avant l'impasse

i think we're lost.
my voice sounded so strange and even foreign.
like when you say a word over and over until it sounds silly.
so i thought maybe i'd gone crazy for a moment;
and i let the silence swallow the words whole
praying they'd erase them from short term memory.
everything looks familiar.
everything looks right.
but something isn't.
and i'm dumbfounded that no one else can see that the house is upside down.
i keep telling myself it was designed this way...
that there's something else amiss...
the color? the shutters?
but it wasn't
and there isn't.
it's a blaring, obvious statement.
underlined, emboldened and colored in red
scrawled on a perfectly clean living room wall
and you cannot miss it.
we're lost.
i found a side street i'd never been down,
and it felt good to notice something new in this place i know like the back of my hand.
but it isn't like that, here.
no, i'm scared as hell.
and i wandered down another street and found a wooded sanctuary.
we stayed there a while
too cool in the shade on a late november day
but i stayed a while to pray
the pine needles spread under us like a welcoming carpet
i forgot it all as we moved
as we laughed
as we spoke
and all too soon, as though i'd said, "amen"
the spell broke
a stranger too close to the car
just leaving advertising
just leaving a note.
we walked past the tennis courts
humming
a little post script psalm
because i hope you know that it isn't quite as simple as it seems
it's all very well, indeed to say so
to say that this is this
and that is that
and the contract states
and now it is broken
but it isn't quite so easy.
it's never black and white...
or perhaps it is, and we wish so badly for a gray area to make it a little easier.
i'll ask a little longer
i'll wait a little while more
but we are nearing the end of the well
draining the seas
and i'm asking for rain
or for this one to stand up
don't remain silent.
don't stay seated
it will all disappear
and i tried so hard.

queen.

I'm still waiting.
It feels like I'm sitting on the other side of a chess board... waiting. I'm not even sure whether or not it's my turn... or am I playing both sides of the match?
Waiting on ________________.
Always waiting for someone to make their move.
Preparing for my next move.
Hurry up and wait.
Waiting on inspiration... hah! As though it's a taxi on the way to me? I should at least know that by now. No. It's an elusive creature to be chased. And even then... it will have its way with me when it is good and ready. But, I must always be in the ready.
So I'm outlining... blueprinting... planning... piecing it all together;
but there's always a missing puzzle piece that I need.
Like some kind of furniture waiting to be assembled, but they've left out a very important screw.
I feel caught in a relentless play of tug-of-war.
to : Be present.
to : Plan for the future.
to : Learn from the past.
and Write!
Write about... what I feel? What I've felt? It's for the future!
And time slips...
Just write, woman!
Oh GOD!
My mind is a runaway carousel of thoughts and whims and moving parts and symphonies... and I just need to find the structure in it. The rhythm in the chaos. The song in the hum. The dance in the sway.
I will!
But, the tension is maddening.
The wait...
Because this... this is supposed to be the autumn of my youth...
Because I have so much of myself to give to her...
Because I have so much to give...
Because I have so much to say...
And I stayed silent so long, I've become used to it.
Waiting for this novocaine to wear off so it won't sound quite so jumbled and slurred.
But, can I put it in the right way? Can I make you feel it? Can I translate it to your heart? Or to your mind?
I'm not quite ready to lay these dreams to rest... I just can't.
They still keep me up at night.
They beckon when it's quiet.
They beg me to sing it out... to write it out...
To make her proud...
They hunt me and haunt me... they inspire me and fill me... they push me and pull me... they awaken me and comfort me...
They will not leave me alone.
But these x factors... these missing screws...
I'm scanning the board to make my move.
Bold and excited with some sort of rejuvenation...
blooming... unfolding... glowing
And a little timid, because wisdom warns of checkmates...
So much power.
So much vulnerability.
And it should make perfect sense
because, after all, my dear...
I have become the queen.

three coins in a fountain. [about a girl]

I wished to be
That interesting.
That beautiful.
In that startling, jarring sort of way.
That impressive
The sort of ease that permeates each movement.
To paint... fantastic realism
A realistic fantasy
Or sing with those buttered tones that just slip
from note to note
like drops of water
from leaf to leaf
With the delicacy of a petal...
see-through thin sheet
But the power of an ocean
A lion
roaring
The sort of muse...
The only sort of muse
That steals hearts and souls
With just a look
Just one
Every bit of the way
From the tousle of the hair
hands
eyelash
the curve of her cheek
lips
frame - strong - slender
like a dancer
always moving
in motion to some music that everyone can hear
but isn't ever playing
fingerprints
like permanent markings on the brain
the iris
the heart
the very soul
stolen.
the kind that move the great men to paint
to write
to sing forever
to sweat for gold and diamonds
to wrap round her finger
to hunt, to win, to adore
always
since as long as i can remember
i wished.
i wished.
i wished to be.

It's been so long since I've had a seat in this corner of the room to write.
Everything feels so familiar.
Everything feels so different.
There's comfort in it.
There's an unrest in it.

Home.

It's good to be here.

It's good to be home for the holidays. That's been a while too.
This year is taking some unusual amounts of self control not to get the festivities started early.
I have a rule that I cannot begin to "deck the halls" until the day after Thanksgiving.
I have a winter playlist for now, of all of the songs that don't mention Christmas... just to tide me over.
Why do we rush to skip over the thanks?
Just to stop and enjoy the leaves turning...
Slow down.
Cooler weather...
Breathing...
Why are we in a rush to rush?
Rather than look around and say... yes. Yes! Thank you.
A grateful heart.
Why do I rush to ask how I feel?
Feel.
FEEL.
feel.
Rather than just be here.
Am i doing myself an injustice to delay the asking? Perhaps I've gone numb for too long and that's why I'm seated here writing for an audience of who-knows-how-many-actually-read-this-thing-anymore...
Am i doing an injustice by asking, rather than processing the world at large in new ways each day?

My little one has my heart strings in a flutter.

Do i even have what it takes to make you feel // fathom // understand // empathize with me?

Isn't it good to question your ability? To ask, do i even have what it takes anymore? Did I ever?

Funny thing is, 2 years from now, I may look back on this very entry with that 20/20 vision and say, "ugh to write that way again."
Or I may say...
"ugh. what was i writing?!"

Or perhaps we reach seasons in life when we realize we just want and, in fact, need to be adored.
It isn't enough to be liked.
We've poured out our souls for years.
Poured out our love again and again.
Hoping for it to become a stream in the desert... but it felt like a wasted offering.
That burning desire to be wanted... to be needed... sure. But, to be desired.
To be held.
To be appreciated... but something heavier than that.
To be ravaged... to have someone thirst for who you are at the core.
Sometimes you need to know someone is in love with you. Madly.
To be caught up in some wild love affair.
Stir up those embers!
Catch fire in my bones!
Burn up all of the dormant places and lets be alive again!

I'm weary of old patterns.
Old ways.
Old designs.
The dark repetition.
The chains of inadequacy.
The brainwashing systems of comparison.
Seasons be damned!
I'll bloom in the dead of night, in the middle of winter.
I'll defy the logic and the absolutes in black and white.
But only if you'll grant me this.
Only if the original breath will sigh into me.