Running From Star to Star Until I Drop

I did some writing while I was in Colorado and Utah. Obviously, there is a lot of time for reflection when you go on a 6 day driving excursion. So, here is the first thing I put down. I was still very excited to be having the experience 3 and 4 days in and was well aware that I was loving every moment of the drive and stops. I'm not editing or changing any of this … :

I used to think I was unsatisfied and that was the reason I wanted so much change all the time. I told myself that the real reason I wanted to travel was that I had a restless heart... but I'm starting to realize something else about myself... I really love life and this world. A thought occurred to me in Yellowstone: with a place so beautiful, how could I not want to see it all? With a population so diverse how could I not want to live all over the place? With a mind so dynamic, how could I not want more education? I want to experience, know, and be as much as possible.

Bison and the Road in Yellowstone National Park

I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion. ― Jack Kerouac

I Saw Your Soul

mmm, I love a little poetry after supper ...

At last, another poetry day. For a while there I was hardly writing. I think there are these certain levels of anger I have to be within to write poetry and I was beyond the upper limits. Now I think the kingdom is back in order, that or my tolerance level has risen. Either way, here are some poems I wrote during my recent travels.

Get Behind Me

I walk with this limp.

I cannot remember

any other way.

When you get so used

to picking up the extra weight

what difference does

today make?

But I will not carry it tomorrow.

That's a new day

for new pain,

and you've burdened me enough.

Tonight I Am A Transylvanian

Pale, reclusive and coveting;

her dark eyes

pierce man's soul,

her luminous teeth

a man's carotid

so she never wore lipstick.

But they still came.

Whether for her skin

or life

she never asked.

When they'd remove

her lace

they were always entranced

by the white and subtle pink.

As a mister's hands

found her garter,

she would find a throbbing

neck

willing to be taken.

A disregard for pain

at the prospect

of her body.

As she wrapped her legs

around each,

her fangs broke

past the barriers of their

veins.

Going

It's not just a road

we're on,

it's a direction,

it's a choice.

I'm on

a dirt road, going

80.

I don't care if

yours is paved

or fucking gold;

I love my dirt road

and can't wait to see

where I'm headed.

109 In Arizona

My thighs

are so heavy

in these tight jeans.

They swear

if I don't free them,

I'll suffer

consequence.

We Met For A Few Seconds In Utah

You played

the guitar on the front step,

caught up in

years of thought,

frozen to that

chair

by all the cold.

Hair pulled

back to where your neck

and short sleeve met.

The wind pushed your chin

and lifted

the miles between us.

For a few seconds

I saw

your soul.

Image Roundup: Inspire Me

Since my Positive Encouragement & Truths board is sometimes the only way I slap my face enough during the day to stay focused on my motive (discovering happiness through discovering myself in God – sounds cheesy, I know), I feel obligated to share a few of my favorites with you.

The truth is, there is no truth. You either accept the world your brain perceives or you spend your life 'finding yourself' but really only chasing a ghost of who you could be. I have said it before and I will say it again: your happiness is now, and no one/thing will give it to you but yourself.

In October I have decided to join in with a blog I follow, Nesting Place, and write 31 days on one topic. My topic? Happiness. My qualification? Having been thoroughly unhappy. Sometimes the flip side of a coin can teach you all about how to avoid it.

Quote to think on: It's not the load that breaks you down, it's the way you carry it. ― Lou Holtz

Enchanté Moi

Life is confusing and often times angering, so I write poetry to deal with it instead of slapping people. Generally speaking I write my blog about the ups, and I write my poetry about the downs. I don't know why it works out that way for me, because I know plenty of people who write poetry about the butterflies and trees of life but it's just not me.

A tip on how to read these: I write poetry like prose, as in you shouldn't pause at line breaks but only at punctuation. I usually want my line breaks instead to give emphasis to meaning or feeling of a word or phrase.

Integral

I've always valued integrity

but have only just realized

it's always been the lack thereof

that's driven me from other guys.

I tell you that you've got it

and you just bat your eyes;

I never thought we'd be here

where you force what you want under disguise.

You can't set me free,

but you can make me despise

your efforts to give me what I have.

You've let the water rise,

covering everything you want to show,

but no matter how you try, you can't devise

a plan to actually not care.

At some point you also will realize

how much you like being with someone with integrity.

Control

She let life wash over her

like a huge tidal wave

and as the ocean held

her body and choked her lungs

she could die happy

because she didn't have to fight it.

Please Hear Me

Over and through

I repeat it in my thoughts

I shape it with my tongue.

Words I long to

whisper in your mind.

Words I mean

to do to you, as they have to me.

But how might they be mailed

or conveyed through the wire?

So instead they are willed

to your wintered

thoughts.

Enchanté moi.

Little Swimmer

She swims around

with a tiny pink Speedo lifevest strapped

around her teeny ribcage.

Dark skin,

dark hair,

dark eyes.

She is beautiful

at the age of three.

As her father instructs

her, she splashes hard

against the water,

singing in a little, strong voice

with words of her Indian heritage.

Little eyes are alive with joy.

Lovely woven gold

earrings struggle to shine

as brightly as she.

Golden glints

from the sun

strain to be as rich

as she.

Then she's slipping the smallest sandals

on as her mom helps her

into a light pink robe.

She stands

for a moment

between her makers,

sipping a water

sized for her hand

with the hood of her robe pulled up.

She looks as

the world's smallest boxer

between her trainers

after her best workout of the year:

confidence is her robe,

the Word is her water,

love are her jewels.

