You never once,
Raised your voice to me.
Never belittled me,
Nor hit me.
You never even seemed to get angry.
It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?
After ten years with an abuser,
I should be thrilled,
To never get yelled at,
But, you were the opposite,
Swing of the pendulum.
He was possessive.
You were simply unconcerned.
Devoid of all passion.
And despite all pain he gave me,
It was still better,
Than your indifference.
(On a song writing course we were given 15 minutes to write stream of consciousness. This is my result.)
Heart beats, hands shake,
Feeling like a big fake,
In my head it’s butterflies with wings,
But I can barely find the strings,
On my guitar, which I know well,
But just right now you couldn’t tell,
That when I’m calm and home alone,
Not one missed note,
Not one missed tone,
But that’s the nature of the beast,
That must be tamed,
And then released,
The beast that ruffles every feather,
So sometimes I am not sure whether,
I can do this properly,
I need to train the beast to see,
That this is where I’m supposed to be,
That with the presence of a quiver,
Slight tremolo and nervous shiver,
This is where my light’s revealed,
Where broken parts of me get healed,
Despite the twitching ruffled feather,
This is where it comes together,
That behind the nervousness there’s more,
A feeling anchored to my core,
That there within my chambered heart,
Music is the one true part,
The sacred chalice, golden key,
That shapes and shines the inner me,
And though I really can’t say why,
And know that I might never fly,
My hope will never yield its place,
So keep the sky above me open,
Just in case.
Love is not a decision.
Love is not the answer to some intricate equation.
Love is not the result at the bottom of some emotional balance sheet.
Love is more.
And I am not a puppy hanging around your door.
Words are exchanged,
A veiled disguise,
Behind which each,
Simmers and burns,
One thinks the other,
Just never learns,
On a long ride home,
Tensions grow higher,
They burst through the door,
Tempers on fire,
Their passions run high,
Their anger still grows,
The blink of an eye,
They’re ripping off clothes,
They’re down on the floor,
Flesh steaming hot,
Giving each other,
All that they’ve got,
Like beasts they ride hard,
In a coiled embrace,
The argument melted,
Not even a trace.
So sip so sweetly at my nectar,
Darling, darling, from down there.
And in return I’ll sip your honey,
Darling, darling, you know where.
I’ve got that little space to fill,
So darling, darling fill it up.
All the way up with your passion.
Darling, darling, to the top.
Love me, sweetly, gently, roughly.
Darling, darling, please don’t stop.
Give it, give it, give it to me.
Let me get on top.
(This is my poetry potluck piece. This week’s theme is “Passionate Nights of Love.” Methinks a few babies will be made this week.)
When I’m perfumed and nicely dressed,
You rarely want some lovin’.
Why is it, then, you’re ready when,
I’m cleaning out the oven?