Some New Old Stuff

Hi again, after about a year I am back and ready for the fall to commence. To commemorate, I am going through my old writing journals and pulling out some poetry and first person pieces so they can see the light of a thousand pixels. Here is the first of this series.

Safety

I want to be a soldier but instead

I am a little girl shrouded in ugly feathers

Which I flap flap flap at you who looked at me

And saw a delicate flower with flat feet

Instead of marching, you hear flop flop flop

I show you my blacks and my blues but

You see red on my cheeks and call me a rose

I hear you calling me, your voice like a violin

Strings threaded tight, plucked and realeased

Sending forth bitter echoes into silent air

Your shroud is revealing; I can see you

Through the haze of unspoken moments

Your bare shoulder catches my eye

Then releases it knowing what I’ve been told

About you gives me pause… and as unbelief

In your rightness for me enters my mental

Birth canal, I can’t wish it back

Your wails in the night will go unanswered

Yes, I’ve longed for you in unhealthy obsession

But the chances that your touch will free me

From my demons are slight to non-existent

You are flummoxed by my rejection

I’m like a tease crying out for you in the late

Hours of the night, then running when your

Footsteps approach, What you don’t know is

What I know about you. I followed you one night

And saw how you treated a woman I knew

Heard you speak softly,

Your voice caressing her to sleep

Only for her to awaken with you gone and

Everything in her hands burned to dust

Your eager laugh is as fickle as the seasons

You are too much like a woman looking for

A temporary arrangement who had no reason

Making vows to begin with

You are too much like a man who allegiance

Is swayed by the vanities of his heart and

Mostly I just think  you a mirage, nothing you say

Can prove to me that you even exist

So, goodnight safety

No, I won’t show you to the door my mind

Because I expect you know the way well,

But I’ve firmly decided your soft stirrings

Were merely property of the old patroness

Of my kindest self;

You were just a dream.

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