you wrote a valentine to me

February 13, 2016October 26, 2016 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

rain_heart you, who inspire
positive in life’s debilitating moments
philosopher, scientist, lover
you are whole, strength in softness
grounded in the silence between words
you watch me take it in

the one who stirs my heart
you write a valentine to me
because i am not invisible
your heart is not too broken to be real
you want to stare into my eyes
and it doesn’t matter what i am saying
about your stare

you are grounding me in your presence
opening my heart by standing there
breathing with me
you won’t be done any time soon
and know i’ve been waiting
for you to arrive
to brighten my darkness in the way i can’t do for myself

my sacrifices show
you say that my tears make me more beautiful
you want to know who i’ll become with you
you have earned the ability to adore me

Inspired by David Whyte and WriteYourselfAlive 30 day writing challenge through Rebelle Society

before i float away

February 5, 2016February 6, 2016 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

new_way

when i let myself want
to tell you myself,
i’m quick to convince myself to stop,
that i don’t want to matter to you.
when i only wanted to ask you,
(to show you)
the best of who i am
before my dazed vision
evaporates
to float away

the end of my story
where we float away
into our twilight
fading…
on edge
from the start
mostly…
i moved away
you missed me, only then
reality in absence
disbelieving heart
that couldn’t sleep…
not understanding
that despite you, despite me
i left
for a dream
reaching out to me
i decided to change
i needed to change
my life

Inspired by WriteYourselfAlive 30 day writing challenge through Rebelle Society

see us, gazing

October 10, 2015October 28, 2015 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

This is me and you saving the part that you want me to admit the answer to. That the parts between us want to touch, no different than before when we first began exploring about me and you, not lying through my smile.

Remember when I heard you whisper the first time, and you heard me without my speaking? I want to return to that moment, and state of being too. We were powerful then bridging beyond words to a place where sentences and phrases didn’t matter. The spirit speaks when musing and delight take over, along with wonders and desires to know more, to know everything.

My look toward you, into you, was authentic. Was it sad? You knew without a smile what I wanted. You knew as I grabbed my stuff, strong and powerful. You knew where I’d find you in my mind within moments. You knew you’d be there too.

And still I can’t help but cry a little that you didn’t take me away with you in that moment and whisper in my ear the words I’ve known, the language, the words floating above us waiting to be spoken.

When you placed my head gently against yours to hold me closer, I felt all that you know. I heard you say why but you know the answer and its source; because it’s still the same, hidden in your anger, in your lure and my regard. You no longer see through; you connect. You are there now with your eyes. I feel the difference in me now and then, in morning and in evening. My gage is you.

I want to be magic–a force you gravitate toward without reason and even smile when you know the reason. As you are dear to me, especially when I wake, especially when I’m tired. Your fingers run along my arm toward my heart, reminding me to never forget who I am.

An active clarity shining like roots, interspersed inside keeping us safe. My heart knows in silence how you link to aspiring my insides awake. I can write my way to you just as I look up in the sky at a cloud as I float.

Don’t you think that it’s time to be more than we are, more than our eyes sensing. You can take me now to the part where our worlds collide in the dimly-lit room. A candle lights the way to look at what we are, still eyes gazing in the direction of us, shadows behind us flickering.

Submitted to Rebelle Society 10/13/15

your wandering heart

April 27, 2015August 23, 2016 / my secret innuendo / 18 Comments

if you saw through my eyes and heart to who you are to me, maybe it would be different for you now in your mind that wanders.

if you saw my teardrops when i think of the way you turn away when i say it wrong, maybe you’d know the truth.

if you remind me of someone who i hurt deeply or who hurt me, maybe you’d know that any word or look could activate that and become you.

if you heard me explain through my wounds, maybe you could feel yourself and me better and then know why i am shielding you from me.

if you knew that i could and desire to protect you and know exactly what to do and how to hold you, maybe you would feel content now just imagining it.

if you knew that every day i imagine where you are and wonder if i could find you in my days, maybe you’d look for me.

if you knew just how much i care and my capacity to love, maybe you could feel my vulnerable self who worries that it would overwhelm you.

if you only knew just how much i could love you…

if you only knew what a hole your absence leaves, maybe you would come back to me.

if you knew how turned on i am just to be by your side, maybe your heart would smile when you saw me.

if you knew how awkward it is for me too to be alone, maybe you would see yourself in my mirror.

if you knew that i already know you from my dream last night, maybe that would help you live in the present right now and connect with me in the spaces between us.

if you knew that to look in your eyes revives me, maybe you would look into me more and see who you are to me.

if you settled into your true self and asked yourself ‘why?’, maybe your answer would be my voice and then you’d know.

if you truly become your heart, you will really feel me… do you still think i don’t care?

if you feel your breath the way i do, sense your presence the way i do, hold your moments the way i do, you would know how much you are loved.

