Bereft

You called me your selkie
Who stayed of her own free will.
How bitterly ironic
That you were the one who left.

Musings under the full moon

When I was out of my mind (and
I admit I often was not myself
no matter how much I wanted
to be, and not matter how hard

I tried) you told me often that
my actions were what mattered—not
the sincere apologies I offered
when I came back to myself. Yet now

when I am faced with your actions,
you ask me to accept your
words. Ask me to understand
your suffering. Do I know how

much you wanted to call? How many
things you wanted to share? How can
you ask such things? Why
am I expected simply to accept

your words as truth and give
them credence when the message from
your own mouth was actions are what
matter, even when we were together

and when we were in love? Not being
in my right mind never once
changed my love; but not being myself
made me incapable of stopping myself

hurting the one I cherished more
than my own life. Let me pose
my own questions, if I may.
Do you know how hard I tried to be

worthy of your love? How hard
I tried to earn your trust back?
How desperately I tried to keep
that madness at bay? Do you

understand I still wake from
nightmares and reach for you
only to remember I am all
alone with my terror and guilt?

Do you know how often I see
things that make me cry because
they remind me of you—of
the life I wanted to build,

of the future I finally felt
safe enough to start planning?
Do you understand I lost
the person I trusted more than

any other—the one man who
made me feel safe, the man
to whom I confided my deepest
secrets and darkest fears?

My dreams have been snatched
from me, one by one. And then
to experience the galling,
humiliating shame of realising

it all means nothing, because
in fact, I am replaceable.
You do not need me. Maybe you
want me, but your actions

reveal a truth different than
your words. You left. You
moved on. You have someone
new in your life, in your

heart, in your bed. If I were
worth being loved, should I not
have been worth staying for,
worth fighting for, worth the vows

I thought we would say
to one another when
we were hand-fasted—vows I will never
now hear from the only man

I ever truly wanted, the only
one I ever thought found me
worthy of swearing to me:
even though I am flawed,

I am small and plain and broken
sometimes completely, that he
loved me enough to stand by me,
to lend me his strength

and his heart when my own
faltered. For better or for worse.
Because with you, I could have been
more better than worse.

But now, I cannot have
my heart's desire, and I do not want
the consolation prize. There is
nothing consoling about losing

my heart, my dignity, my world
and having to stomach seeing the one
who gets to have the only thing
I wanted, that I never thought

I could have, but for one brief
moment. It will not keep me
warm at night. It will not
keep the monsters at bay.

It will not help put back together
the shattered shards and dust
that was my heart of fire:
once, whole and beating.

Shattered

My heart broke once
and you were there
to hold me. You
took me by the hand
and told me I was
strong enough to
survive. But now
my heart broke twice
and you were the one
who broke it. This
time there was no
one to hold me
when I cried myself
to sleep at night.
How can I survive
when those who broke
my heart were the ones
who were supposed to
care for me when
my heart was broken?

Un-made

Today was meant to be
An Anniversary.

I took what I wanted

While I walked
In that terrible Valley

Two years ago.
I said, Yes,

In a place
where the only
thing I heard was
No.

But today is not joyful.
There is nothing to celebrate.
Today
Is a day
Of mourning.
A day for grief.

I pierced my skin.
I cut off my hair.
I seek to drown
In smoke and vapor.

Today I allow the part of me that said Yes to die.

I do not walk the same barren path
That lay before me two years syne.

This is a new waste,

Here after climbing
The Mountains of Maybe
And, foolishly,
Keeping my sights

On the summit,

Tumbling headlong into
The Desert of Never.

I want to turn my back on this journey

That has tried me
Judged me,
And found me lacking.

But to leave,
I must bury
The remains of my heart
At the base of the Tree

That marks the entrance

To Beyond.

The girl with the generous heart

Once upon a time there was a girl with a very generous heart. She was not very pretty, nor was she very lovable, but she was clever and loyal. However, she was not wise. And so she gave her heart away too often and foolishly.

One day the girl met a bird. The bird was very pretty, but he had a crooked wing and could not fly. The girl with the generous heart took the bird in and fed him and protected him from the things that prey on the weak and the lame.

The girl kept the bird near her, sharing everything she had. Many people asked the girl why she cared for a bird that could not fly, and the girl with the generous heart always responded the same way: ‘This bird is my friend. Yes, he cannot fly, so I protect him. His friendship is more than enough repayment for the little things I share.’ The girl with the generous heart worked hard, making sure that there was always enough so that the bird with the crooked wing was well cared for and happy.

The girl saved every penny she made and eventually she had enough to buy the bird a new wing. She went to a shop where she could purchase a new wing, and she picked out one that was beautiful, like the bird who was her friend. The new wing was very expensive, but the girl with the generous heart did not hesitate to buy it. It was perfect and she was so excited to get home to show the bird his new wing.

