Trusting Soul

Trusting Soul 

I let you see me in the light -
caressed my flesh,
eyes open.
I shared my looks,
and my touch – no repulsion.

I gave my lips and did not whimper,
curled into your arms.
Surrendered words,
complete trust – giving all of me.

Had not known the sting of real tears,
until you were gone.
Vanished as quickly as you came,
a few years became seconds.

Fiery flesh,
tingles of the past,
waiting to be awakened.
All is cold -

Heartbeat musical sounds,
trembling with visions.
Memories sheltering delicate glances,
soft spirits crippled together.

Winding through smokey thoughts,
smiling trepidation.
Deeper than flesh upon flesh,
feeling mystical apparitions.

(I had intended on sharing a story, but this came out instead. I will leave it here and share. Still working on my story. )

Quick Ride

A wild ride rushed my world – kept it simple. You know, never spoke of politics, or faith. Leaving me with hallowed laughs, and feel good dreams. The kind that everyone dazes for, but knows are only fantasies. Whisking in warm embraces, tickling fancy word intercourse – strip tease glances.

We danced. Naked. Between our eyes.

I watched the smooth moves and quick twinks that flashed across to the others. Tricking myself into believing that I was different. I was the tune that would not be well played. Knowing full well illusions flooded my instincts, not caring at all because it-felt-too-good. The illusions that is – the wonderings and meanderings to fool the most stable of soul.

Somehow I was chosen – I would bring the stallion to the stable and ride it finally, coaxing it to love. Ha, love. As I sang “That’s amore’” choking out the winks crashing into another’s eyes. Shaking off the ashes of reality, believing it to be true feeling incredibly confident I asked: “So what are your thoughts about God?”

Whispering with a shoulder shrug: ” Eh, he’s alright if you are into him.”

Realizing there was not much room for deep conversation I decided to test out some other topics. Casually, speaking up in a cool manner keeping my cat wanting it’s dangling mouse, I asked: “Are you patriotic?” Chuckling at me with a simple: “Not much.”

Boredom rearing it’s head and quickly taking eyes off of me – leaping I grabbed the well oiled body and pulled them to the dance floor. “Shall we have go?” digging in with all I had. Our song and dance had gone on for a while. Here and there, to the end and back. I would like to say they had a name, but they didn’t.

“They” had many.

Cutting up the floor with body sway, they dropped me and wandered to a different stretch. A set of green eyes batting across the room managed to suck them in, while they sat next to their love interest.

Gliding across the floor, sitting down with ease and suction, a plethora of verbiage roared out. I stood blinking – for a moment. Drooling like a puppy, whimpering on the inside. (Fear can make people do strange things.) Clodding over, trying to be invisible, my delusional brain soaked up everything.

Swelling into deep conversation reaching heights in literary bliss. I watched the penetrating seduction before me and wondered what per say made me so unworthy of meaningful dialect.

Quick rides enjoy the tango, but leave me empty of promise. Volcanic discussions, tangling debate, seeking into eyes of knowledge and dissection of prose. Worthy enough for a quick ride, passing on the colloquy of profound delicacies.

Sacrifice

A cloudish foreboding twisted in the sanctuary, as they all waited for a nice settling of energy. Drunken with hype, while their relevant songs were escaping the mouths of those dazed at the meanings of each lyric. Trying to calm down from their emotional frenzy, ushering in the very presence of god – invading the room. Not because he was always there, but because they sang their little hearts out to him demanding his smoke. The aroma of their arrangements and notes all collaborating in unity. Making such a sweet, sweet sound.

Only moments earlier, they were all verbally dancing righteous words spinning them into the air behind each other’s back before the show. Tightly dressed in their crisp attire, they gathered in the hallways and throughout the room, spilling out innuendos and laughing daggers about each other all in the name of love. Revealing just how these pristine lips had been burned with coal from heaven to make them perfect in god’s sight.

They sat quivering in anticipation for the main event that the most sanctified ones had paid for. Walking up to the stadium shoulders slumped, a giant of a man at least 6’5. Dredging his legs with each step, staged with performance he spun to face the crowd. Once towering over people – his words had spoken with authority. Those days slipped away – vaporized in time. The days when his words could sink his power into the souls of those who adored him. His sockets had been sucked dry – his words only fused the inner hidings of defeat.

Slumping a little, while indifference poured from his frown. Each breath forced – pulling out syllables from shallow wells. Managing to speak the play of enthusiasm, his words contrite, filling awkwardness into the air. Clumsily speaking out unable to look at the pool of faces eagerly licking up his every word. His hallowed frame was no longer able to articulate very well, but he was always able to pull from the tried and true. Stammering over the announcements mustering the last bit of excitement his tongue wagged out “God is really changing things, He’s moving.”

The crowd waved with murmuring, their attentions glued to electronic devices, and whispers to each other. They had paid for entertainment – boredom filled their stares. His title was able to receive a few “amen’s” “and one or two “hallelujah’s” the faithful zealots never let god down, even if their anointed was failing they still carried the title.  Most importantly, the eager ones needed the less eager to recognize their importance and favor. These enthusiasts knew all of the prayer requests, and every detail about the congregation. They spent their time in prayer every week keeping up appearances.

As he looked, the blurred haze of silhouettes became a nuisance. His thoughts gathering about the game that was coming on the TV later, he used that as his motivation, taking a deep breath he announced who would be speaking. Throwing in several jokes about how awful marriage can be, chuckling out “Praise God for His mercy!” He studiously announced: “Pastor Lil has a marvelous message given to her directly from the Holy Spirit that she is going to share today.”

Dubbed the queen of information, she would share all of her juicy tidbits with her choice person of the week. Using her talent for gathering information through god loving spies her plans were always the same, one remora fish at a time. Mastering her game with dangling tokens, and promises of favor.

Her smirk was as slicing as broken glass, glaring out to the crowed as she walked up prodding for the disciple she chose that week to use during her sermon. She was a colossal woman towering at 5”11 maybe taller. It wasn’t just her height that was so magnificent her mouth was just as enormous. Pounding and boisterous thunder clapping into the ears of any audience. It didn’t matter if they wanted to hear her or not.

The messy dark hair flapped off her head, but somehow she was put together enough for people not to notice much or forget about it. The shards of piercing green eyes felt like stabs when she looked at you directly. They would slant a little when she smiled. Smiles that had hidden attacks in them, and if you listened close enough you would hear “I hate you, you little son of a bitch.” There was no way to prove it – you were only left feeling like a group of football players had tackled you.

Walking up the stairs she was a powerhouse with each stomp, reaching her destination, she yanked the microphone away from him. Turning to her followers, she nodded for him to go. The eyes of the crowd beamed throughout the room, and with no sound. Quickly they all shook off any feelings that made them feel bad. They came to a silent agreement, and relaxed with their heads all going back to watch her.

