still sounds good, so why not?
______________________
"`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'"
And yet, the broken heart cries freely,
to save my frozen soul, grown steely,
and my strength it staggers weakly through the
once safeguarded door
Enough, I cried! To break this measured poetic screening
of these feelings burning deeply
I pray to heaven, please release me
from these demons at my door
______________________
"`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'"
And yet, the broken heart cries freely,
to save my frozen soul, grown steely,
and my strength it staggers weakly through the
once safeguarded door
Enough, I cried! To break this measured poetic screening
of these feelings burning deeply
I pray to heaven, please release me
from these demons at my door
Monday, November 9, 2015
I just...
Yet another work I seem to have forgotten in the Cave of Drafts.
Want to be in love. Not alone, not unrequited, not temporal. To love and be loved.
________________________________________________________
In his eyes, Elsa could not have been more invisible than if she were to walk in an ever-present shadow. She would never push him to do otherwise. Instead, she buried her heart as deeply as she could, quieting its beating so that none but she might hear it crying for love. She had tried before. Out of some compulsion to care for those in need, to be for someone what no one would be for either of them. When she heard the weeping of a fellow heart, she could not do nothing but let hers cry out in response. But there never was one that sought to reciprocate the care she put into the relationship.
And as she found no heart that beat in time with her own, she silenced the pounding until it bled, wept, breathed, hoped and rotted in silent neglect. She had long since grown sick and starved with the lack of interest, of even decency in her relationships. And so, she gave it up.
In one glorious evening, she had disconnected from her past. How she loved the glow of the fire, the warmth created by the slow destruction of love letters, tear-stained pages, dreams pasted on paper hearts and all of the foolishness through which she had trudged with no satisfaction.
Now, she sought to lose herself in pleasure, the morphine of emotion. Yet again, she eyed the young man. He smiled and spoke innocently with those around him. His gentle chuckle seemed to struggle through the noise of the crowded bar. It called to the predator in her, and nearly begged for her to begin the chase, but it was too soon. She ordered another drink and studied him.
His long-sleeved shirt was casual, but stylish. His hair was a careful mess of scarlet to which his grey eyes provided a singular contrast. Even his jeans were distressed in a vaguely meticulous way. Probably homemade as she had never seen that pattern before. Overall he appeared relaxed, and yet she knew everything about his appearance was intentional. By the way his eyes flicked to the ground whenever a woman approached indicated that he hoped that a clean presentation would speak for him, as he did little more than respond politely to the conversation that buzzed around him. When the woman twittering in his ear stepped away to dance with a friend and his eyes followed her before scanning the crowd, Elsa decided to move in.
As she strode boldly towards him, the boot of her heel clicked to the time of the music. She shrugged and let her shirt slip off her shoulder, as it was meant to be worn, just before she sank gently into the seat beside him. He noticed her immediately, but she waited until he'd had ample time to casually survey her leather skirt and the way her shirt hung off her body just so he could noticed the plump swells on her chest and the golden sheen that warmed the cinnamon shade of her skin. He blushed at his behavior and dropped his gaze to fingers that busied themselves with turning his cup.
She chuckled, using the rich, deep tone she knew those of his kind could not resist. She turned violet eyes, the contacts making her seem more exotic, and looked at the man through the slanted bangs of her bobbed hair.
"So, do you like what you see?"
Surprised by her sudden attentions, he nearly spilled his drink in his efforts to explain himself. Again she laughed, placing her hand gently upon his arm as she did.
"It's fine. I've been looking at you for a while anyway," she said.
An instant of uncertainty temporarily darkened his eyes to slate gray.
"Not like that. I was sitting further down the bar and I couldn't help but notice you."
Soft pink lips quirked up to a sardonic smirk. He said, "The red hair, right?"
"It was your laugh, actually. It has a way of drawing people in, you know?"
A soft red began its slow creep over his pale cheeks. A gentle shake allowed his hair to slip down on his forehead, providing some amount of protection.
"I...I didn't know that. People usually notice the hair first.," he said, clearing his throat.
His posture shifted, as though in that moment he had given himself an internal pep talk. He raised his head and smile, it was innocent and showed a sense of genuineness that made her question what she was about to do.
"My name is Liam. And who might you be?"
One eyebrow arched as she observed the change in demeanor before she let her glossed lips part reciprocating grin.
