A few new poems from me. I also post all of my new shorter writings on my Pinterest Page here: MY WRITINGS
Fissures and Cracks
He stole away my soul. Burgled it when I wasn’t watching. He now holds it captive. I thought I’d fortified. He saw through my façade. He saw my brokenness; the cracks and fissures. It was an easy heist, Too easy. I must shore up these leaks. Can I go on without it? He is a kind caretaker. Perhaps it’s best to leave it there, where it’s safe. I have no need for it. I had reserved it for him.
He never touched me, Physically. He only caressed my spirit, Distracting. He fed my thoughts, Diverting. He hydrated my heart, Pursuing. The heist was soundless. He only stole my soul…
Cellulite Around My Soul
There are barriers around my heart; my soul feels imprisoned. I don’t think it’s steel, or brick and mortar; no, I think it’s more like soft, conforming, comforting layers of fat. It enables me to be a tad more resilient and allows my heart to bounce without bruising. It’s still a covering, a barricade, an obstacle for someone to wade through if they want to get to the very heart of me, but it’s navigable, not impossible. These little bumps of physical terrain only show because it’s nothing more than where our skin is softest. Our most vulnerable; thinnest protective coating. We all have it, but it doesn’t show on most. At least not on the ones with thick, impenetrable hides. I think I have cellulite on my soul. Little fatty deposits, like bubble wrap protection. If not for the fat, I’d be too transparent. If not for the fat, my soul would be exposed for all to damage. What with body image these days, I try and cover up as much as possible. Something tight and thick. Hold it all together so none are the wiser. You know what removes cellulite? Attention. Massages. Exercise. Good food and happiness. My soul needs all of these things. It is starved, and covered in fat. Useless, meaningless, nothing but fat. It’s suffocating behind this barrier of protection. Dying from invisibility. Covered in Cellulite.
Ready & Ripe I’m not smooth. I’m not young. I’m not polished and new. I still sparkle –on occasion. I have scars, bumps, lumps, creases and divots. I often appear as if I slept on my soul while it was still wet. I’m not intellectual or academic, but I’m smart as a whip. I love too hard, and then not at all. I’m indifferent, but passionate. I crave everything and nothing. I’m ancient and childlike. I’m experienced, wise and ready.
INHABIT ME I evict you time and again. You tenaciously return. Powerful Intruder, Plundering my every thought. You’re an invading force— Occupying. You steal my vision. My heart prompts with loud thumps. You settle there, Holding my soul, With a roguish sending. As if you’re fully aware— You inhabit me.
I’m trying to find freedom; extricate myself from what was once, us. I need to be free of you, of the weight of you, the possibility of you. I thought I could, but now, more than ever, I feel bound to you, by you; the possibility of you. The thought of freedom now chokes me with the ghost of your hand. I’m in a dark place, chained and restrained; you left me here alone. I cannot escape. The harder I try, the tighter the binds. I can’t breathe; drowning, disappearing, fading, vanishing, withering. You’re heavy on me, in me, with me.