Dear fucktard

Original post June 2016,Re-posted a year-ish later August, 2017, for reflection and purging and purposeful optimism.

 

Oh I hear you.

Tender encouragement while slamming her in the back of your parked truck, in the warm fall air, her ass in your face and your hand in her hair. I feel your thrusts, moving the metal forward in time to that bitch’s heat.

You played me so well, played both of us, but I am aware of the lies and lines. And now she is, too.

I swallowed. I swallowed more than your dick, deep in my throat. I swallowed your hook, let it take me to the bottom of that pit.  I wanted to go there. I let myself sink.

Doesn’t matter. I’m so bruised from every time before that I’ve grown numb. I’m black and blue but nothing hurts. I’ve scarred, no need to heal, just permanently fixed these aberrations to the cheek I turned, to remind me to not be a fucktard’s tart.

I get it.

I so. get. it.now.

.

She was such a good thing. He wasn’t.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Original post 6/23/2016. Images courtesy of the web.

 

 

 

 

 

Created from then

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Troubled by the rising tides of wise, the pull at the intersection where we fall forward or recoil is an involuntary moment we attribute to survival. There’s a reason why heartaches are described with words of physical pain. They are accurate responses, no nuance of soothing comfort, no distance between breaking and stone cold.

Look around then, beyond the center stage of the cleaving, on the other side of this suffering statue begging to be taken from the pedestal. See the clay, already softened and remembering a shape it had once taken? She still believes in the emergence of curve, and line and cast, knows she was once held, warmed as firm hands cupped the mud and the spinner’s tears flooded the base and his breath furiously worked her.

There’s time when these lovers were melded. When the artist’s eye called his muse into the light. There was a time when these two had no blood mixed in the palettes of our canvas, when each chiseled a life out of sleeping alone.

Indeed, both were once masters of the great un- making, stoic barbs thrown in wordless, hardened thrusts.

Yet we can sleep now, with those colors deeply stained into our skin.  Now, find we are still able to forge a shared story of laughter, dance with tempting banter, make our own way out of histories winnowed through hollowed bone.

And in the dawn of the day, we fall into good graces, reaching into next lives, making new places for softness and longing, for the re-creating of now, the letting go, wisely, of then.

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I’ve never forgotten you, just burrowed your songs with your scent, into the back of my soul. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web. August 29, 2017

Oh, did I say that out loud?

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Just say it.

Spit it out.

Look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Don’t shut down. Don’t shy away. Don’t sugar coat it with a soft goodbye.

I’ve been around. I’ve been around the block. I’ve learned a little here. And there. I don’t know it all. But I can smell the scent of regret. It permeates your thrusts, overpowers your  being.

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Oh. Sorry. That was me, just talking to myself. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web. August 11, 2017

L

WPhands

He moves forward,

frayed, weathered, wronged.

The distance is unmeasured by vows.

She looks back,

having unburdened her lack

on unsuspecting blame takers.

She’s not grown alone, she’s pulled someone along,

more than one someone, more than one time.

Perhaps she has climbed on their strong spines

when hers was doubled over, in blindness.

 

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He’s not hers, she lays no claim, she hasn’t let go of her yesterdays. Yet. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Original post, Sept 26, 2016. Revisited and revised August 10, 2017.

 

 

 

 

Fall in

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Throw yourself in. My God. Don’t feel badly for the ones who are free from you.

They need to have more in their life than you. You are not the end all be all. You are not their savior. You are not their grace.

You’re not doing them any favors by hanging there where you do not belong, faking it, like some cubic zirconium doubling as a classic.

Get your head out from under the soles of your shoes and stop walking in, interrupting this life you are not living and start running, sharing all the sweet gives you want to be giving.

There’s no reason to prolong the ache. Have mercy on your partner and stop waffling. Know what you want and move toward it. Please give your shoulder to the weary and your smile to the mirror. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. August 8, 2017. Images courtesy of the web.

Do not

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one more try

i seek your forgiveness, your graces, your respect.

yet

when I sit at your feet, i feel nothing.

I desire to desire you.

Is that asking too much?

I desire to fix all mistakes, bring back innocence and youth and to repair your shattered heart.

It is not enough. These are not reasons to return.

Return only- i have learned- for that crazy dancing lust enveloping the practical side, that primal urge creating attachments caused by a brain hard wired for carnal pleasures and a need to feel alive.

“Do not return for guilt. Do.not,” lectures the therapist. After 30 years the stories from those lounging in the chaise she recognizes when the truth is heard, when someone listens, when someone, finally, forgives herself and moves forward toward trusting her own head.

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for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.

Found: Me

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There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. There’s a woman at the end of her rope. There’s strength in the making of moments; the times we all treasure the most.

There’s a girl at the beginning of every mother. There’s a boy tugging at heart strings of each dad. We live for the making of children; the sins of our parents are lost.

We try to make every failure into a sliver of learning and hope. We make babies, build swing sets,  hug often; but we fail, find we are human, drink oft.

It’s a whirlwind of life ’til we turn 50 then we let our truest truth unfold. We have lived life thinking there are answers in tomorrows; and find that all that we needed, we host.

Give the day to the tomorrows and the past. Learn to feel before the emotion has passed. Bring your heart to center of the table, pinch yourself, scream for more. There’s another 50 years in the waiting. What will you do with the plans you have made? Throw them all to the wind as foolish endeavors or embrace them and make them your slave?

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She took on the aura of learning and in the darkness experienced all the limits she sought. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.