They enjoyed their little community politics too much and needed it to stay the way it had always been. There was no need to shake things up, everyone knew how they were supposed to behave, and that made them feel powerful. “Such favor I have from god.” Each one would think to themselves with a half-cocked smile. While looking at the person next to them thinking with a sigh “They are so non-spiritual.”

Looming over the podium, she glared in silence, looking out at everyone. Weaving and darting back and forth achieving an uncomfortable and awkward thickness. All murmurs ceased and eyes were glued on her. The fear shook them as each one recalled all the times they had not quieted down when she was up there. Blurting out each sin, they had committed – not by name, but it was very clear to everyone who she was talking about.

She thrived on their energy while making her statements so there would be no confusion. There were enough hints of information that she knew about their business. Teasing them with the threat of exposure. The anxious room inflated her with emotion. Everyone waited for the darts to penetrate one of them. Looking around at each other, but quickly looking back at her trembling.

Letting go of her invisible grip, finally exploding with a slight southern draw crashing into their ears. “Today I am going to teach you about love. I know all about love. I am love ’cause I have Jesus. Jesus is love and I know Jesus so I know love.” The crowd didn’t dare look away – all staring forward nodding their heads agreeing.

“John 3:16 says that God so LOVED. Do you hear me? LOVED. I have sacrificed everything for my kids, my husband, and for you people. That is love. I came from a pit. I know the pit I am came from and Jesus pulled me out. Amen, hallelujah! Praise the Lord, I am free! Now I am love ’cause I know what it’s like to be loved. God loves me so I know how to teach you to love.”

Her husband struck with bewilderment stared at her. His face turning gray, his guts were pouring out all over the floor. Visibly shaking, drifting into his thoughts: “How did we get to this place?” “My God! What happened to me?” If anyone had noticed, they would have seen the death of a soul right in front of them. He quickly stopped, shaking his head again and rubbing his eyes cowering at the floor. As he felt her burning eyes upon his flesh, she could read his thoughts.

He wasn’t from here; the culture was foreign to him and very confusing. In years past he had been a very intelligent man. He was able to articulate ideas and theologies very well. He was bold and confident. He knew who he was and what he believed. It wasn’t simple he had wrestled with his beliefs he was dynamic in explaining the love of God and what that meant. That man was gone. Something had sucked his brain dry and left an empty vessel.  There were glimpses of who he really was, but he would quickly stuff him back down before anyone would notice.

At times, he would watch those who didn’t understand the unwritten rules. They would get up and leave. They would walk around outside or congregate in the hallway, as she would go on a rant about something that no one could follow except her closest followers. Disgusted, but deflated he watched them leave in confusion. Sometimes he would have thoughts of escaping as he could hear her faithful’s minds stirring up their brews just like the witches in Macbeth. Hackling about, bringing mounds of chaos as they pranced around. Screeching in unison “Praise the Lord,” “Glory,” “Hallelujah,” “Amen sister,” and “Preach it!” Trumpeting from their horns in triumph.

Always encouraged by her brood – she would go on and on about whatever she watched on TV that week. Sharing her encounters with vegans. Never shy to give her opinions about how she couldn’t believe they were so stupid. Shouting and beating her chest: “God made animals for me to eat! God made animals for me to have a fur coat! These people need to get off their high horse, and eat some meat, maybe then – they wouldn’t waste so much time protesting. Really, I just wanted to go shopping in peace and not have these morons in my way.”

Today her message was about love, spiritually on fire because she had just returned from Mexico being on a mission trip. Clamoring to the crowd how they needed to comprehend her abilities to give glory to god. Unable to control her exuberance she told them the story of how she prayed over someone, and their shorter thumb miraculously grew to the same length as their other thumb. Leaving out the part that the person was a five-year-old. Everyone was very impressed. Her faithful jumped up wailing “Glory!” and shouting out praises toward her. Running up and down the stairs – arms thrashing about in intense description.

Leading back into her message pounding her fists on the podium splintered words flew from her wet lips: “I am all about love. I love you just like Jesus. I give you all of me. I pour out myself in prayer over you! Now listen, part of love is giving. You need to give in order to receive. I give to you all of me, and I expect you to give too so I will receive from all of the seeds I have sewn. Like in the area of finances, I am a giver, I tithe, and I get. If you tithe, just like the Bible says in Malachi 3, god will open up the heavens. See if you give like you are supposed to, you won’t be in the mess that you are in. God will bless you if you give now that is love. If you love god you will give, that is an act of love. You show god and me that you love us by giving your tithe. Now don’t get me wrong I don’t want you to show your love by giving so that I can get. I want to do missions. We need to go to other countries. I need to show those people my love and how much god loves them.”

“Here’s what we are asking; just give up one Starbucks a week. Just one, you know $3, $4, maybe $5. I don’t know, however, much you spend there $6? Whatever, put it aside and tithe it to our missions. Come on, this is love, giving up your Starbucks. I know the world says we are in a recession, but not god! Hallelujah! We are blessed! Amen, praise the Lord!”

Lightening crashing from her body banging out: “JUST ONE STARBUCKS PEOPLE! THAT’S ALL WE ASK!!”

Thrusting out all of her energy, sweat beading down her hairline she calmed for a moment feeling vulnerable in her theatrics. Standing still, gaining composure she spoke: “I say we love ’cause god first loved us. Since, I am anointed and know god’s love I can share my love with you and with the world. I know love.”

Closing her eyes, raising her hands, and pacing across the stage she began to pray.

“Father thank you for the love you have given me that I am able to share it with all of these people and many more around the world. I ask you to bless these people and lay it on their hearts to do what is right. So I can spread your love all over the world. Stop the enemy from hindering your ordained plans. Open the eyes of everyone here to see the plans you want m… us to fulfill. In Jesus name, I pray. Hallelujah!”

Confusion rushing everyone they walked out feeling they had been ambushed in a war battle, but thinking: “It must have been really great. Everyone else seems ok – maybe I am not spiritual enough? Wait, no I get it she was really on fire today. The Holy Spirit was speaking through her.” Those who didn’t agree did not say a word – they knew what would happen if they spoke up. They gave knowing glances and went about their business falling into their little games and giving it no more thought.

Later, that day one of her faithful posted a scripture verse on her Facebook. Something in Psalms about not touching god’s anointed or harming his prophets. The version was very different from any Pastor Lil had read before when she saw it she had to know where they found it. Thinking it was perfect for her next sermon she wrote, “Hey, I like that! What translation is it? I can’t look it up right now, I’m in Starbucks.”

