Intimacy (Haiku)
Holding hands with you
Intimate despite the stares
Fingers, intertwined
Prompt for Hour Nineteen
For hour nineteen write a sonnet.
Ring
I waited for the ring the one on my hand the one on the phone. I waited until I questioned his sincerity and my sanity I had to get away. No pressure just honesty with that he couldn’t give. A commitment was what I was looking for with that he couldn’t live. Now he rings my phone and waits for answers I give when it suits me he waited so long I changed my mind now I want to be free.
out of fashion
you put on your white socks
and commented on how ugly
they are and i realized nobody
likes white anymore. it’s way out
of fashion.
A house like a women
It stands abandoned
Like a women in shock
Quite,alone and still
Soundless it stood
No one lived inside
Like she becomes speechless
Nothing to speak
The windows were closed
No one looked from them
Like she shuts her eyes
Refusing to see
The house looked bad
No one cared anymore
She looked horrible
She was left alone….
Untitled
Angels
Fallen
Losing their wings
Sky losing color
Grey
Gloom
Sun
Waiting for a return
And yet
we smile?
Sew
A pin pricked her and blood fell to a fitted sheet
of fabric, that was lying on the oak workplace,
she couldn’t bare herself to sew the pleat.
Many men wanted her to tailor their suits complete,
but all she wanted to do was efface.
A pin pricked her and blood fell to a fitted sheet.
And it’s true, the girl was quite petite
when she let them pay her, just in case
she couldn’t bare herself to sew the pleat.
She would often cry, and take the mistreat
and know it as a falling from grace.
A pin pricked her and blood fell to a fitted sheet.
And with needles thin, she sewed designs discreet
although people still knew her face,
she couldn’t bare herself to sew the pleat.
Later they would find her body in the street,
and her life would be nothing but a blank space.
A pin pricked her and blood fell to a fitted sheet,
she couldn’t bare herself to sew the pleat.
My inner mental room
Close your eyes and imagine a place:
Always spiral stairs from the entrance- an oak wooden door
Accessed from a hilltop, but the building is ethereal
So as not to ruin the landscape.
No one else can come here; they do not know the way.
Inside is solitude, but always a happy place;
It knows that I need to be alone
To find peace with myself again.
It is always light, with the light of early morning/early spring
Seeping in through the windows
And casting angular rays, in which I always stand, or sit.
It is warm, but fresh.
It is small but has everything I need:
A comfy chaise lounge, upon which I can be restful, if needed
But can also be bright and awake.
I can look at my life from the correct angle.
There is even a television; I can play videos back to myself,
Decipher what needs to change- make it melt away.
Then play it the right way.
Solitude of Pain Unspoken
There are things I can’t speak about.
I want to.
I try
But they stick in my throat and won’t come out.
They are things that were done to me
That stole my innocence
My confidence
My voice
The counselor says What would happen if you just talked about one of them?
Just one.
I can’t express what would happen.
Probably nothing
But it feels like my whole world would explode
And I would disappear with the flying shrapnel
So I say nothing
Walking on a jittery tightrope between
Holding it in forever
And letting it out
Both options are equally painful
Equally bad.
Every now and then I try to tell someone who loves me
My husband
My best friend
I never do.
The counselor says that talking about it will ease the pain.
I wonder how it would feel and
Sometimes I imagine myself saying them out loud.
In my day dreams they flow off my tongue easily
Like a story I’m telling about someone else.
Only it’s not someone else’s story.
It’s mine.
The solitude of this unspoken pain
Is comforting at times.
It’s mine, no one knows, no one can judge
But most of the time it’s crushing
I struggle to breathe
I can’t think
Until I distract myself with other thoughts
Like a child is distracted by a new toy
Or a puppy.
Several years ago I tried to tell my husband
Just one of these things.
I took a deep breath and forced it out
Just a sentence
Then another
I waited for the pain to dissipate.
I waited for him to say something.
There was only silence.
Some say that silence is nothing,
But that silence built an impenetrable barrier
That has prevented another sentence from
Ever being spoken about it.
I wonder if I’ll live in this solitude for the rest of my life.
I could live with the pain, but not the loneliness of
Knowing that someone else has sentenced me to this solitude
Forever.
What was done to my body was
Painful
Wrong
Tragic
Criminal
But it was nothing compared to what was done to my soul.
Little Girl in a Lake
I saw her drowning
She was so small and so scared
We could all see her from above in the murky lake frantically flailing about.
She didn’t know how to swim
Her face grew grim with fear and panic
But she didn’t close her eyes, she didn’t look away, she didn’t give-up
We finally pulled her out of the water; her heart beating louder than that of a caged bird.