And though she is little,

she is fierce.

So Difficult To Tell Me You Love Me

The days when I get the most angry

at you are the nights

when I cry to God,

asking “What is so wrong with me

that no one can love me

wholeheartedly?”

Prayers like these

have always made me cry

and this day is no exception.

I want to give up on you.

10 days without your voice.

No letters at all.

You won't even be my friend

and yet for some reason the little voice

within me keeps crying out:

“he'll come back . . .

if he could just keep seeing how much you love him . . .

he'll come back . . .

if you can just keep showing him your love.”

But I'm beginning to hate that little voice.

I'm beginning to hate thinking of you.

But you've already yelled the same at me

so I know you wouldn't care even if you knew.

You've been happy to hurt me and I've been loyal.

You've been quick to cut me out and I've worn your clothes.

You have taken off my necklace

and I have carried the miles between us.

What have I to show for it now?

A month-old letter

marked Return To Sender

that might end up being my last to you.

I wish everything to be the last to you,

but only God and time

will tell whether the little voice crying out within me

will be snuffed by your big thumb.

More Of A Courthouse Girl?

Today I have done a lot of sitting around and thinking. Even when I went down to the pool to read I ended up finishing a letter to the man I love (which required a lot of thinking), writing two poems (more thinking), and looking off into the distance a lot with Lord of the Rings open in my lap. I could even tell some of the other guest there were laughing at me. I even find myself now thinking about a million topics at once.

For a long while I have wanted to write about why women who aren't engaged, and some who don't even have significant others, 'plan' weddings on Pinterest. Well, that may have to wait until another day because each time I try to map out how I feel about wedding plans that seemingly don't matter . . . I am led instead to a succession of other topics: why am I 'planning' mine (I used to feel I had a reason, but more recently I don't), would I even want to get married in the fashion my pins show, do I even want to get married, does it matter . . . and so on.

I have been on a journey in the past months, hell, maybe even the past years, trying to figure out . . . what on earth am I trying to figure out? Maybe that's just it. I'm trying to figure out what it is that I am trying to figure out. Simple, right? But this whole marriage questioning has been going on for a more specific amount of time, only a few months.

More recently though, my ex took me out to eat at Alexandria's which was set for a wedding reception that was taking place later that day. He commented saying how beautiful the arrangement was, I said that while it was ok, it wasn't my taste. Then he asked a simple question which I'm sure he doesn't even remember asking: “Are you more of a courthouse girl?” Our conversation turned and carried on, but I find myself still thinking about it and coming to the real question: “what kind of girl am I?”

You see, it's like this: I know exactly what kind of white dress I would wear, what kind of reception I would like, what kind of plates I would use, even the exact cake I want . . . but then I think, do I really want to have anyone at my wedding? Would it matter to me if me and some mister never got married and stayed together anyway? I even had this conversation with my best friend Lindsay before The Hunger Games came on. I told her I would rather spend the years of my life with someone and not be married so that I could always know they were there only because they wanted to be, and never out of obligation.

I am beginning to think the real answer to all of my questions though is that I don't care. Sure, there are days when I get really sad that I know and love the man of my dreams and may never get to marry him, but there are also days when just knowing he exists is enough. But despite that, I know who I want to be, and that is a woman who does not mind either way.

What do you think about all of this? Can you ever really be secure in love? I've come to believe security is only an illusion . . . but maybe the real trick is in knowing you can only ever be secure in your own love and self. What say you?

When in doubt, turn to Jane: Single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor. Which is one very strong argument in favor of matrimony. - Jane Austen

Oh, wait . . .

Sexy Books

Well today is another day for poems, my friends. These are a few that I have written in the past month and are mostly about relationships and self-reflection. I mostly write when I am having weak moments, so these really don't represent my every day state of mind. Writing really is a great outlet for me when I feel overwhelmed and hopefully they will help you too. Please let me know what you think!

I Only Need Your Love Because I Gave You All of Mine

I cannot know

what you need now,

so I give you

time.

What bigger gift

could a person

give?

Yet it scares you more.

You need to know

that which scares you

(my emptiness)

comes only from being

so full

I had to dump my purse.

Now you have

my coins,

and instead of refilling me

you run.

Can I Kiss You?

I should have said yes

when you asked

so innocent and delicate

what held me back

I had never been asked before

only pressed

by any parting lips

whose fancy may have been

what was so wrong

that I said no

not now

not any day

because I ruined your

beautiful question

of can my lips

touch yours

My Robin

I walked right along

and so also did he

I thought that the robin

was walking with me

but it seemed when I moved

so also must he

until I moved too much

to stay comfortably

then he fluttered away

my robin from me.

#6

How do I look when I'm mad?

Only you'd really know.

Do I look like a child,

a girl who can't have her way

or do I just look tired

of arguing all the same?

What about when I'm depressed?

Are my eyes all puffy

after hours of crying

and your gentle hand on my back

and soft song over my fears?

On the Same Page

Your hand is around

the top of my hip

but you're grabbing

me like a book.

Flinging open the cover

and stealing all

the words, the ideas,

the big picture

of my pages.

You finger the leafs

with soaking, trembling hands

that rush

to the corners

as you smile

at me trembling too.

Your eyes melt 

the print with speed

as you consume

every breath

that ever held air

in my plot.

I am used and beaten

and tattered

but your body knows

that inside of me

is still

the same story.

About poetry: A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. - Robert Frost