What Matters?…

Aren’t you tired she asked me? No, she begged me… to understand, that it didn’t matter…

If the whole damn world decided that they didn’t like who I was, if they didn’t like my hair color, or my size, or my new dress, or whether or not I wore a thong or lace underwear or if I liked him or liked her or liked them both and at the same time 

And it didn’t matter if I believed in God or Heaven or Hell or life or death or here and now or the afterlife or reincarnation. It didn’t matter if I laughed or cried or ate too much or starved myself. It didn’t matter if I gave up or kept going if I pushed them away or held on too tightly. It just didn’t matter…

To them…

It only makes me tired, exhausted really–weighted down in heavy chains, 





lost and forever 



Innocence Unnecessary…

And so I say to her, you have a beautiful smile. Because she does. And she does, smile and laugh and it takes my breath away.

It erases everything I thought I knew about her and about me and the past and the future and possibility. Yes, I’ve pictured her in private places and in public too, watched sparks fly like fireflies in the broad daylight under watchful jealous eyes.

Glanced away for a moment to see if they see it, then decide I don’t care and meet right back up her eyes don’t glance away, they stay. For once- they stay…My heart can’t take this sprinter’s pace- she laughs and promises to keep me young–

And I want to believe her, how I want to be with her. Hear her sultry-smokey-gravely tone so loud that it drowns the South–a silent Southern never-gonna-be.

Warning Signs…

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t warned them, all of them, really. And she wondered would they say they there were definitely signs, in the post memorial gossip?

How many days would they shed tears? Any at all- genuine. Sure, maybe a few. The ones who would claim they “knew” her. 

Let’s get one thing straight- they don’t know her–period. Two people, on the face of this earth. That’s it. Two. One and Two. Truly KNOW her. 

The others, think they know her, they know of her. They know what she chooses to allow them to know. She can’t let them in because everyone is afraid of the dark. Even the two bring a flashlight, try shine through the darkness and pull her up to the surface. Try to hand her a life preserver and for a while she grabs on- white knuckles. 

But, she always knew, glamorizes it maybe. Pictures it in her head. In the end, it will be him. Because it always has been, he will gather her up in his arms, begging her- crying, “no baby, why?” Shocked even. And he’ll remember- she tried to warn him. 

Restless spirit…

A happy soul a writer does not make, you must’ve known and so you ceremoniously disappeared, again leaving rubble in your wake.

What should I do with all these pieces? These foreign instructions you wrote for me? Without you they are worthless, burn them funeral pyre, you’ll see. 

If only I was one to heed a warning, to don a life jacket in rising waters, smother the spark- not fan the flame. Shy away– not look you in the eyes, if only. 

And how do I explain your absence? Should I take the blame? Say it’s all my fault…or say, to you it was all just a game and you grew tired of playing? 

Or tell the truth, it’s dangerous you know. The truth, it will set you free you said! You said, it was safe with you, you said! You said! You said! 

Shattered Reflections…

I’ve seen the dead, in the mirror- a reflection not unlike my own.

In the light of the day, my chest is compressed and I walk the halls in vain searching for peace that can not be found.

In the evening, I hold my head in both of my hands and find the truth behind statements about a crown, being uneasy for the one who has placed it there.

In the twilight, I lose myself to the fantasy of bygone memories and dreams deferred. To stagnant waters that refuse to be stirred- to flower laden meadows, sunlit pathways, giggling, dancing, dreamers. 

In the midst, I gather the tour de force around my ankles and let him shore me up, brush away tears from mascara-stained cheeks, kiss parched lips, peel away the darkness of the day and lay me down on petals of regeneration. 


Why build walls instead of bridges? What good is cinderblock for children? Am I a magician, a surgeon, a robot? 

They say, give us talent! And yet, they lack the very essence of the word. There’s no such thing, I whisper-smile, only hard-work, dedication. 

In the eyes of those who already know, the flame of knowledge burns so low, it’s barely- blue- flame suffocating, oxygenless. 

Not even Mozart, no! Or Einstein? Not even. Only, an open door, the exact-perfect-moment. Then perseverance, grueling hours of it, hours of being no one special, with nothing to offer. Of being, left out, of being weird, of being outcast. 

Never knowing the tide would turn, the ocean would swallow them whole and leave only memory of their finest moment. No record of cinder-block classroom walls, washed up athletic coaches, closeted librarians. No, mention of overzealous parents and overstated egos. 

Just a black and white photo in an archived yearbook, maybe an honorable mention at the county line population sign, famous for a moment, in a small-southern town. 

To My Muse…

I can’t write, at least not right now. My mind is so full, that’s it’s jumbled somehow. What are the words, where’s the keen turn of phrase, why do my eyes not focus and instead start to glaze, there’s only white on the page. 