Two Pillars

Everyday I have skirted the outer edges of the crisp blue ripples capturing my eyes. Acoustics of waves crashing against one another – speaking their riddles into to deep depths that only certain creatures can grasp. I am jealous. They make me want to transform into some mythological being and become one with the sea. To be intimate with the waves. To sing in the tides that are pulled by the tunes of the moon. I have listened  to them and they tease my innards with their flickers. Foam settling between my toes – they look at me and laugh, knowing of my longing. Anger subsiding each time as they swallow me into their sweet and gentle petting. Tickling me into the tip of my nose.

I let their feathery banter consume my feet, my gaze continually being extracted into the horizon. An endless mass – blue reaching blue severing in half our worlds. Whisking my illusions feeling balance of blues and grays take hold. Reminiscing on the crevassing dark blacks of the night before. Consummated in mad love  – while the water soothes my aches reviving hopes. The salty sting envelopes me spinning its pools with new clothes. Coaxing an adoration song through my abode entering its peace pricking my soul. Suffrage in my bowels setting my frame firmly and the sand devours me as I cast my overflowing thoughts to the wind: “Why wasn’t I a dolphin?”

I walk these ventures everyday. Faithfully the flows beckon words into my ears. Filling me with incantations from the sea. It spoke to me a long time ago. It whispered sweet nothings pounding my nautical drums. Smitten with my desires, hiding away our intimate relations. The sea and I have shared each other quietly, understanding the solitude of each while playing our circles together. My beauty released notes for me and its songs were far more beautiful than what any being could conjure up. As it sang it would leave me and say “Beckon the two pillars”. Halting me to stare deeply into its crashing mass – I played along: “Arise two pillars! Arise! I beseech you to come forth.”

I did know what it meant, but I knew that was my calling. I was destined to beckon the two pillars. Imaginations catapulting into other dimensions, seeking out wondrous tales of the sea. As reality would set in over the years I convinced myself that I had made it all up – I could not let go. My hope was tangled in the intimacy we shared.  My strength was dependent upon the sea. All it offered me with no commitment – its songs and the promise of the two pillars. My delicate grains of sand would caress my feet surrounding them in perfectly fit slippers. Their hugs gave me warmth as the wind attacked my flesh, and year after year the sea repeatedly teased me.

Though I love the sand too it is so clingy. “Just get off of me, you are so cleaving.” From the need to feel free from its grasp my anger would rise: “I like you and all, but please get off!” It has caused me such grief. Adhering to me, following me into my car, my house, my hair, driving my legs mad. On certain days however, my heart melted into its mold. At times my only friend that would surround me and hold me close. Those days it didn’t hurt. Its soft fluffiness could rub my skin – angelic wings showering me in serene kisses. Words would puff: “I only love you when you are soft never when you are sticky.” It didn’t seem to care it continued to touch me and stick to me whenever it pleased.

Today the sky is bright blue, sun rising its swallowing smile into me. The beach is empty. Seeking the ever silence of bodies – elation overtook me knowing there was no need to cover up my disdain for those polluting my canvas. My desires this day are to speak to the ocean and look for lost creatures that need saving. My mission is to treasure trove needing fish or sea snails that are too far away from the water. I desperately need to capture them and throw them back into the sea.

I recall one day when I discovered a huge walrus lying on its side. In the distance it was an indeterminable mass. My heart rang for it and I couldn’t walk fast enough. Both fear and empathy stung me. Such a large creature brought the reality of my own size. The sand cradling it as a coffin. I went to examine it closer discovering its face had been eaten off. It was the most diabolical thing I ever saw. Rage spewed from my lips and my small fists pumped at the ocean.

“You cruel, vile, despicable brine! Evil! How could you toss out such a magnificent creature? You wicked bath allowing another creature to devour it in such a way.”

I turned my back on it and screamed “Why are you such a callous beast?” It tossed waves back and just said “It’s nature.” I was blistering.  Dominated by all of the evils that go on in the depths of its bowels. Its ruthless ways that destroy lands and eats up people, ships – gulping down treasures. My eyes sunk into its cold heart quietly saying: “You are mean.” It sang me a love song as the bubbles and foam caressed my feet and shins. Then it reminded me to beckon the to two pillars.

A smirk forming over my lips I did as it asked.

Today my oceanic desire is quiet. Calming with delicate waves and soothing rich songs. Hiding from me depths of affections. My sand and the sun are the only two speaking today. Its silence trembles me – its calmness could be a trick. Its ferocious temper could be brewing and twisting below waiting to cast out all its anger without warning. Flaring out its violence onto its faithful companions. Destructive acts in which it shows no remorse – there is never an apology. It calmly states: “It’s nature.”

Then again, its silence could be the lonely feel unable to embrace and capture its pleasure. Only able to look at it from a distance longing to embrace and hold its desires. Cradling in blanketed waves, fondling with foamed bubbles manifesting its great adoration.

“What are you doing my ocean love? Where are all the creatures I need to save? Where is my purpose this morn? Where is my sweet song I’ve been waiting for you to wrap around my frame? Why won’t you call my name?”

Crashing waves my only comfort. It has come to this. Sand covering my toes, and I want nothing to do with it. The sun lavishing me with affection and I want to be in the shade. The moon peeking through a blue sky smiling reflections of comfort. And I just want to hear the sound of hidden breakers.

“You are so cold today my friend. No words from my fragrant lovely. Frigid waters drink me up, and the sun burns my face. No creatures on my pet sand, my eyes seek hope. Sea my love I have trusted you pre-tell if your tidal wave is going to consume me. I cannot play games today. I need something to save… Good-bye sea my dear. I will see you tonight, please give me a promise for tonight.”

My thoughts are calm, but I am searching for hope today. My safe place has seemed to forgotten me and given nothing in return. “Wait. Did I hear you?”

“Beckon the two pillars! Beckon the two pillars!”

Flinging sand beneath my feet casting pings into my legs, I have heard my ocean’s call. Water droplets meshing into my clothes, freezing my feet, sand supporting me covered in hope.

“Arise two pillars! Arise! I beseech you to come forth.”

Crashing, quaking, erupting my eyes cannot contain the booming waves. Clamoring in high flux the whirlpools wrapping round my ankles. Sinking into a vortex, I am swooned and dragged to the bottom of the sea standing before two pillars. Who am I to save?

Behind The Yellow Door

Can I climb into your chest,
nuzzle myself into your heart valves?
I do ask to flow in all directions,
through your veins.

Pumping, thriving in your streams,
leaving residue of me.
Supernatural platelets,
carving out my design,
reassurance that you cannot shake me.

Tattooed in each cell,
tapping your blood vessels,
lingering imprints,
leaving my mark,
fluttering remembrance,
with each passing nutrient,
cascading oxygen,
I breathe in you.

