The Guerilla Poetess

Eat The Fire

2025-10-12T00:42:00.000-07:00

Transformation is so transformative.

You think all tolerance is normative

until you start to pick at the thread.

That tapestry woven inside my head

is beautiful, but also stained red.

Red is the shade that I've always been.

Heart on sleeve, and so rarely seen.

Self-competition is what I know best.

Form your conclusions; I will not protest.

Women like me are so hard to digest.

The people who gossip? I do not care.

Toxicity, a burden, I don't have to bear.

I'll sniff you out once, but rarely delve twice.

Looking for the mythical loyal and nice.

Or rampant overuse of manipulative device.

Revisionists of history? Propaganda, dear.

Perpetuated by criminals who truly fear

that irrefutable truth will see light of day.

Sit in silence, and in kindness stay.

Karma's a bitch of a bill they will pay.

I've run out of 'sorries,' and I surmise

I'm done with the toxic (I apologize).

This era, so different than any one prior.

Caveat emptor? Meet skeptical buyer!

You lit the match. Now eat the fire.

Fly

2025-09-22T22:14:00.000-07:00

The butterfly breaks free.

After a too-long forever.

While sat in the dark, she kept her spark.

An ember kept safe from the weather.

Why is it that no one ever warns?

A narcissist, the word used by all, it seems

when infatuation has been torn at the seams.

With a narcissist, you barely survive.

You'll marvel that you made it out alive.

That love conquers all is mythology.

Taught to young girls; a sick ideology.

It doesn't matter how much you're forced to endure.

You must be sweet, subservient, and demure.

The allure of a narcissist is a declaration of war.

Against her need to be thought of as "good."

Good wife, good girlfriend, good mother, good daughter.

External validation sets you up for the slaughter.

She moved in small motions to give herself space.

So dark, thus imprisoned, in the loneliest place.

Her wings still grew behind very thick walls.

A feat that will earn no applause.

No growth was visible from her vantage point.

But she stopped showing up to bless and anoint

the liars, lotharios, and takers, so caustic.

She removed herself from the toxic.

One day, she became far too big to remain.

She yearned to soar far away from the pain.

Jung knew scorched earth could bear new seed.

That powerful self-love all Empaths need.

He knew the three deaths that Empaths die.

That one day, we'll no longer cry.

And one day, we'll stop asking why?

Because we already learned how to fly. 🦋

Forget

2025-09-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

It's really the strangest feeling.

One decade, you are reeling

in pain; maybe two.

Wailing about what happened to you.

Raging about what they did to you.

Struggling to keep your composure,

while praying for the mythical closure.

When you feel so adrift,

Life can deliver a gift.

If there's no end in sight, and you're blue.

You say you don't care, but you do.

You say you don't care, and you scream it!

You say, you don't care,

Then you mean it.

With more years behind than those ahead.

The happy must happen before you are dead.

Rather than living rent-free in my head.

I forgave myself instead.

Fling, friend, companion, spouse,

I chose to move on and no longer house

the anger I once held; the immolation.

That runaway train has left the station.

Kindness is no crime; I gave it my all.

Now, why you mattered, I just can't recall.

Hover if you wish; suppress your regret.

You probably have none. On that I will bet.

That's honestly fine.

The best healer is time.

And the glow up is mine.

Truman

2025-05-22T22:07:00.000-07:00

How dare you be so poor?

Why don't you want much more?

With your food stamps at the store.

And your eyes cast to the floor.

How dare you be so sick?

Your health can change so quick.

Stayin' Alive? A hopeful schtick.

While the health bills pile up thick.

How dare you be so female?

In a Game designed by male?

With rules created for male?

And you're only a piece of tail.

How dare you be so kind?

Where's the values we once enshrined?

"Love thy neighbor" so easy to mime.

For voters before election time.

How dare you be so human?

You smart, deep-feeling human!

You "WTAF is going on?" human!

As Life drops bombs like Truman.