What’s the message that I’m trying to convey? How long does this last, hopefully not more than a few days. Have I lost my beautiful muse? Has she gone undercover, where is she hiding, the one who makes my heart flutter. 

Did it break her in two? To see a metamorphosis come true, to think she has lost her high place in my wanton embrace? To believe she was casually tossed to the side, maybe feeling she might carefully hide herself away in false joy and platitudes, secretly wondering did I transfer her on to you? 

When I felt the supple lips of another, did I imagine for a moment, it was the one true desired lover? Tasting her desire, did I wish it was finally you? In my arms? In my bed? And finally not just a figure in my head. 

And when her hands caressed my skin, did I close my eyes and dream…

of that moment when the door was opened wide and I had the chance to honestly be seen, to say the words or take the steps to hold you in that place and never miss the opportunity to see you again, face-to-face. 

Do you know you?

Have you truly known grief, until the day you have swallowed your own silent tears, in a room full of people, who do not share your pain and have no compassion. 

Have you truly known love, until you’ve held the hand of your spouse newly diagnosed with Cancer? In that same day, you shook hands with Fear, whom you believed you knew, but realized you had never met. 

Can you conjure compassion for a couple of kids, who fell in love, and stuck it out. Murdered each other’s love, over and over, but always found their way back again.

Maybe shed a tear for a wanna be preacher, hooked on designer pills, shunned by his own family-for drummed up Sunday Sins, and tied down to a girl he knew he had to save? 

Could you live with yourself, if you admit you were never perfect, never once had it all together, and that you fooled every single person who thought that you did. 

Could you embrace your enemy, the one who said you were a whore, who destroyed your self-esteem with one foolish, stupid, jealous, lie? Would you cry, then, when it happened to them? 


Broken Vessel…

It’s 3 a.m., I’m awake, because you can’t drink heartache away. Believe me, I’ve tried. If you would’ve asked me two hours ago, I’d have sworn it was possible. 

For a moment, my head spun, giddy with forgetfulness. But, nothing is better for sobriety than the learning you are a stupid, naive, idiot, who would rather drink poison than walk away.

Instead, I plaster a smile on my face, cover my eyes in large sunglasses-hide the tears that silently leak from their corners as I go on my way. I’m a professional, dammit. I laugh, I sing, I make jokes, and small talk, I can make dinner, and I can make you think I make love. 

Because, I’m a broken vessel;I’ve picked up my pieces one-by-one, over and over again. Some days, I believe that I like what I’m seeing. Then days like today, break me apart. 

And I lay awake in the darkness and beg for the sunlight.

SH Part Deux 

We slipped into a darkened bedroom suite and this beautiful princess switches off the bed-side lamp to leave only a sliver of light from the en suite. I briefly hear grumbling from our counterparts but they are immediately hushed as snaps and hooks are amplified in the ambient light. 

The realness of our shapes taking form before their very eyes, a white lace dress, a gold chemise, then a black lace bra, some of it slips from my body while other pieces are tossed cerimoniously. 

All the while, she has presented herself in the middle of crisp white sheets like the gift of all gifts. She’s a Goddes, no doubt. I have butterflies in the pit of my stomach and fire in my eyes, her skin is tanned from the Georgia sun-feels like velvet, and her body is tiny and deliciously tight. Her nipples stand to attention, demanding my lips, and I’m the greedy little minx who crawls up the side of the bed as she opens her thighs and welcomes me in. 

There’s desire in her emerald eyes and her pouty pink lips are parted when my arms cage her shoulders and I lean in. Oh, I know, it’s against our rules, but I want her to taste herself on my tongue, so I kiss her. And kiss her, and kiss, until the the heat between my legs is disturbed by someone’s fingers. 

Erotically, I have no idea who is touching me. And because she’s beneath me, I don’t even care. I let him explore my wetness as I slither down her body and move between her thighs again, because she’s a drug and I’ve had my first hit. 

I feel the pressure of his body body behind me and just as my lips part hers, he pushes in at the same time I do. There’s a collective breath. The air has been vacuumed from the room and only us four exist in the bubble. 

There’s a gorgeous sound coming from above us, and I roll my eyes up just for a peek. I see his body so familiar and her lips engulfing him. I’m enraptured at the sight, like I’m watching a foreign film, without subtitles and it’s black and white, and my tongue plunges deeper as I close my eyes. 

He’s beating a steady rhythm behind me, his hands are firmly clutching my hips and my senses are in overload. There’s a shifting and I’m suddenly on my back and and looking down and I’m watching her dark her fan out across my chest and slowly follow her between my thighs. 

Her fingers slide over my lips, down, back, down, part, and she lowers her beautiful mouth as I close my eyes…