Shock sucked out her air, while the elation squeezed out tiny sweat beads onto her forehead. Her chest heaved staring — stripping into the core of his eyes. Straddling his lap boasting an expressionless face. Daring his tongue to allow speech to escape his silently moving lips. Time lapsing, her words penetrated as the walls pressed in waving her into powerlessness. Sitting boldly with the reality of her speech coating the entirety of the room. Her expression softened, bracing inwardly, clinging in the silence. Eyes becoming moist, a sigh breaking away, shoulders falling. The lioness had lost her strength.

Long silky strands shadowing her face, she could do nothing but curl up into him. Thoughts filled her mind, scrambling for a plan to cover up the words. Flippant thoughts, comedic musings rolling around her sundry mind. Settling into the piercing in her heart, the foreboding cloaking her in coldness. She decided to soak in as much of him as possible. Consuming each part frame by frame. Clicking image after image, sucking up his fragrance into reels. Detailing his shadows, curves, tiny hairs, lines, color, feel, remembering his touch folding it all into a storyboard. Losing any seconds was not an option, quickly deciding there would be no edits.

Attaching to the particles in the room, sealing color, images and song into stills. Filtering in the scores filling the masterpiece with sound and emotion. Caught in the theatrics of the movie pursuit he finally spoke after centuries had past, before she could fabricate an end.

“Who talks like that?” breathing out leaving an obscure heaviness pressing her ears.

Not sure how to respond she didn’t.

“Seriously, I do not know anyone who talks like you. What am I supposed to do with that?” with a slight chuckle as he pulled her up to look at her face.

A limp rag doll, energy siphoned out anticipating daggers hitting her flesh. She slowly raised her gaze to his. He wasn’t all that scary. Fear gripped at her innards, scratching and tearing, preparing for him to say “The End.” Lips tightly shut, heart pounding, and mute she waited.

“I don’t know how to respond. I cannot come close to those blaring words. They don’t come to me so poetically. Why do you say things like that? a statue looking down.

Her eyes burned, trying to keep the trickles from falling, her throat choking itself. Air became scarce, no longer able to keep the clasp around her mouth she spoke softly “It was just a poem. It escaped my lips before I could stop it.” Sucking in air hoping she wouldn’t pass out from pain.

He kept his eyes on the floor “You must talk to everyone like that.” his shiny frame turning dark.

Eyes rolling in the back of her head, she began to quiver shaking out “You are the only one who has ever heard my words. I have never spoken in such a way to anyone else. I let you in. Your words are the only ones that  know how to touch me.” Guts spewing out for the world to see, collecting every word to keep safe and sound in the film vault.

Crinkling his brows, the wrinkles of his forehead glistening in the light floating out “Let me in?” He tilted his head coaxing her eyes back to his.

Watery eyes filled with the ache of holding back. No longer could she keep her thoughts to herself, if she was creating a movie it was going to be a grand motion picture. Sitting upright valiance scaling the room, verity clustered into molds of speech. Dancing expressions forming a manifesto attached to the vibrations of the air. While the Universe sang, and played tunes to such sweetness to its ears resounding the trumpets that live in the silence of the stars waiting for the nights like this when a person decides to speak exactly what is in their heart. Her thunderous devotion sprang out as the cosmos quaked.

“My heart is a wondrous yellow door. I keep locked and chained hiding my many magnificent mysteries. No one has ever entered by permission. All have busted it down and invaded, corrupted it, stripped it of its vibrancy…except you. You did not try to kick it in. Gently you came knocking, and retrieving. I left it open a crack for you to peek, a tiny sliver glaring a blasting sun-fire.

The more you retrieved the more I opened. Cautiously peering out, watching and waiting to see what you would do with each tiny glimpse of my light. My being desiring so much to share this with you — me. Giving you my heart, and words. My precious, collected, delicate, meaningful words.

My door felt safe fully opened, and my lingo was not afraid…until tonight. When my words took on a life of their own and shared my innermost thoughts. I had no intention of slipping my essence into the realm of nakedness. It was too late the door blasted open and my confessions were made known. Do with it what you will. I would rather be fully exposed than hide all of me from you. It is far better to say what is in the heart before you leave this grand sphere dwelling in places of nothingness, or regret. Who talks like that you ask? I do. I bare my soul to you. You who deeply penetrated me, scarred me with felicity and I have no regrets. The yellow door is open to you. Would you like to experience what is hidden behind the eyes that hold the key to the yellow door?

My cautions have faltered, my fears hold no power my glimmers can only force darkness to flee. Take me or leave me I have confessed. Steadily I come out of hiding, fully exposed. No need to hide, I am enjoying looking at my yellow door with you. Dare you enter holding my hand?” her smile cackled at the floundering fears that ran away like a scolded pup. Not sure if he was willing, she gulped, but filled with giggles. A song from The Doors filled her, and she bobbed her head back and forth singing:

“Don’t ya love her madly
Don’t ya need her badly
Don’t ya love her ways
Tell me what you say
Don’t ya love her madly
Wanna be her daddy
Don’t ya love her face
Don’t ya love her as she’s walkin’ out the door”

Flattering the room with frolicking gaiety, turning into his eyes soaking in the instant twinkling — manifesting a spin. He shook his head, his aura revealing blissfulness and utter terror.  As she beckoned with her finger casting an indestructible spell to come and see what was behind the yellow door.

Delight

My delight, my delight I spore out my song, willow tree’s damp leaves slurry a splash into your ear. Vacant winds fill — passing luscious words missed long ago. Missed, not forgotten. Scattered inside linear quirks arriving the night you warmed my hand. And your neck winked at me.

Color Splash by Amorina Ashton

Delight, my delight a heart pounding gaze walloped into streak sparks. Confiscated words, wringing them of true meaning — desperate to keep any part of you. Stale air from spurts of gold, hitting upon a brick wall… So it seemed. Tiny droplets trickling in as each year spun past.

Drip, drip, drip
Salty waters corroding a heart made of brass. Tiny specks wiggling in opening holes to let in.

My delight, my delight aching in your hardhearted guise. Your smile melts the mold of my frame, and I’m swallowed in gush of fragrant speech. Words reviving my saddened heart — the day my words were expended. Breathe, breathe my lovely come enter the swarms of life.

A few rail upon me solidly piercing deep into my swells. Your eyes across the room entering me without a sound. I stare upon your beauty hiding behind my thoughts. Your air filling rooms with color, I am silenced. My delight, you silence me in awe. Words are of no use trying to describe my heart for you.

Lilting in my unspokenness, letting my lips curve slightly. Read my eyes my delight, know me as my eyes inhale you engulfing my lungs. Absorbing your details in a lifetime. Stretching my words in ages to come, now and then they linger on. Truth behind the words that spread cannot be denied. Still they lack denotation — there is no language or definition that confesses such emotion…My Adoration, My Delight.