Brave

2025-05-05T22:02:00.000-07:00

How many of us hold on to words unspoken?

This world, my God, it seems so broken.

We've reached sociopolitical critical mass.

You try to stay focused and hope it will pass.

Don a brave face, and lock it down; formal.

But what if this is the new normal?

Everyone is numb, afraid, or vitriolic.

Closeted depression; amateur alcoholic.

I think being sober is essential to abate

The precarious inching toward Hades' gate.

We want to know, yet see too much.

We forget to laugh, be peaceful, and such.

You master the ability to navigate with poise.

While your soul begs you to filter the noise.

If you lock it all down, you risk being numb.

If you feel it acutely, you fear you'll succumb

to the fear, anxiety, and 'what if' presumptions.

"Things will get better" is the bravest assumption.

When the macro becomes mental, you're forced to just pause.

And find your humanity, 'stead of sharpening your claws.

Too rich, too poor, too thin, too fat.

Too brown, too white, too human, in fact.

While the mighty in power are utterly botching.

I'm aware of the young eyes that always are watching.

It's easy to give up, kill faith, and despair.

Silently scream and tear out your hair.

Refuse to stand up, each time that you fall.

Resign to disbelief in anything at all.

But they are counting on you to keep lighting the way.

Through action, not facades, or things you may say.

In your spiritual fatigue, when you fear you may cave.

Remember that they need us to be brave.

Kids need to see us brave.

Image by bess.hamiti@gmail.com from Pixabay

Awake

2025-04-30T01:06:00.000-07:00

Sleep is elusive.

Escapist, yet evasive.

I'm neither a dullard nor abrasive

when I fail to get enough.

Kafka was like this.

Woolf, Proust, and Plath.

Hemingway had no secret way

to stop his brain from thinking.

Writers are mad. It's creative hell.

It's shocking I can function so well.

Insane, inane thoughts; so much unwritten.

The good stuff? I keep to myself.

I think about the now and then.

The pain, the failures, and human mastery.

My life is an intricate tapestry

of wildly placed threads that hold.

Frost and Ginsberg, Neruda and Dickens.

Creative insomnia, the plot that thickens.

I wish I could sleep for normalcy's sake.

Instead of always being Awake.

Ignorance makes you blissful.

Intelligence makes you break.

How I wish I were

not so Awake.

Image by: minh1857 from Pixabay

This Life Actually

2025-03-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

The sun in Austin sets fast.

In March, the weather; like a jilted lover

is hot, then cold, then hot again.

I am sitting in the dark within the glow

of the Liberal bad news.

It's all bad for us, lately.

The ones that have a heart.

Sometimes I need to be alone.

I'm never alone; not really.

In a house of seven dogs? Get serious.

And three beautiful teenage girls?

I'm working on my doctorate

in high school drama.

The youngest idolizes GenX music.

Not supposed to have a favorite (but it's her).

Sometime during my ten-hour workday

I allowed myself the privilege of standing.

Four dogs chased me, while I swept.

Two dogs stared suspiciously; one dog snored.

And all of it feels good to me.

I had this idea for a poem.

I'd open the window to a disorganized

albeit creative (possibly genius) non-humble mind.

To see the world through my eyes.

Just for a brief moment.

He's strumming and picking his guitar.

He's learning new music; it pisses him off when

he misses a note or two in succession.

I have a little confession.

I'm laughing my ass off downstairs.

My old dog wheezes at my feet.

It's really fucking loud.

I don't mind though. I constantly think

"One day that sound will be gone."

And my heart breaks in slow motion.

The neighbors next door are having a fiesta.

Don't look at me like that! I'm not racist!

I heard one scream

"WELCOME TO THE FIESTAAAAA!"

I hope his drunk ass staggers into the cactus.

The older I get, the more I want chickens.

All the bullshit about the egg prices

only serves to consolidate the plausibility.

I couldn't make enough money selling eggs.

Or could I?

There are people I love who are hurting.

They don't always give the impression that they are.

They may think I am not paying attention.

