Lacing my shoes in pitch black morning,
stars bright and twinkling like new snow falling,
my breath floats like steam in the rays of my headlight,
and my legs stand ready to tackle the frightening night.

guardian

sorrow grew
and i felt her coming.
a deep breathing in
grief,
a soft exhale
of recline...

then, she grasped my heart, quickly.

soft compassionate
rays
reflected in my eyes,
and glowed in the day.

as she held my hand, patiently.

they
shade the sun
a dim glimmer
and warmed
my skin
like evening light.

as she whispered, "easy."

calm air
drifted from her lips
like lazy clouds in a
blueless sky.
and i am filled,

and she let go my hand, gently.

she left as quiet
as day starts.
returns when only
needed.
but always
in an instant...

she rests behind my eyes, sweetly.

I have a way. I know people before they know me.  It's not hard, really, to remain mysterious. This was not always my way. I was open and caring and loving and giving. But, something has changed. Nurture has changed my nature.

The independence of being single is addictive. So, I keep myself hidden to stay this way. So, I want men who don't want me. So, I keep myself hidden this way.

The trick is--no one ever knows me.

I may have a lonely way.  But it has been my way for longer than I realize. Maybe 15 years. 

I just can't figure out what it is with you. Why did you call me? It would have been fine if you hadn't. It would have been better. I wish I knew how to speak the words to you: just leave me alone. I've said it to others with ease but not you. Why? So dumb. 

Why? Why did you call me? Sure it was my birthday but we hadn't spoken in months. I care for you and you treat me like a backseat second choice.

We both know you lied to me. 

Just leave me alone. 

>just get up and brush your teeth

>just make a cup of coffee

>just put on your run clothes

>just put on your shoes

>just drive to the trail

>just run 5 miles, do weighted squats, deadlifts, planks, lunges, step ups

>just be sore

>just be satisfied

>just take it a step at a time

I like his decisiveness.

That determined look he gets

When he knows what he wants. 

When he takes what he wants. 

Our glances meet and he squints. 

He leans in and kisses me,

Hand on my neck.

Simple breaths on mouths

With perfect measure.

Desire keen with pouts.

Embracing pleasure. 

When he takes what he wants. 

His rhythm excites

Smooth chills and

Heartbeats - soft

Touches and

Tingled feet.

Sweet parting -

A sticky kissing mess.

My warm lips

left wanting.

Speechless. 

When he waits for what he wants. 

The desire to flee in me is overwhelming. I want to run and hide all the time. I've been in one spot for almost four years, and it's suffocating. I can't stand it.

I'm trying to fight it. I'm trying.

The Hardest Hearts are the Hardest to Mend

He set his stage careful,

with trust
and heart
and love.

I handed him my heart,

Locked tight, and

Guarded with care.

I handed him the key.

He drown it in gun powder
with rockets
and sparklers
and

Turned his back slow,

with a wink

and smirk
and

I panicked

and breathed,
soft,
to stop.

He lit me on fire.

But hope
and need
and trust,
kept me still.

The fuse ablaze
with slow motion
and fear
and intent

Eruption
BOOM.

My love rained down
random,

Fizzling before it hit the ground. 

I felt the reflection in my eyes

Die.

I watched my heart fade into

Countless pieces of shining blood.

He rejoiced. He laughed. He left.

That mother fucker. 

Living life like a foster kid. I don't know how to change. 

Forgiveness is not free. Why's this still surprising people. 

just try to see me

I am almost always on my own.

I have a lonely way about me. There is a distance in my conversation with others.  I bob and weave personal questions, only giving up vague information.  I disappear at parties on my own, sometimes don't say goodbye when leaving, and avoid eye contact for prolonged periods.  I might be forgettable. I don't intend such.  I was raised to project strength--to BE strong.  It is my weakness.

Takes a different kind of person to see me.  Time and effort are required to break through this stupid hardened shell that I cannot shed.  I play my cards close to my chest. I don't know how to just let people see me.  So many have been careless. They think I don't hurt. I suppose I know the reasoning.  Well, I still feel fucking crummy.

So annoying that it's basically my fault.

Runner's High

Brittle pink and pumping,
my poison darts.
Little veins throbbing,
tissue-roped remorse.

Sticky sins dissolving
past red paved pasts.
Crinkled confused cadence
pulsing a proper path.

Brilliant and burning,
fire under my feet.
Measured steady striding,
rhythmic solid beats.

Swaying and dancing
with muscled scars.
The high seducing
my sweet red heart.

I like sexy music. I like to put it on and dance in my underwear, on my tip-toes, as though I were a stripper with fish in my clear wedge heels.

That's something fairly key to who I am. Dancing. Something I LOVE. I don't think anyone understands to what degree I love such a thing. I don't know how to properly convey that, so. Being sexy. I love being sexy. I want to dress sexy and strip--or whatever is desired--for my man. I want sex, and I want it frequently.

Online Dating. I can't say any of that shit. I can't elude to sex, period. Not one bit. I can't let my overpowering sexuality be the initial attraction. I just. I can't. I need to meet someone more interested in me, rather than my face alone. HOW?!

I'm kind, sweet, loving. I am smart. I am so many things. I have so much to give. I want to enrich someone's life. I'm funny. Goofy, nerdy... some say cute, adorable even. I have so much to give, damn it.

I still want to fuck passionately to The Weeknd, WICKED GAMES, while you pull my hair and until we are drenched in sweat.

How am I supposed to convey both of these things and have them be treated accordingly?
I have no idea what I am doing.

I asked my best friend, the forever-optimist/romantic, "why don't I ever have a date?" 

"Because you haven't found him yet. His beard will be epic yadda yadda yadda."

Me: "False. It's because I stopped making things happen. I meet a guy, decide I want to date, and I make things happen. No one does romantical shit anymore. I do. I did. I stopped. I made everything happen in all my relationships. I don't foresee meeting someone I want to do that with again. It's exhausting."

This is the longest I've ever been single and it is much by choice. I mean, I would say yes to a date, but I've no offers for such--Plenty of men that want to fuck me, none, that I know of, that want to know me. And it's going to take time. I'm not knowable overnight. I refuse to do such by text anymore. I want a real relationship. I want someone with character. I want a partner.

I hope a date does happen, though. I mean, I don't really want to be single, but I don't want a relationship just for the sake of it. I don't like feeling lonely either.

Sucks. I'm always, forever, once again...

Just dried leaves, waiting on the wind.

Must find my way

past these festering

hateful habits

As they

spiral into

character flaws.

Standing helpless

memorizing every

move made.

Meticulous

self

manipulation,

Like cold

breezes on

snowy days.

Must make it past these days. 

-----------------------------

You mustn't repeat it in order to declare it a "lesson learned."

I wonder... Is everyone so moved by music? Not necessarily music, but lyrics. I am a sucker for good writing. 

Tears stream down my cheeks, hot, for a well wriitten song with heart. Even if I can't pull from experience, I emphathize with the sentiment. Is that common?

It's probably completely ordinary.