Joliette Sings

Trouncing out of the bedroom, a scraggly light brown mass of straw pounced in the air, hiding two missing front teeth wrapped in a banana shape grin.  A bunch of Strawberry Shortcakes bounced on the little nightgown singing along with the ball of energy “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny!” Repeatedly boinging off the faux wood paneled walls. Thumping through the caved hallway, the song continued as the little one sprung herself onto the couch — flipping over in a back bend then, flicking her small straight toes over. Raising her arms in the air, her perfect landing received applause and each of the judges gave her a 10.

Boing, boing, boing. “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!” Ballet spins open-close-open-close-open-close-stay on your toes-open-close…Boom! Thumps rang throughout the shaky house. Rattling walls from the front to the back.

“Joliette stop making all that noise, I am sleeping!”

“Ok, mama”

“Joliette are you turning on the stove?”

“No, mama.”

“Joliette stop singing it’s too loud!”

“Yes, mama”

Shaking her gown as she staggered up, her grin turned into giggles — fingers turning the giant black knob off. Smelling the fumes dissipate into the air. Spinning with her dance partner falling into the chair knocking it over, quickly she picked it up. Cowling into her body gripping a stance. Looking back and forth, biting her lip, easing a little more as the time passed. Silence caused her to relax and start to dance again singing, “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!” under her breath. Spilling cereal into her bowl, splashes of milk puddled on table she quickly grabbed a towel to hide all the evidence.

Smeared white rainbows finally disappearing. Crumbs fell on the floor — scooting them with her feet under the table, she looked over her shoulder then, back to her bowl. Sitting in her chair, the song flew through her mind. Wobbling it back and forth making creaking sounds. Forming a musical treasure, the tune to go along with her new song. Small puffy lips curved a smile, while her big eyes looked up at the ceiling. Crunching on the cold, plain flakes for each word. “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!” Giggles fill her belly every time she crunched. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Looking at her friends who danced upon her jammies her grin widened and she said: “Why hello, Miss Strawberry Shortcake, how are you smelling today?” Strawberry Shortcake looked right at her bobbing a big fluffy hat and said: “I smell quite fine Joliette, but you need a bath.” Laughter roared out of her belly as cereal chunks flung into the air, one tiny flake got stuck in her throat. Cackling, choking, and snorting all at the same time — a herd of elephants stomped down the tunnel rattling the whole house until she was dizzy. Trying to stop, she covered her mouth. Eyes popping out of her head, protruding from the light brown straw that hung in her face.

“Joliette, what are you doing? I told you I was sleeping!”

“Caa caa caa blaaahhh, sorry mama, my cereal got stuck. I tried to be quiet.”

Sighing mama went to make her tea.

“Why can’t you be like other little girls, calm and quiet? Every day bouncing all over the house like you are some sort of circus show. And the singing, must you sing all the time? I need quiet. You drive me crazy! I just want some sleep. A little sleep. You never let me sleep.”

“Sorry, mama I tried to be quiet. I forgot. I had dances going on in my head. I needed to do them. I have a new song that I was singing. I couldn’t keep my lips from opening and letting it out.” singing in a falsetto with the last few words, her hands raised to the sky performing for her audience.

“Joliette, you are a silly girl. Don’t talk to me anymore until I have my tea.”

While mama left the room Joliette sucked in her lips making a fish face trying to stop herself from saying a word, biting down on both chunks of meat inside of her mouth, her eyes rolled around and around. Biting harder to stop the words from flying out the flesh between her teeth tasted of blood. Her mind filled with: “Don’t say a word!”

Blurting out “Ok, mama!” Her eyes closed tight, she sank into her turtle shell. A few minutes went by, filling out her body with air she began to eat her cereal. It was soggy slop by now looking down at Miss Strawberry Shortcake wrinkling her nose. Her friend whispered back: “Gross.” Catching her giggles before mama could hear her, she sprung from her wobbly chair, sliding the floor. Scooting the right ball of her foot to heel then left ball of her foot to heel. “Must keep foot on the floor” Scoot, scoot, scoot. Making it to the kitchen sink stopping in 5th position taking a little bow with her head and arm holding up the bowl. After the applause, she cleaned out her bowl and skipped off to her room to change clothes.

A rolling metal sound filled her matchbox room. The closet door went back and forth. She liked watching the spinning ball in the tracking — she hadn’t even noticed the sound. Screech, screech, screech.

“Joliette, stop that god awful noise!” her shouts pounded through the flimsy walls.

She paused wondering what noise. Deciding it was better to get dressed than to upset mama she found her favorite green dress. Adorned with a poof skirt, and puffy sleeves, she put it on twirling around for her audience. Her stuffed turtle spoke up and said: “Joliette, that dress is too small. You can see everything.” She was a feeling a little breeze, and felt around her bum realizing that her parts were hanging out. She looked at turtle and said: “No problem, I will put on some shorts.” Promptly she found some shorts, managed to button the back of the dress, squeezing her frame in snugly. Sitting on the floor, she yanked off her socks, and put on her ballet slippers.

Spinning out of her room, hitting the wall she giggled. Lyrics pouring out of her laughter “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny!” open-close-open-close-open-close-stay on your toes-open-close racing through her mind, she landed front and center into the living room, melting into her reverence waiting for the final applause. Silence filled the room, and the smell of smoke sucked into her nostrils.

“Mama when are you going to quit smoking?” Contorting her face with a hand on her hip, while still bowing.

“Joliette, I don’t want to talk about that today, and what are you doing?” Wrinkling her brows, while the book received her eye roll.

“I’m bowing for my audience.” Slowly rising, looking to her right, and then left with small head nods of acknowledgement.

“You are such a silly girl.” She couldn’t help but smile, and shake her head.

“They are finished applauding, I am waiting for my roses.” Standing in second position.

With a chuckle mama said: “You goof ball.”

Joliette burst in laughter: “Can I sing my song for you?”

“Oh, Joliette not today I have a headache. I am so tired.” While crouching into the couch, and inhaling the last bit of her smoke.

“Why don’t you drink coffee like daddy?” Blinking her eyes.

“I don’t like coffee and you know it, don’t talk about your dad. God you are just like him.” Huffing and grimacing at the same time. Her book was calling and Joliette stood waiting. Standing in perfect second position, becoming a statue. Covered in marble, keeping her arms perfect. Only her eyes moved, and the inside of her mouth as she chewed on her cheeks.