I feel your wound like it's mine.

And I am paralyzed by my inability to fix it.

Sitting at my computer isn't helpful.

I should be on the gray leather sectional

buried in multicolored unilaterally spoiled dogs

jockeying for position on the lady

who gives out the most treats.

Practice is over. The Random Guitar Dude

is on a mission to deliver an errant school badge.

Why don't kids ever check their pockets?

They forget everything. That's weird.

And act annoyed if you try to remind them.

I'm still learning.

My only successful method of consoling

a crying, angsty (and shrill) teenage girl

is to gently suggest we get in my car

and go get boba tea.

🤷🏼‍♀️

I'll figure it out.

The Narcissist's Playbook

2024-07-01T06:20:00.000-07:00

Look at me, beyond reproach.

Good husband, good father, community coach.

Businessman, leader, I've got money too!

I have no idea why these women do the things that they do!

The persona is cultivated with convincing wiles.

Stalking online through fake profiles.

Dropping enough hints to make victims perturbed.

For women who walked from the emotionally disturbed.

When you see the behavior, their power is gone.

You focus on the healing, and your life moves along.

You stop blaming yourself, though the experience was stark.

You have nothing to defend 'gainst a soul that's so dark.

The mask is impeccable. It's a difficult belief.

He looks good on paper, yet has caused so much grief.

But if you want them to actually show their face.

Speaking the truth puts them in a fragile place.

Imagine living life in a complex lie?

Where almost everyone believes you are a quality guy?

The biggest threat is the truth to this pathetic sort.

For it puts their psychosis on full report.

Like a house of cards, built upon fragile fiction.

The truth is the ultimate benediction.

They may live in fear for the rest of their life.

They may be discovered by family and wife.

A good person who harms makes eager redemption.

A narcissist believes they are the exception.

They're incapable of love; they seek only control.

Relegating their time as a stalker and troll.

Laugh at them; it truly hurts them the most.

For you, my dear lady are no longer host

to the furies of an impotent child who is spent.

Someone whose morals are completely bent.

Be grateful you stood up and articulated.

They were a cancerous mass that you amputated.

After healing, comes clarity of emotion and of mind.

You can spot them at a distance, that abusive kind.

Look them in the eye, and stand fully tall.

These broken humans, for which women fall.

Shrouded for life, by a manipulative shawl.

But realize, they never had power at all.

You sad, empty minstrel,

You have no power at all.

Hello Happy

2024-05-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

The sun is still up; work almost done.

Birds dip the dog dish

in the setting sun.

They joyfully giggle with throaty reply.

They are oh, so happy.

Yes, so am I.

Ancient dog snores on bunny slipper'd feet.

My love, old friend, your loyalty sweet.

So powerful I feel, to be leader of the pack!

Even when herd follows to kitchen for snack.

How did I get here? The girl does not know.

The clouds suddenly parted so the sunlight could show.

And when her heart had no "try again" left

The Universe showed up with the perfect gift.

The sun is still up; work is finally done.

Dogs chasing houseflies? They think it is fun!

Dryer swooshing round; loud barking reply.

They are oh, so happy.

Yes, so am I.

Bucket of Fucks

2024-03-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

"You should get this book,"

said my beautiful red-haired cousin.

"It's like you have this finite number of daily fucks to give."

"But what if you always have all the fucks to give?" I asked.

"Then you have no fucks left for yourself. And that's how you burn out."

Burnout.

When I was young, the only burnout I knew, was flooring my gas, with

one foot on the gas, and one foot on the break.

One of those stupid things that teenagers do

when they have a fancy car.

Psychologists say that burnout is real.

Humans mask it in these really cool ways.

By drinking too much.

By smoking too much.

By chasing the dragon (whether the leafy stuff or that crystal shit that will kill you).

By eating too much.

By saying... I'm fine.

But back to the buckets of figurative fucks.

I asked many questions, which seemed to annoy her a little.

Questions like:

1) Does everyone have the same number of fucks? Are there standard buckets? Or do some people have bigger buckets than others, because they have more fucks to give?