Received Perfect Poet Award for Thursday Poets Rally week 81 on Hyde Park Poetry. thank you…

Published on Rebelle Society {poetry} 5.26.15

please don’t tell me to go hug myself

February 14, 2015February 14, 2015 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

I have rose petals on my mind. They are lined up, as if placed mindfully by one person who cared. This person cares that the rose petals were all lined up, each touching, following each other to shore on their path to me. They are floating in the warm ocean toward me, direction swerving as the waves transmute the ocean.

These rose petals have something. They are love, ashore in my life. I am the ocean. I am floating now. This is all that needs to be said.

It is obvious that I have a big heart, and love only men who don’t know how to love yet wear an armor with a heart on it to disguise their brick walls they quickly build when real love—mine—comes along.

That doesn’t diminish my heart. So, Valentine’s Day, please don’t tell me to Go Hug Yourself or imagine your romantic adventures pictured on your billboards. (I plan to eat your chocolate samples and take a nap.)

You, the one I devote myself to, are expecting me to be someone… you’re waiting for it to happen, as if it’s up to me to turn you on by unleashing all of who I am. But in order for me to be all things, I need to do it in the right order. You need to Be Someone too. I need to first get to know your kisses, the look in your eye, the way you hold yourself, how to come closer to or move farther away when you feel overwhelmed, how to know if you’re overwhelmed or actually don’t know how to ask for me to come closer.

If you were here now in front of me, looking into me, I would tell you about my heart. I would tell you about its secret wish that I promised to fall in love and never leave it. It’s hiding alone, willing me to see its angles and curves first that blinded you and me. It is pure, speaking only in silence, waiting for us to argue it away or brush it aside as something else so that then it is what’s left, and believed. It won’t wait now — staring at us, smiling from within, feeling liberated. People will say we are in love.

I want to capture it in a story to tell myself until you are here, and I can practice my endearment speaking not away from you, but into you; I’m not afraid anymore to be real, to be spoken, to be inside you.

You are beautiful to me in ways I knew early on. I wanted to wait though until I felt you inside, until I loved you in the most precious way—from within me. I wanted to wait until the anxiousness and weeds that covered the truth dwindled and blew away, so that the complication wouldn’t ruin us in our sensitive ways, wounded hearts wild and uncompromising.

Caged for a while, with new freedom to be anyone it chooses, it is now volatile and unconditional. It’s safe when loved and alive yet destructive, needing to feel its pain and the process of knowing it’s okay—that love is okay—as I learn to trust my bruises.

When I write to you now, I feel safe finally, as if I have given myself permission (or you have) to love you inside you now, no armor needed. I love you, I do.

Published on Rebelle Society 2.13.15

Image source: tumbler (unknown)

you can’t hide that from me

December 14, 2014May 12, 2017 / my secret innuendo / 2 Comments

You are an enigma.
This is about you
and the secret you keep behind your eyes.
It’s unreal to me that you could be there for me.
I see your smile
when you look at me from the place inside you
that is for me,
in the moments when we are touching
or even speaking
as if it’s not happening
when it’s what I want the most
to be cherished by you.

You can’t hide that from me.
It’s not unreal.
When you come to me, I see you with a sixth sense.
You have words but are silent.
I can hear you with your eyes that are blue and clear
staring into me.
Just a tilt of you head
as you hide behind your glass halfway
is enough for me to see
all of it.
My breath is gentle as you come closer, seconds taking minutes.
We are in slow motion and I want that to last.
I want to continue to see your heart beating…

You are more real to me than most things.
I want you in a precious way.
A world is formed
without speaking,
not desperate, or touched with broken hearts.
I don’t know what time it is and it doesn’t matter how long we are here.

I can hear you behind your face that cringes
with the power of the world on your shoulders
against us.
I look into your eyes.
I want to know the secret of you
but you won’t tell me
so I find it
through days or weeks,
through many words and senses.
I can hear you still
even in your fingertips
that lightly brush against me.
You want me in a way that I hold dear.

I believe in your conviction
to your heart
to your trust
and you won’t lie to me.
I find it through the pauses between sentences, unwritten
or smiles that you can’t hold back
(and lips that know me).

I want to sit next to you and hold your hand
and know you are near.
I want to take care of you,
your emotions, your world,
as if I am holding your hand to help you think.
I don’t want you to ask me questions
because you already know the answers.
I know you are near even when you aren’t.
We already have many questions
with responses
throbbing inside of us.
I want to take you home with me
and get tangled in memories, in us.

Published on Rebelle Society 1.3.15

Image source: unknown

do you know that i will lay my strength beside you?