"You can call me Elsa. If you're lucky, I just might let you call me El," she responded.
There was no shy blush this time, only a warm response.
"And what brings you to a bar on a night like this, Elsa?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Liam."
Without missing a beat, he replied "you could, but I am honor bound, as a gentleman, to let the lady go first."
A sense of humor and a cute smile? She liked that. She hid a frown behind her smile. She wasn't supposed to be charmed. Compose yourself, Elsa, she thought. He's cute now, but you know well enough what they become.
"I was bored and alone. I decided to skip the popcorn and movie marathon and get out of my house, and my head. At least here I can occupy myself with people watching."
If she'd read him right, he would be able to identify with that. He seemed like a thinker.
"I can certainly understand that. Though, I admit, I'm only here because my buddies wanted a wingman," he said.
She watched the shadow of a grimace make a momentary appearance before he recovered himself.
"I'd have thought you'd be the center of attention with the way you look." She feigned a blush. "I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have been so forward." She let her eyes drop to her lap for a moment.
"Hey, I don't mind in the least.What's not to love about an open compliment? It's good for my self-confidence," he said.
She looked up through her lashes, allowing him to admire the care she had taken in applying her eye shadow.
"Then let me do you one better," she said.
Leaning forward so her lips just brushed against his ear and a hand gently gripped his leg.
"I don't want to be brazen, but I think I like you, and I'd like to get to know you better. But, not here. What do you think about that?," she whispered.
She quite enjoyed the small shudder that preceded that rising of a blush on his cheeks once again.
Want to be in love. Not alone, not unrequited, not temporal. To love and be loved.
________________________________________________________
In his eyes, Elsa could not have been more invisible than if she were to walk in an ever-present shadow. She would never push him to do otherwise. Instead, she buried her heart as deeply as she could, quieting its beating so that none but she might hear it crying for love. She had tried before. Out of some compulsion to care for those in need, to be for someone what no one would be for either of them. When she heard the weeping of a fellow heart, she could not do nothing but let hers cry out in response. But there never was one that sought to reciprocate the care she put into the relationship.
And as she found no heart that beat in time with her own, she silenced the pounding until it bled, wept, breathed, hoped and rotted in silent neglect. She had long since grown sick and starved with the lack of interest, of even decency in her relationships. And so, she gave it up.
In one glorious evening, she had disconnected from her past. How she loved the glow of the fire, the warmth created by the slow destruction of love letters, tear-stained pages, dreams pasted on paper hearts and all of the foolishness through which she had trudged with no satisfaction.
Now, she sought to lose herself in pleasure, the morphine of emotion. Yet again, she eyed the young man. He smiled and spoke innocently with those around him. His gentle chuckle seemed to struggle through the noise of the crowded bar. It called to the predator in her, and nearly begged for her to begin the chase, but it was too soon. She ordered another drink and studied him.
His long-sleeved shirt was casual, but stylish. His hair was a careful mess of scarlet to which his grey eyes provided a singular contrast. Even his jeans were distressed in a vaguely meticulous way. Probably homemade as she had never seen that pattern before. Overall he appeared relaxed, and yet she knew everything about his appearance was intentional. By the way his eyes flicked to the ground whenever a woman approached indicated that he hoped that a clean presentation would speak for him, as he did little more than respond politely to the conversation that buzzed around him. When the woman twittering in his ear stepped away to dance with a friend and his eyes followed her before scanning the crowd, Elsa decided to move in.
As she strode boldly towards him, the boot of her heel clicked to the time of the music. She shrugged and let her shirt slip off her shoulder, as it was meant to be worn, just before she sank gently into the seat beside him. He noticed her immediately, but she waited until he'd had ample time to casually survey her leather skirt and the way her shirt hung off her body just so he could noticed the plump swells on her chest and the golden sheen that warmed the cinnamon shade of her skin. He blushed at his behavior and dropped his gaze to fingers that busied themselves with turning his cup.
She chuckled, using the rich, deep tone she knew those of his kind could not resist. She turned violet eyes, the contacts making her seem more exotic, and looked at the man through the slanted bangs of her bobbed hair.
"So, do you like what you see?"
Surprised by her sudden attentions, he nearly spilled his drink in his efforts to explain himself. Again she laughed, placing her hand gently upon his arm as she did.
"It's fine. I've been looking at you for a while anyway," she said.
An instant of uncertainty temporarily darkened his eyes to slate gray.
