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

RMPprovo

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.

 

 

Peace, please.

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Your children sleep

your parents are safe

your dog lies at the foot of your bed, softly snoring.

There’s a sound in the night

it’s your voice crying out in protest

but you go back to sleep thinking it was just the rain.

You give what you have,

take nothing more, well, nothing that can be measured by bank accounts

and you flee the life you lived, the life you liked, the life you lied.

You wake up in the daylight,

sun streams on your cheeks, dries tears you have cried,

there is no escape from a prison you create

in

your

mind and heart.

Breathe, loved child of the past.

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Breathe. And weep. And Breathe.

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

 

 

Perspective

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Let’s talk, yes?

It’s a spring evening. There are a few days of storms rolling through. We have the humidity in mid-May that defies July’s trend setting style.

Pull in scenes of Gatsby, Gatsby when sitting in the drawing room, sweltering and shiny.

G wants his lover, Daisy, to come clean, to share all, to declare her loyalty and all she can do is fan herself in the heat, eat the ice.

Gatsby though, he presses forward. He declares. He brings a vision from his head and heart into stagnant, silent, stillness.

Tom, he struts and expects more love than he offers, fewer lies than he has told, more kindness than he brings.

The cigarette smoke lingers, circles, swallows the words as they hang naked and bared.

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There are times when she needs a fast car, a long road, a gorgeous destination and a good fuck.

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