2) What happens if you arbitrarily dispense every single fuck in your bucket? Do they replenish over night? What is the waiting period for the metaphorical fucks "fill-up" anyhow?

3) Does the bucket and requisite daily fucks reduce over time? Like, you know how older people seem to give very few fucks? Does the quantity of individual fucks to give dissipate over time?

I mean, that would explain a lot...

Did I mention she sounded irritated? That was before I started asking my ADHD questions.

"Look, you just can't give everything your focus. Or everyone. You just have to pick the things that matter and save your fucks for that. Or them."

The whole concept of one large bucket, where all fucks would be harbored on a daily basis,

bothered me.

Surely there are some fucks that are larger (or deeper feeling) than others, correct? I would need to order them by size. All the way from very little fucks given, to the "why do I give a fuck?" self-inflective fucks, and the "I give all the fucks" VIP level.

By this time my cousin had hung up the phone with a "love you girl, see ya!"

I haven't spoken to her in two years.

But I still love this memory.

I never learned how to ration my fucks to give.

But I think the world is running a little short

of people who are still willing to give any fucks at all.

Even when their check engine light is on.

JAWS

2023-07-28T18:57:00.004-07:00

It breaks my mind to stand behind

another Karen in line

prognosticating WHOITE POWRRR!

Her sense of decency shatters

she knows Black Lives Matter!

so she'll only do it to brown-skinned folks.

Like an unhinged rabid squirrel

she shouts at a girl

who was born in Austin,

of parents, born in Houston,

and grandparents born in Garland

to go BACK

to her own country.

I know because she told me

as soon as that piece of shit left.

She started talking to me in Spanish,

shaken up and bereft.

But I am an Italian.

Born in Canada of a

mother born in Canada

and a Father who

rode a cargo ship.

Cuddled into his mom every night.

It took Grandpa four years

to pay for his wife

to join him in the hopes

of a better life.

My Aunt grew up with

people telling her

to go back to her own country

anytime she spoke Italian.

My favorite word remains...Vaffanculo!

Starbucks is another natural habitat and

you'll find Karen's thin and fat making a scene.

"What are you stupid? I said half-fat double macchiato cream,

the biggest size you have!"

The brown-skinned girl says "You ordered a Grande"

Karen says: "That's the biggest! Your first day?"

The restraints on my mouth are giving away.

Oh fuck... here we go again.

"Actually, KAREN, the big up is Venti

how about you quit your shit I don't have all-day

to spectate your menopausal meltdown".

And Starbucks becomes pin-drop quiet.

Sliding from Defcon Karen riot to

"Ooooh! Get ready to

TikTok this shit".

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"I wasn't asking you to excuse me. I've done nothing wrong."

"You sure about that?"

My eyelashes flitter and the audience titters.

While Karen shifts to

CODE RED.

"Who the fuck are you to..."

"NO WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

You fucked up your own order,

despite your mental disorder, she made you one new.

So what do you do?

Show us how neurotic and possibly psychotic you are

instead of heading back to your little car

and getting on with your day?

I have to say

you may need some different meds."

The silence is broken by the squeaking of Keds

as she hustles off in yoga pants

to the sound of light applause.

Karens act like barracudas!

But Bitch?

I'm Jaws.

Resurrection

2023-06-01T11:02:00.004-07:00

It wasn't a gilded cage to hold me.

If you told me I was going to work

myself to death for a selfish jerk.

I would have never guessed

I'd become so stressed

I'd think it was all deserved.

I have served, my entire life it seems.

Put self-care, happiness, and my dreams

aside to provide; how I am built inside

is to love with everything I've got.

To love others more than I love myself.

Hoping they'd love me too.

I didn't know what else to do.

I don't have a loving family, like you.

I've been an adult since I was born.

And bore the hate, dysfunctionality, and scorn.

Taking care of others always came first.

Perishing in a desert of emotional thirst.

But what do you see, when you look at me?

