Tag Archives: love

A Date With My Imaginary Sweetie

imaginarysweetieblog_1_original

When he takes my hand and pulls me into his world, he uses only his voice and that look he knows I can’t resist. That look says he wants to spend time with only me and I know I need that time. It’s just him and me. I get to choose, here in my imagination.  I choose the music and the setting.  Create him based on my preferences. His dark hair is soft and frothy under my fingers. His skin is olive and flushes pink when he’s shy or embarrassed. His eyes pierce me and I can’t decide if they are green, grey, or blue. His glasses frame the pointy prominent nose that lends his face more character. He’s tall to me, between 5’10 and 6’3. His hair is a bit longer than mine is now and I like watching him touch it. He smells delicious naturally and takes care of his body, his mind, and his heart. He feeds his spirit good things, so that when we get together he asks perfect things and perfect questions like: “What do you want?” and “What’s on your mind?”, and he means them. He’s genuine and consistent. Respectful and spontaneous. He is the kind of man that knows when to pick me up by the waist, gently twirl me around and kiss me breathless until he sets me on my feet. He asks after my self-care and offers his strengths to help fortify my weaknesses. He let s me teach him things too. He doesn’t make me feel small. He encourages me to shine, unafraid of the vastness inside of me. He knows he has his own vastness and our leviathans don’t need to compete when they complement each other so well.

He repeats the idea of my communication back to me for understanding and makes sure we’re on the same page. He allows me to show him things he didn’t know and deepen his knowledge of things he thought he did. We feed the foundation of each other with the understanding that we will arrive in similar places for different reasons. His lips feel like joy, like coming home, like the prelude to a wonderland. When he kisses me I feel electric, like me on fire on even more fire. He makes my light even brighter and we add to each other’s wisdom. We share. This body, this gift of life. I hold him close until my real sweetie arrives, though I’m not sure if this one will ever leave me.

We sit, eating our dinner with the world tuned out. Sharing invisible touches on the others arm and hand as we converse about the sweet things in life that juice us up. We lean in close, brushing our sides as I show him the rough new poems I’m frustrated by. My inability to feel into the truth of them stumps me. He reminds me that I am still afraid to speak my truth, and that confusion is a truth on its own. Clarity isn’t always present.  He reminds me that it’s ok to contradict myself sometimes.  That a feeling is a feeling in the moment, and in the next moment, it can change.  I decide to let myself surrender to each poem and not cage the words. Then he kissed me. And when I could think again, I realized the poem was complete except for a title.  He is so good for me. I look forward to more time with him.

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Happy Belated Beltane and First Blog of the Year!

Since my last blog, I have taken the errant remnants of my sexuality and integrated them with the rest of me. I can be in a room with males that lust for me and not get triggered. Even after I have given them my “no” and they appear to be unconcerned about that. I’ve had a chance to see how some men change once they like a girl and think they have her. I have had a chance to feel so many things that once triggered me. So much suppression has softened since I last posted that I feel like a different person.

In my period of reintegration, I’ve had a chance to look at why I’m not finishing poems. When I think I have the answer, something else comes up. So, I decided to let go, to allow myself to lick my spoon and my fingers in public. I let myself sleep naked and read for pleasure again. I let my anger loose inside myself instead of wrapping it inside a cage in its own chains. I made decisions to help me feel empowered and let go of obligations. All of which helped me recharge enough to see that I have less than one week until I am finished with an almost two-year journey of learning to heal others by healing myself.

I am still afraid to write certain truths, though I’ve decided to slowly let my secrets out. I was confusing nice with kindness. Reconnecting with my ancestry has helped me see that I must let go of silence. I understand so much more clearly how I’ve been wronged in the past, and how I’ve wronged others. Some deserved it, and sometimes I deserved it. Sometimes the bad went down and that is just how the chips fell.  There is so much richness here for word-smithing.I challenge myself to let myself play and write. To go to nature for a week in the month of June so I can recharge properly. I didn’t know how much I needed nature for self-care until I started spending regular time with her.

I have about 26 poems for completion for one of my “Tormented Love” volumes. I decided to start with “Angels and Demons” and put my love and my pain there. I had no idea I was “pulling” my emotional punches as hard as I was until I realized that no one would know who or what I was writing about. None of my poems are that obvious. I blend experience with my observations to create snapshots of feelings, and use imagined experiences to highlight concepts. My work aims to be a sensory burlesque show of the human heart, the human experience exposed. Tormented love is what happens when you love with your heart guarded and without trusting yourself. I will be happy to complete the volumes and grow the seeds of “Variations on a Theme”, the next poetry volume concept that takes an insider’s view of common mental health issues.