September 20, 2014January 4, 2015 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

Do you know that I will lay my strength beside you and surrender? Forgive me, but it’s who I am, weakened into broken submission when I feel you close. When you are as the ocean, you are my iconic metaphor with clarity—the kind that floats by unnoticed, hides in corners, or drops to the floor.

Do you know that I have it in me to wonder if it can be brave enough for you? I’m right around the corner of your confidence, wide awake with hunger, but I need you to hold me to show me. Hold me now, I ask you, because I can’t hold myself in this way. Make all of my toes touch the floor at the same time.

Do you remember  that I miss you? I wonder what you feel, when you believe it’s not possible to be with the me you know me to be. Am I an illusion that floats above your head while waking, that which you cannot comprehend, even to yourself? And still, I carry holes of you within me.

Do you know that my smile was always for you? It was hidden at the bottom of me. I was looking down, and within, really listening. I heard you there, when you saw my smile. I feel you know that.

Do you believe that I am typing these words just for you? I wonder if I should be there now while you read this. You are wondering why I’m not. I should have been. I made eyes with you across the room while you did though, and I lightly bit my finger in shyness as I watched you come towards me.

Do you know that I dreamed I was wrapped in you last night? You deserve an explanation for waking without me; it was a dream. It doesn’t seem fair to wait much longer, to wake to a pillow instead—where no one can see your face when you cry, to count the seconds to another day gone by before you should be.

Do you ever think of my shadows or yours when you brush against me? My tears seep through and tell you to stay with me in your presence that breathes even when it doesn’t try.

Do you remember our silent moments that connected us despite our lack of patience? I am working my way toward you. You are expression of desire met beyond imagination, by your side. You are delight at being enough to be wanted. You know what to say, even when no one else is listening. You are the experience of my teardrop. You are a gift.

Do you believe that your eyes melted me each time then and still do? Don’t give up on me. I am not going anywhere. I know that you are that which rises and you know me to be the one who senses you now, a reprise. And I heard you last night when you spoke to me with your dream, intense and beautiful. You spoke of a ride you foresee with ups and downs, receiving and holding. And now it is so close that I can taste it.

Published on Rebelle Society 12/19/14

Image source: gravityglue.com

start here… you and me

July 17, 2014November 12, 2014 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

Photo “ghost of past” by Kalee Prue

I don’t want to leave you, or myself, behind. When your words are near, my inner smile becomes me. When your body is standing in front of me, my heart shuts down.

Why? I feel you more now that I left, as if a piece of me is still with you. I leave it for you to care about, given freely.

Hold me now, I ask you, because I can’t hold myself in this way. Why would I want to take the place of your arms around me, pieces of us touching, filling gaps sensing all at once? How could I ever be without you after having you?

You come to me in my dream, my seed (you are), and I’m special. I’m the one you’d do that for. Our secret. And we are the way it should be. How I could not have that, I do not know.

But now, I cannot ask or show you this. I can only sit in my car alone, wait and cry over my missed opportunity. My closed heart—again, protecting itself, ego on guard standing tall against its tears. (When you’re in front of me, I want for you to be the one to say what I dream, as if I transfer my dream to you, and now it’s heard).

Instead, I walk away, and so do you, words uttered yet unheard. Too vulnerable to ask simple questions in person: Will you be with me? Can I have you?

With anticipation of us, your playfulness shining, I’m open and there. I’m ready for you. I’m ready for us. I have you. And now you’re gone… I want you more now than I imagined I could.

Here in this moment, I feel your eyes and you are hurting too, voice silenced but saying No somehow, not allowing us to be.

And now I feel that I am the one who won’t allow us to be. I can’t look into your eyes easily now as we did that first day, when we knew the mirror looking back was us. I want to hold you now with my eyes closed and just know that we both remember how it started and why.

I’m scared to even look now to see if you’re there, to see you watching me waiting for you, tears in my eyes like a cloud covering my heart, drowning instead…

The raw words that speak now tell me that I missed my chance to have you; I’m wishing you wanted me too, and wondering why you don’t. And, if I’m wrong and you do, I wonder if it’s my fault that you don’t come running, and my fault that you cannot feel me now. Do I block my heart from you?

I wonder what I have done wrong and how I can tell you so you know who I am. Without this, I’m reaching out for something that isn’t there, or isn’t possible, where you are waiting for me to just let down my guard.

And next, I hear you tell me (in my mind), “Don’t you understand how much I want you?” (but it seems like a dream.)

If we have to start somewhere, let’s start here.