"Not like that. I was sitting further down the bar and I couldn't help but notice you."
Soft pink lips quirked up to a sardonic smirk. He said, "The red hair, right?"
"It was your laugh, actually. It has a way of drawing people in, you know?"
A soft red began its slow creep over his pale cheeks. A gentle shake allowed his hair to slip down on his forehead, providing some amount of protection.
"I...I didn't know that. People usually notice the hair first.," he said, clearing his throat.
His posture shifted, as though in that moment he had given himself an internal pep talk. He raised his head and smile, it was innocent and showed a sense of genuineness that made her question what she was about to do.
"My name is Liam. And who might you be?"
One eyebrow arched as she observed the change in demeanor before she let her glossed lips part reciprocating grin.
"You can call me Elsa. If you're lucky, I just might let you call me El," she responded.
There was no shy blush this time, only a warm response.
"And what brings you to a bar on a night like this, Elsa?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Liam."
Without missing a beat, he replied "you could, but I am honor bound, as a gentleman, to let the lady go first."
A sense of humor and a cute smile? She liked that. She hid a frown behind her smile. She wasn't supposed to be charmed. Compose yourself, Elsa, she thought. He's cute now, but you know well enough what they become.
"I was bored and alone. I decided to skip the popcorn and movie marathon and get out of my house, and my head. At least here I can occupy myself with people watching."
If she'd read him right, he would be able to identify with that. He seemed like a thinker.
"I can certainly understand that. Though, I admit, I'm only here because my buddies wanted a wingman," he said.
She watched the shadow of a grimace make a momentary appearance before he recovered himself.
"I'd have thought you'd be the center of attention with the way you look." She feigned a blush. "I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have been so forward." She let her eyes drop to her lap for a moment.
"Hey, I don't mind in the least.What's not to love about an open compliment? It's good for my self-confidence," he said.
She looked up through her lashes, allowing him to admire the care she had taken in applying her eye shadow.
"Then let me do you one better," she said.
Leaning forward so her lips just brushed against his ear and a hand gently gripped his leg.
"I don't want to be brazen, but I think I like you, and I'd like to get to know you better. But, not here. What do you think about that?," she whispered.
She quite enjoyed the small shudder that preceded that rising of a blush on his cheeks once again.
I Can't Seem to Stop
I've been here before,
I've said this before,
I've hurt people before
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have breached the heavy walls that seperate self from others
Let a spark of light disrupt the steady darkness of my self-imposed night
I have dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, I don't have to be alone
And for some reason, I can't seem to stop
I have relished the flavor of new connection, a yet undiscovered soul
I have pulled back the curtain, to give the fortunate few a glimpse of the woman behind
I have sat as eager listener, learner, observer, explorer
I have reveled in the joy of finding the familiar, the resonant, the right in another
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have given way to fantasies, sweet and sultry alike
I have turned my thoughts into tendrils, sent out to tease and tempt
I have danced in heat and sex, in comfort and calm, in passion and ferocity
I have allowed the seed of hope to grow beyond my self-made cages
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have spewed such poison, as could kill all the world's dreams
I have used tender hearts as foot rests and convenient crutches because I have always been broken
I have played sympathy against my apathy, and left the care of another crumpled, used and discarded like waste
I have done my worst to see if possibly, I could destroy the possibility of a lifelong friend, partner, lover, connection
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have walked the long mile, scuffing my hardened feet instead of the shoes of another
I have let my laughter leave my lips, turning them to bear a heavier burden
I have let friendship fade, pushed away, and with shaking hands, tried to clean the blood in my wake
I have planted mistakes and let them mature into disasters, knowing what comes after, and praying for the destruction anyway
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have painted blue skies black, uselessly swiping at the planets that pull the pain back
I have closed doors once open, building walls of brick when naive hope gets stuck in the door.
