People talk about doing everything in their power to achieve their dreams. But they don’t really know what that means. They think that means sacrificing their time, their income, their health. And it does.
And if you are lucky, that’s all it costs.
But it can cost so much more. Your friendships, your relationships, your happiness, your soul. It can require that you do things you thought you’d never do. Take actions you thought you’d never take. Change everything about yourself and still, you can fail.
And what happens if you fail? You can’t, right? You’ve sacrificed everything. So what one more thing. One step into moral grey. And pretty soon that moral grey is where you live. Pretty soon it is normal. And once it’s normal, then what about the next time?
That comfortable grey becomes the reason you justify doing something awful. You dress it up. You make it seem like your actions are fine. Because, in your world, they are. They are normal.
And that’s when you are lost. Because when there are no more lines to cross, you can’t go back.
Life won’t allow you to.
Most never leave the grey. But we certainly hear about those who do. Eventually. After the fall.
We crave that story. The story itself seems like success. But, let me tell you, the closer to the line you get, the less you want to be there. Unfortunately, you are still convinced that you are on the verge of success. So you keep pushing.
In the end, all you have is your choices. Be aware of the costs to those choices. And be realistic when they catch up to you.
Drift slow turn
Air passes against
Nerve ends fire
Pulse against tongue
Silk and heat
One passion feeds
In eternal shift
Long to sleep in a bed where the gulf of distance is impossible
Where the warmest of nights still means we touch
Even if just lightly while our bodies fling out
Searching for the slight chill
To wake beside my love
In the sure knowledge that we will sate our desires
Lasting an hour, or 10 minutes or 18000 seconds
That reaffirmation that we belong to each other
That we exist not just in the emotional heart
But to express that in touch
In words whispered across skin
To build a life of each other
The daily chore built on a bedrock of passion
Never losing sight of ourselves and the continued goal of us
To exist as pragmatic romantics
Knowing that there is work
And reveling in the building of a life
No trick of the light
To have a heart full of stars
Grown in reflection to your love
Leave the taste of you on waking
Tongue ache in remembrance
Hands pressed to lips
Savoring a memory of yet to be
Waking in I love you
Mind flying the miles
A promise to keep you
Safe within my arms
As safe as you desire
I’m one part shattered heart, one part battered soul
Three parts protective, two parts sexy times.
I’m a clock wound so tightly for so long that I’ll never quite spring back. A timepiece built of hours devoted to love but in the silent lonely, to tears.
I’m a disciple of science and a priest of storm. I see no reason to deny gods; just to fight them. I believe in the philosophy of the human spirit and am woefully disappointed in its apparent lack. I know what it is to live without wanted human touch and what it is to drown in its addiction. I am always uncertain how my dreams and love will be received. So I will second guess and apologize, leaving you wondering if I really had done something wrong. When I love, it’s forever. And while that seems romantic, there are places in me reserved for loves which will never be. Places filled with longing and pain and almost and maybe. I am tears shed without regard to propriety or place. I feel and I will not apologize. If that makes you think less of me then I no longer require or respect your opinion. I am strength in weakness, bravery in fear, and hope without cause. But I am also unexpected fragility and hide myself in talk of blood. No one looks too deeply when they can’t be sure of the answer. I am wishes unfulfilled and wishes granted. But some wishes can never be. No matter how much you need them.
I am soft opinion and persuasive thought. And secrets never to be told, and secrets yearning to be believed. I feel old and look young. Stress makes me sexual, it doesn’t cause wrinkles. Silve hairs since I was twenty but deep brown for all that. If I were rich I’d be less wealthy because taking care of my people is my priority. I’d help them build lives of joy if I had the means. I am a shout made for joy. Of love. Of ownership. Of mine. But respectful of consent, I remain silent. I am pleasure made pain and pain made pleasure. I am two divergent and equally held beliefs.
I wake slowly. Knowing that the extra twenty minutes I snooze my alarm to won’t matter. But I still do it. I pet the cat by my side. She rolls over my hand and goes back to sleep. I long to join her. But that extra 20 minutes was a dream. A hope which fades with every passing second. I have to get up.
It’s not a particularly hard job. Nor a harsh work environment. I’m just tired. So fucking tired of too short weekends and work weeks which drag away hours from those weekends.
It’s what fuels discontent. What makes every day a little worse. The accumulation of hours without end. Without purpose. Without hope of change.
As the day wears on, I am reminded of good things. Of love. Of hope. Of kissable lips. Of the dream of the brighter world. The sadness lingers like hot breathe against soft skin.
Quench my thirst on love. On desire. On dreams of far places, where I am becomes we. And what was becomes joy.
We are bent flower promises
Our light touches over skin
Hands soft but ridged in callouses
A legacy of past actions written in scar and stretch
Wrinkle and aches in joints
Broken bones which
Now healed still click
For all of this
Is our passion less for being out of focus
Beyond the lens of society
Is passion which knows itself
The more powerful
We who survive and still find each other despite the wounds of the past
Still open ourselves
Vulnerable and exposed
Is our love less
For having been born from a distant song
Is it strength to find a heart that’s bright and desirous
And in the knowing
We find beauty
And the circling of fingertips against skin
The brushing of lips against neck
The soft smile and the lascivious grin
And a hope
Born in the taste of her
Days spent in the quiet ache of waiting
Pressed lip consonants and soft wet vowels
Dull repetition needed to bring us together
The possible made real by the simple choice
Again and again
The days ticking by which promise some future yes
Lost in the drift
Of seconds ripping
On razor wings
Each moment an agonize
In which the only balm is the thought of you
Though through the haze of fogged up desire
Quietly I bleed
Patters against the tile
Curling steam in a chill air
How dangerous the need
To have you by my side
I feel myself rushing to you
I could see you
Rushing to me
Simple aches in times ticking by
Heat without the flop sweat of humid air
Bone deep aches soothe away
Puzzle pieces trying to fit
Yearning for a trial run
For a chance to be happy
Tethered to place
Instead of each other
Place becomes a clinging lover
Inducements to stay
Wishing for the better life
Support for all you are and need
So that one day
You will rest steady
Deep in my embrace
Words fail and falter
When alls said and done
Silence stretches out
Devour more and more
Each step towards home
Narrows the possible futures
Looking for that one more moment
One more perfection
One more leap made
From the nebulous possible
To the simple completeness
One more word
Framework for a future?