Her mind filled with “Do not say a word. Wait, and see if she will notice you.” Stiff, in perfect stance, blinking for affection. Silence curled around her body — she waited. Sounds of pages filled the room. Looking down at the book, she wished she were a book. Her thoughts drifted into a grand novel where she was touched, noticed, recognized, and everyone wanted to know her. Flipping pages kept her gaze — she danced and sang through the pages. Riding on unicorns, and butterflies. Swaying with the trees, and talking to bugs. The frogs shared all of their stories, and the lizards sat on her lap as she told them wonderful tales.

Spinning around and around she began to sing, “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!” Leaping across the living room floor, high jumps bursting louder “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!”Bouncing and leaping her song sprung straight from her lungs and laughter came pouring out — the slam of the book startled her. Shaking to reality, she saw mama’s eyes staring at her. Terrified she looked at her and said: “I’m sorry mama. Please don’t yell at me I will go outside.” The tears started to well as she chewed on her cheeks, gnawing at her flesh, trying to control her pout. “I can’t stop my lip mama, I can’t make it stop pouting. Please don’t yell me.”

Her little quivering lip broke mama’s heart. Staring at her little ballerina guilt rushed, trying to stop her eyes from filling. They stared at each other not knowing what to do. Silence blanketed them in comfort. Tears came rushing and mama said: “Joliette baby, sing for mama.” Shaking and gesturing for her little one to sing and dance.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Joliette whispered: “I wanted to sing it for daddy. He likes songs.”

“Oh, baby you are not seeing daddy today. You won’t see him for a while.” Looking at her matter-of-factually.

Her head bent down, little shoulders starting to shake:”You said that last week. When am I going to see him? Doesn’t he want to see me? When, mama, when?”

Rage filling her body, while sucking in her breath, cursing God in that moment. “I don’t know when you will see him. He is getting married this weekend. You’ll probably see him in two weeks.”

Echo sounds of her little heart panged into oceans of emptiness. Swallowing her tears, looking straight into her mama’s eyes, she said: “I will sing for you mama, I will sing for you.” Sniffing, grinning ear to ear she giggled out: “I have to dance too! Can we have fried chicken, taters, and lemonade from the gas station? I love those taters!”

Tears trickling down, admiring her little ballerina, she heaved out: “Yes, baby we’ll get fried chicken, taters, and lemonade from the gas station. I love those taters too!” Sitting back in the stale smoke smelling couch, between tears and laughter she watched her little ballerina dance and sing.

“You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!” Then singing to the same tune full of silliness: “Ballet spins open-close-open-close-open-close-stay on your toes-open-close You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!”

Coming to a staggering stop eyes piercing mama’s tear-stained face: “You know we are fine right? I think it’s for the better. We’re good together mama, you and me. We’re good together.”

Mama shook her head, holding back the tears. Eyes gripped tightly she whispered under her breath, “You better make it ok, for my baby Jesus. You better make it ok for her.”

Joliette spun around and around, showing off her purple shorts. Twirling her fingers in the air, making circles, and eights, she smiled comforting mama: “It is always ok, we are always ok.” Leaping onto the couch, she hung upside down and sang, “You love me, you know it, you can’t deny it!”

Beauty

She became wrapped in the dialogue that was swooning around covering her frail frame. Watching them while her eyes glassed over with the sullen desire to be told — at least once.  Words collected into her mind as the images continued to receive compliments. Pleasant words filled the air beautiful, radiant, gorgeous, perfect, amazing body, lovely eyes, and wonderful pouty lips covering her neurons with the wanting. Searing into her psyche tattooing her plump beating heart with “If only I…”

“What are you staring at now?” He shook his head at her, blasting her with an eye roll before she could answer.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t start your crap again — I don’t want to hear it.”

“I am not saying anything I never do.” unloading her heart into the air.

“See you later, we’re going out.”

Leaving her alone in the quiet apartment, the conversation swelled in her thoughts. Her head was in a wrestling match as other conversations crashed into one another. The great council gathering in the huge courtroom, condemning before any witnesses had given a testimony. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you. If you chose to remain silent all of your non-verbal communications will be used to convict you.” People proved guilty before the silence even rang from their hollowed eyes.

Sitting back in the old, squishy sectional, she giggled at the 1980′s feel. Black, with pink and blue pin stripes — you take what you can on slightly above minimum wage. It was a free treasure after all –  thrown into the wastelands. Sinking slowly into her only form of comfort a smile filled her cheeks at its acceptance. Blue and pink lines giggled at their own silliness, they had no problems with how lovely they were. They were quite confident in their surroundings. The black material encompassing them enhanced their loveliness and caused them to shine — it never took away.

Hearing their gaiety fill the room she bent down closer, rubbing her finger across the tiny stripes. She was collected in the enjoyment of adoration that sprung from the surrounding hugs of black mesh. Calling her in closer and closer her eyes caught the one strand stitch of black thread that caressed every blue and pink stripe all along their vertical slim lines. Each fiber coddled in warmth of sweet admiring threads. Escaping in being an observer of purity and rightness, the wails from the table began to attack her ears.

Splashes of tears crashed on the floor, the pages flew all about the coffee table. Arms, legs, lips, eyes, bodies screeching, horrific words stabbing at her flesh.

“This isn’t me! This isn’t me!”

“I can never live up!”

“They will all leave me when the paint drips off!”

“I am worthless!”

The ether of her existence started convulsing at the drenching terror, while the pages tore and ripped at themselves raging words spewed out vehemently.

“Must be the right size!”

“Must keep him attracted to me!”

“Must keep them for my self-worth!”

I am only valuable if they see me like this!”

On and on the words covered the walls. Poured over her flesh, filled the floor swimming into a black, sticky, creeping tar. Her shell curled up on the couch, swallowing deeper into the nectar of cushions. As her eyes raced looking at the swamp coming after her, and then to the kindness of the couch. Pupils darting back and forth, rising in her bowels flares of defense. Rage tore open her soul as she howled “NO!”

“NO, NO, NO!”

Clasped shut with fear and courage the sounds started to settle. Opening her eyes, all seemed well. Still the tears and muffled sounds of whimpering souls vibrated on the coffee table. Caressing the couch, she lay down in the swooping arms. Longing to be a strand of blue or pink tailored into the affections they had. Their beauty glowing represented, admired — never tainted. They were properly placed filaments in the folds of loving twine. Garb embellished with amity. Gushing with self-assurance from mutual affinity. Up and down the rubbing of this perfect fabric caused peace to flood her body.

Gentle soft droplets filled the foam — the warm soaked spot burned her face. The terrors though softer tried to grab at her. Muted sounds of cries soured her stomach and she wished she could do something to help them all. After several hours, they finally stopped. Her eyes crusted, and the simpatico of the couch brought calm. Methodically, she pulled herself away from the mold that had embraced her body. She rose to her feet. Walked into the kitchen — the front door opened. Her heart sank.