I am still letting myself lick my spoon in public, to wear pigtails in my 30’s, and to talk to people when I feel like it whether I know them or not. The inner child “practice” has been so healing. I let go of “broken” (along with those that invite broken into their lives), and have embraced “bent and loving it”. So far, so good. I feel like a flower the bees want, yet only a hummingbird can pollinate. Thank you, Beltane, for the boost.  I have less than a week to go, then a short rest with a belly full of one more accomplishment. Then I tackle the hallway before me with many doors connected to it.

Intensity and Growth

I’ve been quiet a long while, as life has torn me apart and remade me a few times since my last blog. Recently, I had the pleasure of a spiritual dalliance that was so much more than I felt ready for. I only knew I was on the cusp of something I had never touched before and I didn’t want to regret another opportunity. I was afraid of the intensity of how I felt. It has been so long since I allowed myself to think about surrendering to pleasure, to vulnerability with another. Yet there I was, with this man whose energy is sensuality and sex, and I was able to allow him touch me. Not sexually; I think I would have bolted if it had become outright sexual. All I could feel was my desire to surrender, to let go. To be whatever and wherever I was in the flow of those moments with him. And so, I did. I felt a fire grow in me, one I have tasted of long, long ago, yet never like this. So sharp. So full. So dangerous to my control. Once I thought something was left unmade in me, as I had never experienced what my girlfriends described. Until him.

Was it because it has been so long for me? Was it a response to him and the irresistible call of his body? I think both perhaps. To touch him so innocently and feel him react against me had me fighting for control, with the taste of his neck on my lips and an inferno in my body. It was all I could do to just stand there and breathe, pressed against him, praying that I would not let loose this thing inside me that threatened to wreck us. The intent of our meeting was not the removal of his clothes, and there I was trembling on the edge of a massive loss of control. I rode it, learned to let the energy move through me and not to hold it trapped. Eventually the intensity calmed, to my relief. I was shaken, scared, yet still salivating. How could this be happening? I have felt so alien for most of my life, as desire does not move in me often. I’m the woman that needs to be coaxed with consistency, with impeccable word, with a slow seduction before I surrender my body. Before I’d even think to allow it.

My body was so there with him in those moments, along with part of my mind. The other part was throwing up warnings like checkered flags that the rest of me ignored. What happened next?  The moment changed, got quiet. I closed up, the fear caught me and had its way with my center. I felt his eyes on me and my mouth opened. Jagged glass fell out, and I vomited a river of fear. The last remnants of the blockages I had been healing splashed onto his feet and I couldn’t stop it. All I could do was feel, be there in my past pain and not stop the train of my very human moment. When I came to myself, the damage was done. Strangely enough, the feedback I received helped a lot. It has been a very long time since a man seemed to hear me and reflected back what he heard intelligently, without trying to fix it. He was beautiful in those moments, which he always is to me, just differently so.

I feel a shrinking in me when I think about what happened, yet I know that night couldn’t have happened any other way. We were both messing with things it was clear we weren’t ready for. Lesson learned. I know with much more clarity what I am transforming within myself, I just don’t know what will show up to effect the work. He has been a wonderful teacher via experience for me. That flavor of fear I no longer run from. I know that accepting pleasure is honoring the divine within. I will not forget that again. I feel more womanly than I have in over a decade, and that I will always cherish. I feel like thanking him for the divine spark jump-start, though I am unsure if he would understand. Those moments allowed me to shed the skin of beliefs that no longer serve me and hear that quiet inner voice more clearly.

I have no idea what will happen now that this fire that has been lit. I know I can choose to put it back to sleep or to let it out and teach it to dance with me.

I’ve really missed dancing.

“O” Story B

“O” Story B
I feel like the girl from the book: “Wallbanger”.
I get close
but no actual “O”.
I think she’s been
telling me for a while now
to give her more time and attention.
I ignored her
because
I didn’t need a man
to feel her happiness.
At least, not a man in the flesh.
No men means I
give her more time to express,
and I can give her imagination her head
to run as fast and far as she wants to.
Maybe that’s why she left.
I never gave her much time to stretch.
Her heavy breathing
is my comfort level O,
the one I like the best
yet shortchanges her creativity.
I’m so sorry O.
I could promise not to do it again,
yet I already know
you won’t believe me.
I can promise you a man O,
I know you like men.
I can promise you I will give you
time to express more fully.
You like it and I do too.
I am not patiently waiting O,
just so you know.
I know what used to light you up,
and I’m using every dirty trick
in the book
to bring you back home.
We’re happiest together O,
and I hope you never forget that.