However, when the girl with the generous heart got home and showed the bird what she bought, the bird with the crooked wing flew into a rage. He said terrible, hurtful things to the girl with the generous heart. The bird with the crooked wing accused the girl of secretly hating him, of being ashamed of him, and of wanting a new friend, because the only reason to give the bird a new wing would be so he could fly away. The bird said that the girl with the generous heart must not really love him, and that she must think he is not good enough to love with his crooked wing. He said that if she really loved him she would accept his crooked wing and that the new wing she bought for him was just a way of saying that he would only be lovable if he were not broken.

The girl with the generous heart did not know what to do; she had only wanted to give her friend a gift, a beautiful gift that would make him happy. She left the new wing on the table near where the bird was perched in the corner, glaring at her, and she left the house. She hid for a time in the woods and she cried. When she could cry no more, and the sun was starting to set, the girl went back to the house.

The bird with the crooked wing was gone. As was the new wing the girl had bought for him. There was no note, no explanation. The girl with the generous heart would never see the bird again. But she could not forget all the terrible things the bird had said to her.

The girl with the generous heart was clever enough to know that it was her heart that had gotten her into this trouble. And so the next day, the girl with the generous heart went deep into the woods. She took her heart from her chest and buried it at the foot of a tree.

Ever since that day, the girl no longer had a generous heart. She became reclusive and lonesome, and she always remembered what the bird had said to her. She never looked for the tree where she buried her heart, and she lived a long and lonely life, her one small comfort the knowledge that she could never be so foolish again as to give away her heart where it would not be reciprocated.

Disengage

A smarter girl than I would know
How not to sound so keen.
With all the fool that I have been,
Why must I let it show?

Can't keep my eyes demurely downcast,
My breath even and slow;
Or quell the excitement that starts to blow
Tingles up my spine, fast

Overcoming my good senses
Exactly like a blast
Of howling, icy wind, a vast
Assault on my defenses.

I want strong walls around my heart:
Fortress-like pretenses--
Razor-ribbon and barbed wire fences,
But I have not the art.

*****

And so I get much too invested
In a glance, a touch, a kiss,
And I am often prone to miss
When my interest ought be arrested.

08/08/2011

Un-love

‘I love you – have always loved

you,’ he whispered softly into my

ear, his breath against my neck

hot and sticky, like his words, while unseen

hands like razors clawed at me,

caught at my clothes, severing

seams and slicing through layers

of fabric to slide smoothly into

my skin.  ‘I love you – can’t you see?’ he

asked as fingers curled around cut and

bloody flesh to tear strips of me

from me.  He stripped me bare, cut away

all that protected me, and took what he

saw and shattered it with vitriol.

‘This thing we have is good, so good,’

he chanted while my blood ran down

his clutching claws, pooling and

clotting in the divots in my rent

flesh.  ‘So good,’ he panted as he sucked

my essence out through my mouth, opened

in a silent scream; ‘So good,’ he breathed

as I curled in on myself, trying just

to disappear; ‘So good,’ he moaned as I lay

limp and lifeless.  He did not see the husk

he left behind, but keeps returning to it

and sees only the vibrant thing it once

was – the thing destroyed by his love.

And he wonders, How can I still not

love him back?

10/01/2011

The price of broken promises

‘I love you – have always loved

          you,’ he said, whispering, whispering

     into the soft pink shell of my ear.

But as the words touched the delicate drum

               they shattered into a thousand tiny

          fragments of glass and tickled and cut

     at the soft flesh against which they rubbed.

So I tilted my head, questioningly

               at him.  And as my head tilted

         broken promises came tumbling

     out of my ear, silvery and shining

red with blood.

10/01/2011

A Miscalculated Risk

Walking among the dead in the rain
With you was the first time I had walked
Those paths in years.  I had forgotten how
Serenely the dead sleep
Below the sodden soil.

Walking with space between us
Felt easy and natural--there was nothing
Drawing us together but the air
Of familiar unfamiliarity: our generation
drawn together by lines on screens.

I watched you that night in the mist,
Your glasses splattered with rain--the same rain
running down my neck.  I had peeled
My layers off and dripping stood
Under the falling sky in an undershirt.

You watched the clouds roiling
And retching their innards.  You looked
Everywhere but the twelve short inches
Down to meet my eyes.  But you smiled
Brilliantly, blue eyes shining black.

You were a Known-Unknown, and I was compelled
By your energy, like iron to a lodestone
Leading to my leaning forward, chin up
Lips parted, head tilted.  And I took
A miscalculated risk.

The sums didn't match.

06/01/2011

Philosophy digression

I never loved you.
That is what you assume.
That is what you will say.
I did not return your cloying sentiment
     Couched in tired language
     Choking me with cliches.

I left: a fact undeniable.
Not that I seek to deny it.  I know
I did.
          Deliberately.
                                 With forethought.
                                                                  And relief.

I took your philosophy of taking
Whatever makes you happy
And made it my own
     By rejecting
                           what made me
                                                      unhappy.

But how dare I decide
                                      what made me unhappy
                                                                                 was you?

28.11.10