“What did you do?” With anger lashing into her, back.

“What did you? You are insane! What the hell is wrong with you?”Spit attacking her flesh with each word.

Puzzled eyes she looked at him and asked: “What are you talking about?”

He said nothing, but pointed to the coffee table. She stood in disbelief at all of the magazines torn, shredded, frayed, ripped, staggered, half laying on the floor wet, and the other strewn in various places. Gasping with fear, staring at the mess and then at him — no words could form. The couch called radiating a shadow of clarity. Muffled chaos covered her in confusion for a moment. Finally, able to shake off the dust that had settled on her, gaining self-control her sharp eyes looked into his carcass and said: “I’m done.”

Shrouded in a cloak of black her light glowed as she walked out the door.

Adrift

The pits were high, in our town they were like cliffs. Thumping of my heart pounding every time someone jumped could be heard in far off places. I would whisper a prayer for each body that glided down; to hit a final splash. My imaginations would run wild as I looked down into the metallic water. It had no end. It was deceptive and tempting. It blanketed the complex cliffs smiling mischievously at me. Soothing with its comforting ripples, masking its dangers with peace.

Coalmine blasts had stripped the earth of its foundations, and the water was happy to fill up the vacant hole over decades. Rain pouring down relieving the nakedness of layers that lay bare.  All of the kids thought of them as grand ponds for pleasure. My eyes would stare into the layers of rock that flecked glimmers from the sun. Skin scorching from bouncing rays — I did not mind, it was my shroud. Protecting my body from the cold that normally drenched me day and night.

Quietly fading into my thoughts another one came to the top raring to jump. No hesitation — the hyena burst through the air. His sturdy hard frame, feet first, legs wailing. Snapshot of his muscles struck me — such a strong and mighty character. His definition sculpted and the air respected him. As my eyes looked down at the inviting water, the shadow floated by. Slowly, slowly moving as a lioness watching her prey hidden in the deep grass — ready to pounce.

The decades for him to spank the water caused me to be sidetracked. Struck with the beauty of the tree’s leaves swaying to the tune of the wind, I could not move. It was precious, the moment sucked up my somber mood. Caught up in the sweetness of the breeze, a yellow butterfly flew straight for me. My gaze set upon its simple beauty, I sighed sadly when a gust of wind took her several feet away into a new direction. I followed her flutters as she went sailing using the air as her guide. My beating chest filled, caught in her rapture.

A shadow struck me, my own toes dangling over the edge — safety wrapped around my shell. Timidly looking down, I lost all breath. Each still-frame clicking snapshots in my mind, the splash burst through my ears.  Droplets hit against the quarry walls, the splatters sucked me into outlined grooves. Each layer speaking through its fluid form. Sedimentary ripplings pulling me to come, beckoning “Touch me, touch me.”

The shadow crept again, I did not see the massive form return for air — the deep crevices were too far for me to reach. Where was he? The penetrating crash wailed streams of water, the gush almost reaching me. My finger so close to rough-smooth sandstone. There was the shadow drifting back and forth on the hunt. My butterfly was nowhere to be found, and the male figure still was underwater, while the easy moving water settled.

Happiness swam in me — thoughts filled with echoes. Tranquility while I gazed into the rock wall, and the loving pool beneath me. Where was he? So peaceful the edge of the manufactured pit. Radiance swelled and swirled in the colors. Rock and water dancing in unison, the shadow its silhouette. Rocking back and forth in the sun’s cover. I never discovered anything about the person who seemed to have no need for air. Lungs as a fish I supposed.

His friends disturbed my water and silence. Waves called out my name, and reached out for my hand. It clothed me in sweetness, while the sun kept me warm. Creatures lived their lives allowing me to watch, at times interact. We were settled in the rightness of being created beings, in unity with our cells. Vegetation and animal singing a song with perfect harmony until humanness entered and awoke all things that should remain settled.

Simple thoughts caused me to ponder on the word adrift, my whirlpool spitting me out, I finally noticed the lovely ladybug that had arrived in safe landing upon my wrist. Not disturbing her, I watched carefully while she cleaned and flickered her tiny spotted wings. I lost track of any other existence and I stared into my newfound friend. Admiring such perfection in a tiny creature. All terrain felt soft as I sat with her, any fears of the unknown dark water shadows drifted into blinking eyes. She captivated me, and gave me strength when I thought of what a giant she was to land on a fearless predator as myself.

She looked up at me with a shrug and flew off. I galloped to my feet, looked up at the trees, whistled to the birds, searched for my butterfly, but followed my ladybug into the air. Straight as a torpedo, my firm body daggered effortlessly down, rock stratums applauded — they knew I would touch them soon.  My fabricated tarn, grinned from end to end as it encapsulated me wholly with its grip. I sank, and sank — the shadows swarmed. I gulped down my fears and swam.

Creation watched my giggling bubbles hit the surface — filled with laughter for everyone to hear. I discovered there are no rules even for man-made endeavors.

Details, Details

I had only been in one funeral home my entire life. I almost got my ass kicked by a crazy pregnant girlfriend — the father of her child happened to be my ex. The only reason I was there was because it was my best friends brother who lay grotesquely in the coffin. The smell and the crowd of humans was enough to make my head spin. I didn’t even realize I sat right next to her. Next thing I knew my friend was pulling my arm out of socket flinging me in a seat between her and her sister to protect me from Crazy.

I recall the ominous feeling I had as I watched the full room form a line to walk by the casket. My blank eyes watched as the dead man’s girlfriend collapsed into the coffin, wailing hideously. My ex — the dead man’s best friend held back tears. His blood shot eyes burned my flesh, as he looked at me heartbroken.  All ill feelings and torture he put me through fell to the floor as I felt the pain shake in my own body. I wanted to take away all of his hurt. I was swelled with compassion and my eyes welled for him. Gripping tightly onto the casket, I watched him swallow. His Adam’s apple moving up and down gulping pain and tears. I could do nothing. Crazy was watching — misguided jealousy she thought we were flirting.

My body shrouded with foreboding and cold; I could not stop my tears. Stabbing pain ripped through my heart and flesh. Covered in an impending blanket of dread — I wanted to run out of there. The dead man’s mother, wearing a blonde wig due to chemotherapy taking all of her hair, walked with the grace of a beauty queen. Her lashes bled thick crusty black, eye-liner trenching each eye lid, eye shadow perfectly painted, lips drawn with such quality, eyebrows tattooed, and her fake cleavage pouring out as she bent down and kissed the forehead of her dead son. She slowly lifted up, turned to face her audience bowing her head — the tears finally came. I couldn’t figure out if they were for show, tears for her son, or tears for herself.