I have offered my ____ as sacrifice, praying for the necessary devices to return the disturbed earth to what it once was
I have walked away from open arms, cut ties made into lifelines, burned bridges before they were built, and returned to cursed isolation before spreading desolation
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I've said this before,
I've hurt people before
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have breached the heavy walls that seperate self from others
Let a spark of light disrupt the steady darkness of my self-imposed night
I have dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, I don't have to be alone
And for some reason, I can't seem to stop
I have relished the flavor of new connection, a yet undiscovered soul
I have pulled back the curtain, to give the fortunate few a glimpse of the woman behind
I have sat as eager listener, learner, observer, explorer
I have reveled in the joy of finding the familiar, the resonant, the right in another
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have given way to fantasies, sweet and sultry alike
I have turned my thoughts into tendrils, sent out to tease and tempt
I have danced in heat and sex, in comfort and calm, in passion and ferocity
I have allowed the seed of hope to grow beyond my self-made cages
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have spewed such poison, as could kill all the world's dreams
I have used tender hearts as foot rests and convenient crutches because I have always been broken
I have played sympathy against my apathy, and left the care of another crumpled, used and discarded like waste
I have done my worst to see if possibly, I could destroy the possibility of a lifelong friend, partner, lover, connection
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have walked the long mile, scuffing my hardened feet instead of the shoes of another
I have let my laughter leave my lips, turning them to bear a heavier burden
I have let friendship fade, pushed away, and with shaking hands, tried to clean the blood in my wake
I have planted mistakes and let them mature into disasters, knowing what comes after, and praying for the destruction anyway
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
I have painted blue skies black, uselessly swiping at the planets that pull the pain back
I have closed doors once open, building walls of brick when naive hope gets stuck in the door.
I have offered my ____ as sacrifice, praying for the necessary devices to return the disturbed earth to what it once was
I have walked away from open arms, cut ties made into lifelines, burned bridges before they were built, and returned to cursed isolation before spreading desolation
And for some reason,
I can't seem to stop
Friday, May 29, 2015
She Wanted Lust
She had to admit it. It was lust. Full on, dirty minded, impure lust. And she couldn't seem to help it. She wanted to remain objective and logical in all things, but her mind always seemed to wander when it came to one subject. Him.
Her friends had mixed opinions about his level of attractiveness, but to her, he was the image the ancient Greeks and Romans sought in their attempts to carve a divine figure. He was Adonis himself. The cool porcelain tint to his body only brought his image closer to the visages carved in marble. Neither fierce definition nor flabby excess marred the vision of masculine beauty he presented.
The talent in her that was tempered for words, for an instant, longed for mastery of the line. The curve. The alternatingly soft and strong representations of reality that made him so attractive to her eye. Never would her aching fingertips trace the heaven-made lines of his body, and so she settled for the somewhat vague impressions buried deep within her mind.
But what tantalized her fantasies, and coaxed her imagination into a flurry of creativity was the thought of that which was beyond possible. A true mixing of beauty and the beast. The artful elegance he brought to the picture could only be insulted to the lumpy and garbled image she presented, even at her best. His god-like curves stood in stark contrast to her grotesque lumps and assorted deformations.
And yet, she dreamed. Dreamed of whispered passions and lustful sighs. She hoped for dreams come true and a truth stranger than fiction. She longed for the fairy tale in the fable and the love story costumed as a frog. Sweet kisses. Feverish sighs. Arousing friction. Tempting touches. Soft voices. Flaming passions. She wanted it all.
And yet, knowing both herself and the world, she knew she would live forever with none.
Her friends had mixed opinions about his level of attractiveness, but to her, he was the image the ancient Greeks and Romans sought in their attempts to carve a divine figure. He was Adonis himself. The cool porcelain tint to his body only brought his image closer to the visages carved in marble. Neither fierce definition nor flabby excess marred the vision of masculine beauty he presented.
The talent in her that was tempered for words, for an instant, longed for mastery of the line. The curve. The alternatingly soft and strong representations of reality that made him so attractive to her eye. Never would her aching fingertips trace the heaven-made lines of his body, and so she settled for the somewhat vague impressions buried deep within her mind.
But what tantalized her fantasies, and coaxed her imagination into a flurry of creativity was the thought of that which was beyond possible. A true mixing of beauty and the beast. The artful elegance he brought to the picture could only be insulted to the lumpy and garbled image she presented, even at her best. His god-like curves stood in stark contrast to her grotesque lumps and assorted deformations.
And yet, she dreamed. Dreamed of whispered passions and lustful sighs. She hoped for dreams come true and a truth stranger than fiction. She longed for the fairy tale in the fable and the love story costumed as a frog. Sweet kisses. Feverish sighs. Arousing friction. Tempting touches. Soft voices. Flaming passions. She wanted it all.
And yet, knowing both herself and the world, she knew she would live forever with none.
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