Tag Archives: poetry

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.

Love Poem #21

Love Poem #21
I forgot myself with you,
a dangerous thing
that could please or tease,
fill me with fruition,
or bring me surcease.

Your look electrified
I wanted for your touch,
To kiss your mystery
much more deeply
and revel in the crutch.

Camping and A Poem

Over Summer Solstice I was camping with a spiritual group. This poem was the result of shy introvert mouth lock, and a long conversation with another introvert.

Image courtesy of franky242 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Image courtesy of franky242 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Embers

Back and forth

the fire fights on

in the deep

dark  of the below.

The flames dance and spin,

sparring,

melding,

and folding,

as they stretch ever upward.

The glowing coals

groan silently

as they undulate

in embossed and recessed waves,

orgasms of energy

expended

as the embers release

into ash.