Encounters That Change Perspective

Written by Cameron Lincoln. https://cameronlincoln.wordpress.com/

Written by Cameron Lincoln. https://cameronlincoln.wordpress.com/

These past weeks have been a roller-coaster of self-analysis and a peeling away at my own layers. It has released many tears and connections. New awareness has had a ripple effect across my relationships. I come away from the events of my last post with more understanding and insight on what love is to me and how I want to emulate that sentiment in my life. I am left with clarity on how to better care for myself and give others space. What they need might be different from what I need, and I’d like to respect that as much as possible. Having fun is something I curtailed in the past few years, and now I see why it is necessary method of recharging for me. I have decided to go out more and to “practice” dating. I say the word “practice”, because it is easier to start intimidating things if the thoughts around the decision are gentle.

I met a guy while I was out a few weeks ago who continues to pop in my mind. There are many things that I liked about him, and I find myself hard pressed to put them into words using this medium. What I can say is that he was great at being involved in our conversation, which I’m still shocked that I started. I began as painfully shy, and though I have worked hard at healing, it still comes up. I liked how comfortable I felt with him.  I liked how we had a conversation about one subject, yet seemed to be saying other things. Interacting with him pulled me out of my comfort zone in a good way. So good I got very flustered and couldn’t maintain my composure. I found myself compelled to touch him when that isn’t my normal. It was a moment in a bar, one that will stick with me for a while. He moved me in those moments in ways I had never allowed before.

He left me intrigued, never giving up anything he didn’t want to, and never being disrespectful or impolite. I was left wanting more, and being very clear with myself on what that was. We did not exchange names or phone numbers. I once heard dating coach Matthew Hussey say: “The thing about regret is that you don’t feel it yet”. I get it, Matt. I feel it now and I’m kicking myself. I didn’t think I was ready to date. I had no idea that I was just resisting the idea. I was always ready. I just needed to decide to jump in or stay on the shore. I’m jumping.

There are still things I don’t know. Places in me that are tender. My mind and heart still need more communing. I do know that I am feeling more ready to be open to the new.

Big Thank you to Cameron Lincoln (https://cameronlincoln.wordpress.com), who graciously let me post his poem here.

Love and Heartbreak

https://zoeyhart.wordpress.com/2015/04/23/place/

“Place” written by Zoey Hart

I write about love as I see it on my blog because I don’t remember what it feels like to be loved by a lover or partner. I have been sitting for over a month with my recent heartbreak.  I wonder how I got here. I planned well. I avoided love by way of having lovers. That’s what divorcees do, right? Protect their hearts while they raise their children alone. Or do they do what seemingly half the divorced population does and marry again within a year or two? I’m the other one. I open only when sparked, and that happens very rarely.

I prepared for heartbreak. I set up the perfect situation, but I forgot pieces of myself that I’d closed off in my younger, depressed years. I also mis-remembered certain important details of my former lover’s situation. Diversity is exciting, yet sometimes differences can break a relationship if communication isn’t happening(yet appears to be happening).  In hindsight, it clearly wasn’t happening.

I am left feeling, for lack of a better term, used, which leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  This feeling tells me that I created illusions in order to be ok with something I missed. My lover was clear in this, but our understanding of what love is and how it is demonstrated was definitely different. To me, love is a sharing. An honesty. A reveal of the things I fear about myself, an unveiling of parts of me that not everyone else gets to see.

Love is a dance of many veils being removed, one after another until you stand naked. As is. If it is good love, love that edifies, you want to dance in it because there is so much joy. If the love is fearful, full of anxiety, or selfish, it hurts. There is a range of this, which is why I often think back to the times when things “almost worked”.  Why do I do that?

I am left vulnerable and open, trying to figure out why I loved so hard, when they were clear that they didn’t. Perhaps if I had felt treated with respect in more than a sexual way, in this case, I think I would be less angry. This one was not intended to work, and I was ok with that. It hurts more because the lover I knew, the one I thought was also unveiling to me wasn’t.  I just wish there had been more honesty and consideration.

Since there wasn’t, my exit shouldn’t be a surprise. I do love myself. I look forward to further exploring what that means as I continue to let go and move forward with the rest of my life.  I just want to meet more people that really understand how to use healthy boundaries and sharing.

Credits:

A big heartfelt “Thank you!” to Zoey Hart (https://zoeyhart.wordpress.com/author/zoeyhart), for agreeing to let me use her poem on my blog. I caught it on twitter and it was perfect for use here. She gave me the courage to post this instead of just writing it to myself.