A girl with far too much energy?

Who talks too much?

Who works too much?

Who laughs too much?

Who gives too much?

Who cares too much?

Who trusts too much?

Who loves... too much?

Who is hurt too much?

Who is angry too much

when people let me down?

Perhaps you see but just one side.

The arrogant, outgoing, confident pride?

The funny girl, flippant, and bonified?

If I shared my story, you may have cried.

To know how many times I've actually died.

Then fought to resurrect myself.

Instead of living life on a shelf.

But I will no longer do that, to myself.

I can no longer accept that, for myself.

First

2023-03-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

Image: "Composing Woman" Stefan Keller

My heart had forgotten.

I'd been easily besotten

by intentions thus rotten.

Having tied the knot and

forgot to love myself.

Society has rules.

But doesn't give you the tools

to guard against fools.

Fitting in simply fuels

the unhappy disconnect.

Things I'd normally reject

I grew to accept

With not so much as a peck

of that thing called respect.

So quiet I kept.

And onward it crept.

After I had lept

into a marriage that swept

me into regret.

Drowning tears in the shower.

The dreams turned to sour.

Such a feast he could devour.

I became a whithered flower.

Until I found my power.

And remembered who I was.

Because I am worthy of good love.

Of peace, and protection.

Not exploitation or rejection.

Criminally taken for granted

I uprooted where I was planted.

Not in the arms of another.

To become my own Mother.

I fought hard you see,

to finally be

a person who loved me

first.

Never Enough

2022-08-04T20:08:00.000-07:00

The conversations are longer

than they ever should be.

But if you ask me

they are never enough.

I'm tough. I don't allow myself

to sit, relax, chill out and fill my time

with something less productive.

Because busy is seductive.

As long as you keep moving

you may not notice that the

bed is empty, the home is empty

the heart isn't empty though.

That I know. But at times

I feel the weight of loneliness

like a cold cloud that settles, I guess

into the deepest parts of my head.

I'm lonely with someone.

I'm lonely without.

With no clue how this condition

has come about.

I'm lonely in the morning

with my solo cup of Joe.

I'm lonely in the afternoon

though you would never know.

I'm lonely every night.

Except when bed is shared.

I'd tell more people I was lonely

if I wasn't so damned scared.

Count your blessings. Find your grateful.

Still the lonely feels so hateful.

Because I'm lonely without.

Lock it all down to appear oh so stout.

It's never enough. I'm never enough.

To be happy, content, and chilled.

It's never enough. I'm never enough.

To actually feel fulfilled.

I'm lonely but still trying

through the tears that I'm crying.

Oh, first-world problems and stuff.

My own company is never enough.

It's just never ever enough.

Something Different

2022-07-24T20:03:00.009-07:00

Ukraine Artist Collective: LikeFresco

Please forgive me when I pull away.

For a writer with all the words, sometimes what I say

and how I feel are disconnected; this was unexpected.

You aren't rejected, because this way that I feel

is something different.

Something so much different

than what I think I may have ever known.

Inside your arms, it feels like home.

I talk and talk, your gold eyes smile.

Enthralling but recalling all the while.

I'm a work in progress; it's about the process

of taking back my life, from chaos and strife.

And I'll never again be somebody's wife.

But you seem to be okay with that, too.

This moment is sincere; the things that you do

let me know without doubt, that I matter to you.

Those charms can trigger alarms, all past harms weigh

heavy in recall; I never want to fall

for someone who will hurt me that way once more.

I fought my way up from a cold lonely floor.

Screaming years drenched in tears, behind unlocked door.

Don't think for an instant my romanticism is dead.

It's buried somewhere safe, way up in my head.

And guarded by a dragon and a small little child

who had no intention to live a life this wild.

Her needs were so simple, she now feels defiled.

And angry that she blindly trusted a man.

She'll abate immolation again if she can.

But the taste of your lips is frankly pure bliss.

The sigh that you make, and the way your hands shake

past recovery, such discovery through give and take.

