The tenderest of truths
is the faintest slip of a lie
A truth withheld
becomes the well of tarnished voices
Until
At break
Effluvia pours free
Drowning dreamer and dream
A truth spoken
Cuts clean
A blade slick with blood
Cut my flesh
A thousand times
I’ll not fester in secret
I’ll be your truth
If you’ll be mine
Challenge these victories
That float away like dust
Like words left unspoken
Can’t tell if it’s you or me
Won’t give in to simple lust
Give me the complicated, the broken
A nuzzling wolf
He drinks hearts blood
Seeking to heal
But scenting that limping
The wolf wants its way
But I’m a man too
I get to choose
But choices are difficult things
Wanting them flawless
But nothing works out that way
Settle for understood and forgiven
Best to give what was got
And given
It’s simple
I love you
It’s simple
You’re beautiful
It’s simple
We fit
It’s simple
Except its not simple
It never is
But complicated is better
It’s more real
Simple is a dream
The thing we say that
we want before we know
what we want
It’s difficult and messy and perfect for its imperfections.
I don’t want a fairytale
I want what comes after the curtain fall What comes after happily ever after
I want all that you are
I’m not delusional, I’m just a romantic
There are 2 types of people. People who have lost some they romantically loved and those that haven’t. Let me be explicit. A person who died, either by violence or not.
The people without this get to have the luxurious illusion of the one true love. That somehow they have the secret. That they have their forever, their true, love.
On the one hand I am envious of their illusion. It is a warm place. A safe place. On the other, I fear for them. What happens when the glass bubble shatters. What happens when they know loss. Do they, then begin to wither? For one thing to be true for so long has the danger of becoming truth. And Truth is hard to recover from.
Those of us who knew loss early, know that each love is different. Each love has its own existence, its own feel. And, sadly, there is no one true love. Each love is flawed and each love is perfection.
Tragedy wakes us to this. We know that the one true love thing is a myth. We know because it can’t possibly be true. And, for myself, why I hate anything that speaks of predestination or everything happening for a reason. Things happen because of chance or because someone took a course of action. Often, several someone’s. But there is no grand design moving us all to some predestined ideal. This is another illusion.
I’m not saying that there is not powerful, strong love. I’m saying that the one true love is a trap. A lie that comforts. Treat each person with dignity, respect, and affection. Treat them with desire, if you desire them. Act courageously. Love completely.
But don’t fall into the logical fallacy of ‘one true love’. It not only isn’t true. It must not be true.
I wrote yesterday about a poem I had written for someone who I longed for who never quite returned my affection.
Today, I write about all the future poems that I will dedicate to the Goddess of my Heart.
I know, I know. Every artist dedicates at least one work to a current love. It’s inevitable. We are passionate about our work and passionate about our loves. It is inevitable that the two would intersect.
But I’ve dedicated many works to her already. Anything Hash tagged GMH is about or for her. Dedicated to her.
I’m a romantic. We all know that. But I know she reads these. And that is the best feeling. That she reads what I write. In some ways, everything I write is in dedication to her. She captivates me. I sometimes feel like a complete idiot. Because I write her and I ramble, as I am wont to do, and I think I sound like a fool. Maybe not, maybe I just sound romantic.
It’s the duel nature of the artist and critic.
Perhaps, I’m overly harsh in this regard.
But here I go, rambling again.
Poetry. It’s sometimes as little as a sentence and I am something of a minimalist, trying to distill down to the essential words. So that there is space for the reader to project themselves into the piece.
With every conversation
Your words etch into me
Taking up residence
in my safe places
Where my becomes our
A slow burn like wet gunpowder mixed with dry, the ruined with the ruinous, the truth with the lie
A kiss is all I have to give, a touch to make one cry
I’ve fought my battles and lost my wars, I’ve drunken from the wells of sorrow
But then I saw into you, and breaking heart, I’m born anew.
But always, always burning
Don’t take me in your arms my love lest you be burning too
Or hold me close and trust, my flame is ever for you
We make our choices
Each one slaved to our voices
This pain is lossless
Format break me free
Hearts in chains
What do I know of acclaim
Accused of being heartless
Truth hidden in darkness
Break me free by enslaving me
Putting your needs in front of me
I’m in control but at a word it stops
It stops
It stops
This echo makes uniform ripples
And rules make it the sweeter
You’re all so distant but
Miles have no meaning when you say Sir
I’m the divisor of torments and salivations
Both
But my destruction is always a hairsbreadth from midnight
Waiting on words not spoken
Truths not muttered
And the question
And the question
Ask
I have only truth.
We love who we love. You may not understand why I love the people I do. Or how that love manifests itself. But it is love.
You cannot fix me. I am not broken.
You cannot outlaw me. I have tasted freedom.
You cannot remove my rights. I will fight.
I have loved regardless of gender.
I have loved people.
I have loved individuals.
I love now.
I will love in the future.
I am not alone. We are not alone.
If you find that my words are alluring or poetical verse turns your head, then know that I am not trying to seduce, not trying to entice, not trying to deceive. These words and phrases are who I am. My words are not empty, not pretty playthings. They are promises and truths. I say the things I say, always telling you truth. You do make my heart beat faster. I do dream of you. Sometimes it’s sex and sometimes we hold each other but you are in my dreams. My mind and heart have no short term plans. You are not a game I’m playing. You are someone worth being with. Worth valueing, worth seeing for who you are now not for who you were.
a truth
something painful or happy
A notion or a story
a dream or a hope
Of depression and manic
Tell me it all, leave nothing out
Your every scar or rainbow on your soul
Just don’t leave me alone in silence
Or speak lies for want of bright words
Pelgris 