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Saturday, April 29, 2017

Inside the man

You are shiny.  Charming and pretty.  Big engines with whirring noises and complicated cogs and wheels warrant your full attention.  Little things annoy you.  Your suit is pressed and you smell delicious.  A glint in your eye and the way you tilt your chin when you address me divine.  Everything you do is complicated.  With mere moments of your time I feel precious wanted adored.  It is meaningless.  The same story delivered again and again.  Perfection on the outside.

You feel zero regret.  I wonder if you see me beyond the short skirt, bright smile.  I love your confidence.  You are bold and daring.  You drive a fancy car and make me blush with a simple wink.  You are shallow and unfeeling.  You are only in the moment.

You are real.  Your smile.  This you I can see and touch.  Ever confident still you take care to let me know I matter.  No pretense or glitter and glam it is all you.  Physical moments raw to the core.  Character is your strength.  Truthful and funny you make me laugh.  There is something oh so sexual in your imperfections.  You make me smile when I am with you.  Inside you are glory.

Tattered jeans and souls.  Weathered faces and worn hearts.  Be true to what matters.  Love what is simple.  Taste me.  Getting to know you. Inside the man the heart beats stronger.  Revel in his whiskers his beauty his sweetness and gentle soul.  See not his arena desire his intelligence and kindness and his words.  Seek him.  Give me this heart for you are what I need you to be inside and out.  The man inside.

Shun what is empty for what is true.  Only beyond the surface breathes reality.

Friday, April 28, 2017

As I am

Bullish, you see needy and loud and silly.  I see courage, strength a survivor.  Shielded by the banalities of everyday a struggle to simply be.  A façade really showing the barest of surface reality oppressed in lurking darkness.  Shadows breeds anxiety and fear.   Sanity tethered tenuously, the merest wisp of wind challenging its frailty.

She shares what she must.  Believing this laughter her smile shines bright to elicit a fragile moment of joy to behold.  An offering, weightless moments light in mind and soul.  She has battled.  Her stories un-telling wanting not your pity nor your judgement.  Her wounds borne deep unseen through your eyes tragically imprinted, a crude symbol.  They are hers alone.  She holds captive tears unshed her grief private.

Let her dance.  Her mundane is her stage her voice.  With loyalty she renews a trust broken.  In love she feels worth.  Her demons linger as unfitting jigsaw pieces, she clings in worry.  Let her be all she pretends to be.  Hold her hand.  Let her seek refuge in simplicity.  Her days a journey lived in hope.

Judge not her story or her actions with only whispers of her truth.  Through acceptance she takes flight.  Let her soar.  Enjoy all that she offers to you as she calls you friend.

Monday, April 24, 2017

the middle

The best part of a sandwich is without a doubt the middle.  Be it peanut butter or creamy egg salad the middle definitely determines the enjoyment outcome.  Wholly responsible for the deliciousness factor whilst bread a key structural component clearly a more trivial supporting player.  I was utterly dominated living in the shadows of my siblings – I was stuck in the middle.

Not the golden beribboned first born to my mother eldest of six and significantly the only grandchild and niece for several years a most definite advantage to those who trotted begrudgingly in her dusty tracks.  I arrived next.  Next not first not youngest but rather one of a familial gaggle of nexts, and never much ballyhooed or coddled.  I possessed no special talents or powers that caused an eye to linger I was simply their second child.  With another on the way.  Nipping at my heels like a six week old puppy abound with unbridled zest for life the youngest joined our brood and I might add with a decided amount of disdain not quite a year following.  

Thus in my prime attention seeking years where my cues for social interaction and confidence were to be shaped and nurtured I was bereft of any hard core parenting a rather forgotten curb side sack.  Oh I am certain I mattered in my middle sort of non-pretentious undemanding way.  A somber acquiescence driving this introvert’s self-sufficient foray into adulthood. The eldest was delivering firsts by the fistful and I could claim only an occasional blue ribbon.  My firsts would always be seconds.

Borne of this a passion for reading and self-discovery, enjoyment of all music and the spinning of yarn nourishing a creative spark and wonderment.  It is when we discover who we are beyond societal labels no longer first or middle but instead our personal voice.  I am mother and writer and analyst.  I am friend and lover.  I love to laugh.  I cry easily care too much.  I live to dance.  I am sister both big and little.  I own the middle.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

It's only sex

My pre-pubescent self, shivered dripping wet from the shower cloaked in a bath towel as my mother invited me to sit on the edge of her bed for a conversation.  The sex talk.  At our house sex was simply not fodder for any family type or open discussion.  My dad a rather large man raising three daughters and who still pulled out chairs and held open doors for ladies and reserved any foul language utterances for the back room would redden considerably at any reference to any sexual appendage or act.  I unwittingly said aloud the Vagina word at the dinner table one evening in deference to a woman’s rather large breasts extremely low flung, to emphasize the degree of droop making what I thought to be a rather captivating story.  Glaring, he immediately stood rising to his full six foot 4 inches to tower quite menacingly, without saying a single word. I dared not a breath his shadow imposing as my eyes focused firmly upon my plate.  Fearing the wrath of the leather metal studded belt designed specifically for this type of egregious behavior, my lower lip trembled in trepidation.  He left and did not return that evening skipping his supper altogether.  I had dethroned the King.

