When The Glitter Wears Off

I saw a thousand diamonds

rolling across the surface of the deep,

like the shimmer I wore once

when life was simpler

and ignorant ducks all followed in line.

Who knew the smallest breeze

could blow the glitter elsewhere

and I, left rather dull

and naked.

Am I the Emporer?

Where are my clothes?

Had I ever really owned such regalia?

Or was I dull from the start,

wearing you like a charm?

Then I realized how lopsided it all is.

What is a charm without a bracelet

or a bracelet without an arm?

I am the anchor

without which

glitter gathers dust

in a closet of desire. 

It is MY arm

decorated to my pleasure

that meets your pleasure

or it doesn't.

But it's my fucking arm.

I think you understand now,

right?

I choose the charm

and the glitter is the light I shine

on my own skin.

Glass House

What's it going to take?

What pound of flesh?

It's not really what I did...

it's what was done before, that caused the bedrock

of your unforgiveness.

You want me over a barrel

digging out from a deficit

day by day by day,

and you thinking you're faultless.

In the end

you gutted me,

barrel be damned.

I was drawn and quartered

by your need to play God

to make me confess,

to make me pay

for your paranoia.

Your house is glass also.

How will you fare

with all those stones?

The Wind Outside

The waters are agitated,

waves reigning havoc since day break.

They crash against the rocks

the wind bending branches at shoreline.

The cabin is oddly bereft of the storm

although every other instance

wind has howled through like a freight train,

scattering papers

depositing dust.

Why today...

when the storm within me rages

has God blocked the wind?

He's left it for me to see

but protects me from it's consequence.

Even stranger,

I wanted to feel it's fierceness

to know it's power

the strength of my foe.

God whispers

"It's not your foe.

It's not your storm."

Shit Show

Things have gone to shit

as they often do,

and no one is really sure

if we want the show to go on.

The banquet is set

costumes bejeweled

but the magic has left the stage.

The show must not go on

for the damage...

the damage done.

Will it break us?
Will it build us?

May we be renewed?

Or was it a poorly written play,

a show for love

not of love,

a need for applause

not worthy of such things?

What the hell did you do?

I warned you.

You warned me off.

I complied, and

I failed you.

Invisible Loss

Sometimes loss is like dynamite.
It blows a whole so deep and wide

that everyone can see it.

There's a divorce, or a death,

a fire, a flood.

And even with the breadth and width of it,

it is compact...

a measurable thing that can be calculated

and dealt with.

And then there is the other loss

like a fuse that never ignites;

it just smolders and smolders

with the constant threat of doing so.

It's a dud that never was,

and never will be anything but

the perceived power to remove the hope...

that whatever you lost might come back.

Why do they say you can't lose

what you never had?

Because if feels like dynamite

that no one can see.

The Ashes

When we released the remains of your body into the deep
I expected the tide and waves to take you
where my tears could not.
The tears, as always, were unexpected and unwelcome
but I encouraged them anyway
requesting they name themselves...
sadness? loss? anger? guilt?
They didn't answer
nor did I expect they would. 

 

I cried for you, the same way you lived your life,
distanced from any emotion that might tear the fabric.
One tear and the whole thing may start to unravel,
which apparently was completely unacceptable.
And yet...I unraveled once.
I'm better for it...
certain of it, until
that needle of religious guilt sews up my joy
darning the hole through which I escaped
with a seal of condemnation.

 

We released you into the deep
and you sank into the sorrow you always carried,
slowly...maintaining the shape in which I unburdened my hands of you,
not scattered, not in the wind or the tide
still conformed...
a woman who, even in death
could not break free.

 

I watched your luminescent green ash sink
beneath me
tugging as in life, towards you
away from me.
You harmed me greatly.
I released you gently.
You scarred me for the duration of my life
and I took care of you in yours.

 

Everyone you sought so hard to impress
were without witness
and you left the earth alone.
I expected the tide and the waves to take you
but it was the deep that claimed you.
You went straight down.

Killer Argument

The way we scream,

as if louder is a jackhammer

to the ears.

Our faces, red with effort...

no longer recognizable

as shadows pass across rocky features

now so jagged sharp.

We have surrendered everything to anger,

fueled its fire with inattention

to what really matters.

...surely not this mountain

on which we may now die!

Murder is not worth being right.

Let's cease fire

before our small lives

are etched in stone

above a grave.

Slow Fade

I'm remembering the good times

sweeping others under the rug.

It seems wrong to mourn in anger

to say goodbye in hate

because there will never be another chance to do it over.

Your bones now make their presence known 

through the skin you've worn 

so reluctantly it was painful

to watch you reject your human form.

There's no dignity to be found now

even if you wanted it

but you ask for a mirror

smile into it, meeting an old friend.

Today you were so sweet to me.

I ran and hid my knives

locked away my guns and my grudges,

even knowing they will pick the lock

and find their freedom again

just in time for your funeral

where I will wear guilt as the color black

hating myself for hating you

while you disintegrated.