You mend all the pieces you did not break.

I look into your eyes, still surprised yet to see

a heart as earnest as the one inside me.

Intelligence, relation, and that desire to break free.

Your energy flows in and all around me.

For a brief moment, just one moment, I can simply be

the woman who I was before my blind eyes could see.

The woman I was before life humbled me.

The uninhibited child that wants to dance free.

Most days I'm not sure how you tolerate me.

But wrapped in your arms, I feel safe to be me.

You are something so different.

My God, you are different.

Can this time be different

with someone like me?

Dysphoria

2022-07-17T19:05:00.000-07:00

Artist: Hot Chocolate~

I pass by people without homes.

They live under the bridges, and others throw stones.

Presumptions and assumptions, with the gumption to assume

that any of us is completely immune.

Most of us are one paycheck away from that doom.

I shop in the grocery store far from my home.

The air conditioning is better, so onward I roam.

I see the single mom make a choice,

with a sad face and a shaking voice.

On the phone with someone else,

because there's little on the shelf

that she can actually afford.

My inbox fills up with offers for things.

Fancy creams, Botox, and miracle springs.

My cupboard is full, and for that I am glad.

What they're selling me won't cure the sad

that saturates my head, most days.

And onward materialism and entitlement plays.

"You're not good enough" is the message it says.

"Buy this, buy that" and "too old, too fat".

Is it not enough that I am existing?

Through choppy seas, my boat is still listing.

Nonetheless, this bitch is persisting.

Perhaps a little too woke

for the normal folk.

And still trying to build my safe place.

This dysphoria is mine, even when I seem fine.

Because I tow the line well, and such.

In a world that is sad to the touch.

In a world that is mad to the touch.

Piece of Mind

2022-06-22T11:34:00.002-07:00

I don't like clutter.

I'll start to stutter if

my brain begins to putter

about things I can't control.

This stress is taking a toll.

I crave liberation.

But with deep contemplation

all I feel is frustration.

An injustice of sort.

My energy falls short.

I don't like the fury.

So I quickly scurry

and then try to bury

in things that may soothe.

Has Stella lost her groove?

This hostile new world

is overwhelming to a girl

who just wants to twirl

in a field of wild flowers.

She's the sort life devours.

Yet still never sours

to the mythical outcome

of peace.

Image: "An implied nude in the poppy field" by SeanJCPhoto is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Reflections

2022-04-29T13:48:00.004-07:00

I peer into a looking glass.

The sass, the smiles, the lines and

styles have changed over the eons

I have walked this earth.

Am I the same human

I was at birth?

I know I am not.

For lessons were taught.

That strengthened me

and left their mark.

I'm no longer the springtime singing lark.

I may be something dark.

More real, surreal, I feel not sad.

I'm breathing still, for that I'm glad!

And life to me is still a game.

While peace forgets my name.

I stare into the windowpane.

This same refrain, and such disdain.

For the words, I've talked

and the path I've walked.

In a strange way, I am proud.

I'm bold and loud.

Shook off the shroud of

hating self, for I'm alive.

My ability to survive

impresses me, sometimes.

The crimes are pointless to review.

My life is mine, that much is true.

I aimed for peace; with hope anew

I felt real love was somehow due.

But not something I could seem to do.

I peer into the creek below.

See tired eyes I barely know.

But onward, upward, through I go.

The reflection fades with water flow.

And I assume the new tempo.

For where we stop

we never know...

In Your Arms

2022-04-01T09:36:00.007-07:00

Couple In Love: Anna (Support This Artist in Ukraine)

Laying in your arms,

the tears start to flow.

I try to lock them down

so you may not know.

How deep your love.

It soaks right through.

I've never known a

heart like you.

Pressing flesh, I guess

that's a test of trust.

Now life has thrust

you into me.

And I can be

completely free.

To love you now

so honestly.

Hearing your sighs.

Your hazel eyes

an ocean of warmth

and deepest care.

You can find me lost

inside you there.