With new appreciation for my family dynamics, sitting beside me on the bed my mother very hesitantly began to speak, eyes averted exclaiming a forthcoming transition to womanhood.  Soon I would become a woman.  And notably I had not sprouted a single pubic hair or had my first period this was at best conjecture. She handed me a pamphlet ‘Dear Abby’s Guide to Sex’.  I cried like a newborn.  Stick figured drawings of penises and bathroom wall graffiti were truly my only formal education with perhaps snippets of glorified locker room chatter courtesy of my eldest sister.  This humble trajectory predestined a more conventional early life path. 

Overt sexual conversations, proper body part labels and open admiration for personal pleasure several years later underscored an evolutionary digress from my childhood roots.  A liberation of the libido a revolution if you will freeing the virginal damsel exposing the wanton sex goddess.  Goodbye prudish advice columnist hello Jerry Springer.  Were my father to be even remotely in my life album the swinging chastity belt from the rearview mirror an expression of my sexual freedom would certainly have been his undoing. 

An environmental enthusiast I pander to the tree hugger and forgo the informational leaflet on safe sex for a verbal parry with my own two daughters firmly believing in open and enduring dialogue.  Upping my game I continue to collect from them the most current schoolyard terminology, sex slang lingo comprising my very own unabridged edition.  Deliver me directly into temptation.    

Monday, April 17, 2017

I see you

You haven’t changed.  I have.  I see you differently.  Eyes that were bright seem faded almost dull.  A smile that bears false.  A desperate interpretation of pretty words in spun gold empty of meaning with a desire for some semblance of truth.  A fool seeking solace in shadows now believes in monsters under the bed stripped of an innocence this past forever altered. 

This story has been told a thousand times o’er those eager to listen believing in ever after a fondness for fairytale.  He stands mightily emboldened in voice playing to the crowd.  We are basking sitting on the cusp the edge of his crowd wanting so badly to be let in.  Singled out.  Chosen.  Inside, the halo is dampened, seeing beyond the pulpit and the smile and charm. Peeling back layers revealing substance. Feeder of the ego we must applaud everything soother of the fraying threads else he comes apart and light shows clearly his picture.

A man is his truth.  Forgive his words should they be clumsy for they are real and genuine.  Thoughtful and unpretentious a tender show of kindness a mercy fueled within.  It glows not from external glory or praise but from his inner light.  Bespeaking a soul worthy.  In time all is unveiled showing our weakness and our strength.  One cannot hide all eternity.

Seek what lay behind the façade, the pretender, the master of the mask.  A failure to observe lets us be dazzled by neon and glitter.  Choose depth.  Character of the man who is quiet who shouts not his accolades atop the highest rooftop.  For he is man.  

Friday, April 14, 2017

the risen

You smile and it is real.  You trade laughter on cue forgiveness in slight let acceptance drive direction. You want to be liked.  Sleight of hand you walk the shadows.  Checking each of the life moment boxes working through the system.  Doing what you have been designed to do a societal more literal interpretation. Weighted in influence shaping you molding you to be everything they are not or can ever be or have ever dreamed of. Underwhelming sameness. A bright shiny penny blackened.   

A sweet blossom buried deep beneath the petals slumbers deeply in thaw.  The gentle sensual awakening in warm wind and dew kissing your face upturned into the morning sun.  You at the very core.  Not who they tell you to be.  Breaking imaginary boundaries that bind holding you fast to that which you desire no longer.  A field without fences. 

Ever wide the distance between my two selves then and now.  Passionate awakening.  Heightened awareness of every cell ripe with desire to taste the dark beyond the walls freedom.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Who do you want me to be?

Tell me what I should wear.  Tell me what to think.  Take my hand and lead this dance.  I will follow.  Take the moon and the stars and tell them when to shine.  Sprinkle fairy dust in the wind.  Let it whisper.  Carry our voices across the sky.  Our secrets will be set free.  Our burdens no more. 


Dance lightly across the meadow.  Standing tall against the reeds and the willows.  Swim deep in the still waters wishing afar for a penny tossed.  Hold my hand and pull me with you.  Raise my eyes when you want me to see.  Daring greatly hopes and wishes hiding sins that I must bear. 


When teardrops glisten and cobwebs tremble in the slightest of winds.  Seek solace in the cover of darkness.  Tell the sun to raise again in the morning.  A moment of peace in still and in sleep.  What shall I dream of?  Brought to life the unreal the imagined.  Here I am alive.  Here I can breathe.  Here I can be me.  Tell me who do you want me to be? 

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

I am awake

Insight the spoils of observation.  Seeing what perhaps has been there your entire being living in shadows and whispers.  A chance game amongst the real players the voices behind the power.  Ciphered reality hidden in plain view a modern whodunit with real stakes puppeteers of this master race.   Power and corruption, greed and lust feasting on the human psyche cultivating devastation and collapse fueling the frenzy of the everyday people oblivious and believing in their carefully constructed and wonderfully reenacted version of reality. 

Drowning in fake news heady from over-stimulation and disbelief at the merest hint of impropriety.  I cannot be fooled or was I? Conspiracy in its red cloak blanketed in anonymity battling the machine hero to the underdog.  A virtual media pipeline bursting with source and fact and controversy.  Who do you choose to believe?  We have the haters and snowflakes, plotters and politicians and those dripping in their wealth and jewels and secrecy scripting the rebirth of new world order from the ashes of our demise.

Spirituality a gift of self-exploration making sense of being, salve for the damaged soul nurturing an inner peace.  A soother of a frayed society replacing ills with understanding and consciousness.  Challenge the definition of acceptable, make noise and seek a guided connection to knowing and seeing more.  Want more.  Demand more. Change is the flower of knowledge.  I am awake.