I got off early one day recently. It was warm, even for my taste. Still, I drove with the moon roof open and driver's side window down. There is something about having the wind in my face and whipping my hair around and feeling the steam of the sun on my skin that pleases me. I stopped at a light and noticed several birds with large wingspans floating above me. They appeared to be floating for pleasure... I've never thought of birds being self-serving in any way, but I guess if hanging in the sky against the breeze felt good, I'd do it too if I were able. One bird relied heavily on his right wing; his left looked damaged... maybe due to some vicious bird fight. I stared up at him, guarded my eyes from the sun, and I was jealous. He is wounded, but compensates. Maybe he doesn't know he's at a disadvantage. I'm willing to bet he keeps up with the other birds just fine, and does not look to them with envy. And, they probably don't see a broken wing. I've wanted to be a bird (not uncommon I guess). I can't imagine that sort of freedom. Not just the freedom of flight, but freedom from logical thought also. I think it tortures me, or I torture it. Either way, the pain exists. The point is I guess that I’m going to stop looking at myself as though I have a disadvantage, and learn to fly with my broken wings. I’m certain they’ll mend at some point, even if scars still exist.

Self-pity by D.H. Lawrence

I never saw a wild thing

sorry for itself.

A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough

without ever having felt sorry for itself.

We all need a little inspiration.

Once long ago,
I controlled my own innocence.
Spread my love
around wide like a bird's wings.
Pulled fake petals
to fashion them into my schemes.

It was stolen,
or I lost it.

Then,
I guarded
my trust
as sacred.
Didn't let
them catch
it naked.

Just appear taken.

Any more,
love is stashed
in failed pieces,
living, but abashed
and restless.

My heart's rationed.
And I am breathless.
This house is vacant.
no pitter-patter hearts,
all the tenderness faded.

Love's dying in shards.
I guess my heart's wasted.

I can feel a guilt trip when it's on me.  It's heavy and hot.  It burns my face, and makes my eyes leak.

It's a common misconception that I am insensitive... immune to sadness.  I am hardened... but I need gentleness in my life--perhaps more than others.

I weep.  I hurt.  My heart feels.  It fucking feels everything.  It feels every word you say, or don't say, notices every gesture or eye contact. 

She's so tired.  She's so fucking lonely.

The show I put on is too good, and I don't know how to change it.  I don't know how to let people see me.  What's worse?  A broken heart or a heart that can't open?

I must not destroy this place.

I am fostered with frail civility
lying safely enveloped in your comfort,
dangerously cherished,
sweating my sadness.

I will destroy this place.

Though, my heart's even at pace,
with your embrace on my face,
Raptured. Consumed.
Worries abolished.

I will destroy this place.

Destiny demands this,
my nature's folly
to run from everything
aiding and at my stupidity,
crumble.

I will destroy this place.

Perfected Glitches

Accept the flaws.

Embrace the imaginary faults created, and the ones that go unseen.

Support in future failings.

That is fucking perfect.

this room is quiet.

heavy light
lives behind his eyes.
he looks to night
and lights up the sky.

a million tons of
pressure, restless
on his brow.
i watch him, as aidless
as i am allowed.

i sit still
as he looks into me.
my heart beats fills
its veins a salty sea.

i can feel my eyes widen
and threaten to explode.
a welcome weightless burden,
i'd gladly bestow.

my hands, I clasp
slightly,
amplifying their longing,
to reach out and grasp
tightly,
his heart for my belonging.

Foolhardy

In a fragile fashion,

he places my face in his hands,

careful not to disrupt

our naive plans.

He stares just long enough

in my eyes to incite a spark,

and fast averts his gaze...

...pressing our luck.

Our words are delicate,

like frozen flowers

laying nervous, in a fire,

soaking in a cautious cower.

Brittle bits of us leak

on our paths apart,

our stained willpower weak,

permanent in our hearts.

I could be doing this wrong.

Do I make up my own rules?

Base them on what I can take?

What I think is right/wrong?

Well, then I am doing it right and it still sucks. 

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.