There was no way I was going to walk by the dead man. I can barely deal with the shell of live people — looking at the carapace of the dead was too much to think about. After sitting through the ordeal, I watched my ex leave coaxing me with the ache in his eyes. I wanted nothing to do with the mongrel, but I didn’t want him to hurt either. I couldn’t go to the gravesite. Gravesites had too many positive memories — I didn’t want it ruined with Crazy and Dead Man. I went home and sobbed for days. My tears poured out for the pain the other people felt. They also drained because I was in shock at how wonderful everyone said the dead man was.

He wasn’t wonderful — he was an ass. He was a complete and utter jerk who felt like it was his personal mission to destroy any ounce of life they had. Nevertheless, we do not speak ill of the dead — unless you are dead yourself.

It was the last time I ever stepped foot into a funeral home. I am not here by choice today. I am here because I have to be. I requested that I would not be brought here, but others found it necessary for them to do so. For them to feel better. For them to get the closure they needed. My request was only a minor detail.

I didn’t even go to my grandfather’s funeral. My mom called me and told me he was in the hospital — again. He had been in the hospital so many times throughout my life. I can’t even count. At one point, I thought to myself “Die already”. He wouldn’t. He was dead a couple of times, but the doctors brought him back to life. It made no sense to me. Let the fool die. He was the one who would not stop smoking. He would not stop eating. He would not exercise. I watched his lifeless body, hooked up to machines, with each breath he convulsed. My grandmother sat right next to him — she looked at me and said: “It’s ok, his heart just has to work a lot harder. He’s not here anyway.”

I stared at her blankly. She mistook my face for being worried about him. I wasn’t. My mom told me to go. She was worried about me being upset. I had no emotion. I felt nothing. I felt like I was inhuman because I felt nothing. I had been empty with emotion for him a large portion of my life. The scar of his fragile, huge pumping body gasping air is in my mind forever. I stared at him not because I was upset, but because it was the first time that he could no longer control any of us. His words could no longer slap us with pain. He could not ridicule or mock. He lost all power. He was no longer the king who sat on his thrown — keeping us on a leash.

He was a saint too when he died. It was a good thing I did not go to the funeral. I am not sure I would have been able to keep my mouth shut. I have all of these years. I have sat in my pain-scorched silence — not wanting to hurt my mom or my grandmother. Don’t speak ill of the dead. Forget all of the damaging and hateful things they ever did. Erase all memories of abuse, slander, torture, forget it all, and remember how great they were with others. Family doesn’t count.

All of the details about family members are tucked away. Funny how family can be the closet to you and you never know them. Or you know too many of their details that other members of the family don’t — most of the time they chose to ignore. Ironically, strangers can know the best parts and give the most impressive eulogies. And some of those strangers are your cousins, aunts, brothers, or fathers. They haven’t a clue who you really are — only who they thought you were. The real you is hidden away in a capsule longing to confess all that you accomplished, but cannot because they really do not care. They do not truly want to know your details. Not all families I guess — maybe it’s just mine.

The funeral is over here, I am now waiting around. Feelings of disgust and anger flapping through my ghost-like bod. I am hurt and crushed — I am not surprised. Very few people came. Not many friends, that’s what happens when you keep yourself isolated and secret. Does it matter? The way I see it I would rather have a few true friends attend than a bunch of people who knew nothing about my existence. Who am I a fooling I don’t even have a few good friends.

The room was full of people without a clue. No idea about the person lying in the casket. Had they any inkling they would have respected the wishes and not had a funeral at all. Several family members got up sharing how wonderful this dead person was. They shared the same stories — the ones they shared at every family event. Nothing changed only the fact that death filled the air. Some were crying, I am not sure why. There was very little communication when the vessel was full of life and any attempts were shallow, stale at best.

Not a single soul mentioned anything about the writings, or any type of impact the frame achieved while breathing. The words were filled with mundane details some of which were either fabricated or false. I was expecting at least one person to step up and say something about the words that had been contributed while living. No one acknowledged anything. All of the poetry, stories, and details of this once lively life now sat blinking on someone’s computer who quite possibly had no idea the author no longer existed. I am being presumptuous thinking anyone read it at all.

It seemed such a waste to have so much to share and no one to share it with. The lack of responsibility to relationships was rather appealing. There was no need to commit to anything, and no one else committed anything either. A mass of isolated sharing, feeling a sense of community without community. The internet who knows the real you, and all of the eyes attached to bodies know you too. They know you more than most people do, but they don’t know you at all. Just like family, sitting across the room speaking about how you were such a wonderful person. You were so caring, and loving. Constantly sacrificing everything for the family.

They know nothing. The word sacrifice is nice to use when one has passed on and you have no other words to detail the person. The blanket positives that are poured out because they have no idea who is lying in the casket. The person who existed, but was always invisible. The person who tried to share themselves repeatedly only to be dismissed. The person who was tormented for a lifetime of loving so much that it caused physical pain, but was not loved back, or noticed for that matter. No love was shared until death took its toll. To finally be loved when death has arrived seems to be quite the scheme of the devil.

These are only details, small details among the dead and the living. The rules that come with passing time. Every stroke of finger writing out the details of one’s life doesn’t usually matter until they are gone. And if they die young, they become legend. All legends die lonely. Empty, is their heart vessel and their story is never truly revealed it passes along with them. The details of their heart, and the emptiness of being lonely. People love the legends after they are gone, but when they are alive…well, most of the time they are an object to be adored and worshiped.

My thoughts are vanishing and I am losing my footing. I feel quite shaky. I am alone, and it is quiet. It is much like it has always been. There are people all around who do not know me. They never took the time to know me. Many presume they know me. The truth is…they never let me know them.

Alone we come into the world and alone we leave. It seems a silly purpose at times. Pointless, but there has to be something. There has to be meaning in all the details we leave behind. Someone has to know, or care in a minute way about our stories. Right? I hope I discover what all my hidden details are about. I hope I discover the answers for why I lived in such heartbreak. I hope when the passing through is over something makes sense.

I hope. I feel tired now. It has been a long day. And it is time for me to go. My eyes feel heavy, but my mind waves on. The details, the details, what of the details? Even if I lived a life of heartbreak, and no one knew me or cared enough about me, I remembered their details. I wrote down all of the wonderful things about them. All of the things I loved and treasured. I captured all of them in my words. I breathed life creating their images with my words. I loved those who did not love me back. Even those who were awful I still wrote of their goodness. I lived out my purpose and I can leave in peace.

The details will live on. Maybe one day I will know that someone wrote details about me — breathing life into my existence for eternity. Possibly, when a star twinkles or two galaxies collide parts of me will live and I will finally know that someone thought the details of me were worth expanding.