Published on Rebelle Society 11.12.14

you are me, you are my chakras

June 17, 2014December 14, 2014 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

i don’t know you or how you do it, but when i’m not looking you trap me and hold me down. your arms are heaviness encapsulating me. your eyes look into me. and then i feel you grounding me, as each of my toes touch the floor at the same time and know their purpose. {root chakra}

i want you to understand something. it isn’t me, it’s you. i need you. i don’t want you to leave ever. i want to eat you up. i need to keep you close. {sacral chakra}

i have a hard time waiting, as if impatience is my path to you. run to me as i run to you, please. i’ll meet you there. hurry. i’m waiting. {solar plexus chakra}

with you i believe how precious the teardrop is. you feel me then. how could you not? i am full. i have been carrying the holes of you. i love you. {heart chakra}

do you know what i wish to say to you? how did you hear through my silent fog? it’s ok, i know how. {throat chakra}

i know before you know. it is a feeling. it’s knowlege. it’s truth. i would bet anything on it. circle back and find me. {third eye chakra}

you are like the candle flame that always burns, the one i cannot tell is you or me or we. {crown chakra}

Long version published on Rebelle Society 10.3.14

as if hidden, you are this

February 17, 2014November 20, 2015 / my secret innuendo / 11 Comments

I am hidden. Are you? As if to be hidden behind words that speak illusively, at all times, bouncing off buildings and walls. I shoot an arrow and it comes back to me. Some day.

Who are you anyway? Are you the words or are they merely what comes out when trying to speak? There is no time to leave important words unsaid. I speak of eloquence.

Inspirational times with comic undertones spark a tune in another. Sometimes. But, truly, it’s all for you. You who deserve to be timeless and unforgotten. You are where my eyes open to receive what I’m waking up to now. I am here now because you were there and smiled and felt.

Create. Create all you can be. Be creative. Be daring. Be you. I will walk with you, and you will walk with me. But don’t forget to be balanced, be calm and be all that you should be behind the eyes of you. Don’t tell anyone if you falter.

My calling is you, an obligation to fulfill. You are what begs to flow from me, knowing what to make of it along the way, unsuspecting. You occupy the space between sentences, between thoughts that hang and then drop.

You are my arrow I shot long ago. It came back to me with its secret. It told me with its fire: be the you that wakes up in the morning, still groggy, remembering what exactly went on the hours before while dreaming.

Your image burned in my brain fills me with the opposite of order that I need. I let you build up so that I can understand you better. You give me the power to say No. You allow my creative—my unknown—to surge, to cascade. You are endless and you are real. You make me want to write a story, phenomenal, of us. As a river raging knows my name with impatience trickling, in an instant I am known. Finally.

But it’s just me here now writing… and, all I have are my verses wondering how to get through to you. I seem to be writing as if from a distant land when I realize that life without you isn’t possible. I want to stay there in this moment forever. You are the river that I once swam up, I swim again. Stay with me, you whisper.

Published on Rebelle Society 5.10.14

[This is Behind the eyes of a writer™: A series, part fourteen. Continuing on from a dedication, part thirteen in Behind the eyes of a writer™ series, I tear you apart in pieces to unglue what you’ve become. Part fifteen in my Behind the eyes of a writer™ series is next]

f*ck you, valentine’s day

February 11, 2014May 16, 2015 / my secret innuendo / Leave a comment

Fuck You! That says a lot, but does it really?

The extent to which I feel it is not adequately described with a common phrase. Dear Love, you do not remind me of red hearts right now.

You do not remind me of champagne and bubble baths for two, with chocolate kisses mixed in. You do not entice me to smile or make Valentines. You make me want to cry.

I haven’t cried though because it’s more fun to curse you and all of your celebrations — especially your presumption that all beings who wish to buy food on a given day also wish to be reminded of you. What do you expect me to do? I am the one who was left, the one whose heart was trampled on.

Should I buy paper and paste and send myself half a Valentine with a rigid break in the middle, with blood still crusty on the edges of its break? How do I depict the scars that have built upon each other, one atop the other in layers, in breaks?

Each break is different, so it’s not like they are all piled up nicely for display.

I don’t want to give you the power to allow me to cry now. You are only a fucking holiday. You are only trying to make money off of the unsuspecting, love-struck souls who have bubble hearts floating above their clouded hearts. You make plenty. You have them.

You think you have love too. But, think again. I didn’t say Fuck Love, I said Fuck You. You are a reminder to all of the brokenhearted that they should just go home and cry. You remind me not to paint my toenails red.

The worst part is that you make me want to hate love. Nice try. I don’t. I only hate you. But instead of celebrating love today, I want to wear black, and hide in a cave. All in your honor.

From there, I think I will make you a Valentine, as I sit here telling the fire these words. The fire is watching me type. I am being told that I should burn you up. To purify you? To purify myself? Truly, I hope you feel the pain and have no one to rescue you with water, no one to pat you until you are free.

I hope you die before you wake up.

And now, I just cried.

Originally published on Rebelle Society 2.11.14