Lessons learned, both you and I.

Words can be false, but eyes don't lie.

I never knew just how this felt.

Comfort and trust, and how we melt

in unquenchable flames of Eros, true.

I want to be thus close to you.

The bass of every day is you.

My laughter is because of you.

This racing pulse, my love, that too.

These eyes shine once more,

because of you.

The World Stops

2022-02-24T17:35:00.002-08:00

In your arms.

Beyond the thrill is a still

I haven't experienced before.

Wrapped in you.

Acceptance true.

But something new

and so much more.

I'd never have guessed

But I like it best when

laying pressed.

And soul to soul.

"Where have you been?"

Nudge closer, grin.

While we laugh and talk

and kiss and touch.

These moments truly

mean so much.

Sometimes it feels surreal.

I'm holding back,

but what I feel?

Is transparent in my eyes.

Oh, sweet surprise.

My friend, my treasure.

And every minute

is sweetest pleasure.

I don't know what I'm

supposed to do.

You magic thing,

so warm and true.

The world stops

when I'm with you.

It really stops when

I'm with you.

Beautiful Human

2022-02-08T13:36:00.006-08:00

Guitar Man - Ricardo Maya

---

My guard, now down.

When you're around

I lose track of time and space.

Your eyes, your smile

the strength on your face

it takes me to the warmest place.

I'm not sure I've been to before.

What a way to begin.

I grin because our

genesis was so unexpected.

An attraction not planned, or prospected.

In fear, I reflected on everything and you.

Could immolation, passion, and peace be true?

I wasn't even looking for you.

Our histories are told.

Some experiences were cold.

That left more than a mark, or two.

I don't seem broken when I'm with you.

In the arms of someone so honest and real.

I'm scared by some of the emotions I feel

when we're laying, divine, intertwined.

In your mind, I find, an older soul.

So kind, so wise, so giving, and bold.

You warm all the parts cruel hearts made cold.

Dismantle the walls, one brick at a time.

There is a light inside of me starting to shine

that I thought might be gone forever.

Such joy, oh boy, when we are together.

In my mind, in my bed.

The flashbacks in my head.

Keep me warm, when we're busy apart.

I was alive but still hollow.

Beautiful human, I will follow

for all of the joy you impart.

With a silent but grateful heart.

I Want You To Know

2022-01-27T00:05:00.003-08:00

Painting of a Girl - Thomas Saliot

I want you to know I don't fall.

That life sometimes happens, and

through it all, I stand tall, keep on my toes

ready for whatever adversity throws.

And anyone that knows me surely knows

that I don't fall at all.

I want you to know I don't fall.

When engines of forward trajectory stall.

I could curl into a ball, then stare at the wall.

But that really wouldn't do anything at all.

And anyone who loves me surely knows

I don't succumb to life's blows.

I want you to know I don't fall.

With no legs to stand, I still heed a call.

When despair wants to devour, there's a higher power.

Even when I feel beaten by stones and sticks.

And life starts to feel like a bag of tricks.

I work diligently toward the fix.

I want you to know I don't fall.

My resilience could never be clearer.

The voice in my head stared back instead

at the strength staring back in the mirror.

I let go of the harms, wrapped her tight in my arms.

So I could love myself that much dearer.

System Check

2022-01-18T15:37:00.001-08:00

Image: Pixabay

Here I am, standing in a world

that really doesn't care if I live or die.

But I still do. And I know it's true there

are things that aren't working the way they should.

How can someone so loving and good

be so afraid to take down the wall?

The fall from trust? It may have been lust.

But not in the way you may think.

I watched everyone else drink from a life

of husband and wife and kids and fun.

I felt I was the only one

that life left behind.

I remember telling my grandpa so blindly

that a true love was going to find me.

One that would last a thousand lifetimes.

Without the pain and crimes that I saw

in loves around me, that were anything but real.

Was I wrong to believe, or simply to feel

that I was worthy of that kind of love?

You aren't going to dwell on the hell that you put me through.

Your self-preservation is stronger than your human relation.

That you took a romantic, a hard-working, and generous soul

and used her for your needs, without thinking of the toll.

You left me with a mess, I guess, that is mine to fix.

The memories are fading, but the pain is what sticks.

I've doing the diagnostic.

Your love was so toxic.

Your intentions so caustic.

You have left marks all over me.

In places no one else can see.

A prison from which I want to be free.

I didn't deserve what you did to me.

The Song

2022-01-14T11:59:00.000-08:00

I would call myself a liar

if I said I didn't feel the fire.

So different, a connection, something more like

an insurrection, deep inside my head.

It wasn't my bed, but instead I

felt myself letting you in.

Long stare and a grin into the mirror.

Followed by tears, that sting much nearer

to the core of me, how silly of me.

Was it something I fabricated?

How did you make me so stimulated

with every word you spoke.

You said I was broke. Those words were a choke

and a stronghold around my throat; I had created a moat

around the center of my being. Seeing you traverse

was almost perverse; you strode across the rampart.

You lit me up, then smashed my heart.

Was that the plan from the start?

Such a reversal! Was I just a rehearsal

because you need to practice your game?

If it is all just the same, what a shame that you blame

me for being deficient, and your sufficient lack of follow-through.

I would have never dated someone like you.

If your brain hadn't punched right through.

I cannot be a liar, and deny the fire was lit.

And I don't really understand any of it.

But I don't blame me, and I don't blame you.

Lonely hearts are savage, that much is true.

And what I saw that was so special about you?

Still wondering how I got that feeling so wrong.

I buried it in dates, which never takes long.

For me to walk away, and keep moving ahead strong.

A misfire! A misfire. Our two minds belong

as far away as possible, you mental King Kong.

I still can't believe I got it so wrong.

My heart is an orchestra where you don't belong.

You can't carry a tune, and you don't know this song.

Anomaly

2021-12-25T23:21:00.002-08:00

"Lisbeth" - Solocomo

I don't think I'm special you see.

I've always felt like an anomaly.

Watching other people relate; that's great

some are so easy to please and appease.

Finding myself now on my knees

and it has nothing to do with pleasure.

The anomaly is me, you see, I want to be free

of feeling like the chaos was all my fault.

I feel like my soul is locked in a vault.

Like some kind of scourge

refusing to emerge

because nothing feels quite safe.

Strafe to the left, men I guess, a distraction.

From the infection within and the putrefaction

of knowing I feel broken, a token if you please.

I also can take a man down to his knees.

My flirt is on fleek; and an epic tease.

But what is the point of it all?

To distract me from the carnage from my relational fall.

I'm watching other women do the same.

They play the game and try to tame a man or two

that will simply do, to satiate their need.

How callous! How insensitive! The selfishness and greed

to use a warm body to stop the bleed.

Until I hurt someone, even with a full disclaimer.

Over articulated broken state with a transparent waiver.

He wasn't the one; I knew but had fun.

And men do women like this every day.

Despite transparent tact, the brutal fact

was he fell in love with me anyway.

Anomaly you see, because that isn't me.

I don't care if the rules are scrawled and reviewed.

From the place of pain, my judgment was skewed.

I don't want to touch someone who can't own my heart.

I never wanted to hurt anyone from the start, you see.

I became like the someone who hurt me.

And that is the honest anomaly.

What works for others, won't work for me.

He didn't want to be let go, yet I set him free.

Held him back with a firm, but caring arm

far enough where I could not do him harm

with my feigned sensuality and charm.

Some use people for comfort; it's the game plan they've got.

Some people are okay with it; I am clearly not.

Some people don't know how hard and long I fought

to end something that had ravaged my pride.

Bruised every petal of my trust, and inside?

I still don't feel like me.

At home with alone is what I need to be.

Heal thyself. There is no fixing me

with infatuation, distractions eternally.

And as long as I deny so plausibly

the mind can play all kinds of tricks.

Like telling me there's nothing to fix.