Emptied

The slow bow of a cello

scraping across strings

reverberation in loss

if her face betrayed

all the pain inside

if her face was a building it would collapse

where the ravage and gaps exist

you cannot see

all the times she’d been

pealing back her expressions one by one

a window without covering

someone sitting at a table

running her bare empty hands along the scarred wood

fingers without rings without bonds

falling against the door frame

hearing the echo

feeling the pain reach in and pull

until only music sounds

the songs we danced to when I was whole

believing what didn’t kill you

made you stronger

then how is it since you

tore out my heart and shredded it

with all the words you gave me over the years

like confetti

I have not been able to stand

without collapsing

I am now set at an angle of grief

you say oh in time all things heal

that must be your experience

maybe when you said you were honest with me

you weren’t honest with yourself

and what would destroy a mortal man

does not get too deeply embroiled

you are after all

by your own omission

someone capable of closing yourself off

feeling nothing

I would that I had learned that art

it may be a month

or ten

but I will stand here again

grief will mark my place

as if no time had passed and no lifting assuaged

the heartache of your betrayal

what can I do to change the outcome

looking down the road and seeing only hurt

I would do anything to change how I will feel

but you have me tied to your world

even as you

leave mine

emptied of love

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The woman’s got a switch in her head

And when she wants you dead

She reaches down

Slow cat stretch

Invisible intent

Almost like

Flicking lint

And

Presses

The

Switch

Those words of promise

Count the

People who have said

The exact same thing

You must trust me

It would be pathological not to

There is no good reason

I am telling the truth

Here’s a promise

I mean what I say

I swear

Then. Then. Then.

It is a lie

What do you do

The next time

And the next?

How do you disseminate

Or decide?

I can trust this one

But not this one

You may be saying the exact same thing

Expecting me to believe

Something different

But how?

Why does one promise

Differ from another?

Why does one person’s assurance

Ring true whilst another is, hollow?

You often cannot tell

As much as you want to

As smart as you wish

You simply do not know

You’re at the mercy of those words of promise

Which means

Potentially it can keep happening

When it does, eventually something breaks and you say

Enough ! Just enough !

Then you really can’t believe anyone

You just can’t

If you can’t believe anyone then what?

Where do you go from there?

How do you get over that?

How do you move on?

Isn’t moving on surely, just being alone?

If that much mistrust has built

That many people have proven false

Of course a voice in your head says

Maybe it’s your fault

All of this

Because you’re the common denominator

You deserve this and cause it

Somehow

But you don’t know how

You just want

People to be honest

Don’t tell me things because you think I want to hear them

Don’t make promises you can’t keep

Just be honest

It’s the dishonesty I can’t take

Even as the truth can hurt

A lie will always be worse

Be the friend you would like to have

On the surface I may not seem like much but I have always held this truth;

“Be the change you want to see” (Gandhi)

That means be the friend you would like to have.

I used to be the typical teenager, self-involved, over-sensitive. I thought I was being a good friend but looking back I can see some easy mistakes I made such as always putting my feelings first and not being able to empathize enough with others.

Now that I’m a bit more empathetic I really try, but I must admit it has been hard to make friends as an ‘adult’ because so often people lie and let you down.

More than anything I wish I had friends where I live now, when I moved to America I really lost the ones I left behind, as distance tends to do that, and I didn’t make new ones. I know I should ‘join a club’ but I’m an introvert and that’s really hard for me to do.

Friendship is so underestimated and one reason adults can be lonely especially if like me they don’t have kids.

I would never treat a friend badly and I really don’t understand those who do. Even on WP I have had some people mistreat me, those days are over, I’m too guarded now, which really if you think about it, is a shame.

If we all treated others as we would wish to be treated and we were HONEST the world would be so much better. Period.

Quiet sincerity

I learned

long after I should

friendship comes not

in fizz and pour

nor the brightness of

shower and radiance

nor promise and its papery craft of bows

but more often unexpected slow

hesitant over years

water leaving her tears on

marble rock

stalwart and less demonstrative

a cat who watches food put out

does not immediately approach

I fell for the fireworks

the hot kiss on lost ego

glittering words

feathered protests to believe

those party animals in their tinsel crowns

pushing me toward celebration

in those days I did not mind

the quiet soul who hung back

someone you could call upon

when deserters ran out of festivity

turned their backs on former animation

I was suckered by their demands to believe

their loudest call was truth, hear me!

now I know quiet love is the steadiest

those who may seem cold or aloof

often outlast town crier

hawking themselves for fancy

I’m sorry it took me so long to

understand silence and softness

are more often truth

much like the piper who

sung children through the mountain

bewitching their longing for loud

merriment

before they grew and knew

the sweetness of sincerity

whispered

Cast in open mouth

Fickle her words

imprecise

imperfect

slices of lemon

squeezed on cuts

cast in open mouth

let the plaster envelop

emotion

I suppose it’s her need

to inflict harm

when her own heart devours

when lust points compass

and mercy

mercy does not show

for role count

instead choosing

to sit out turn

bashing heels against

old radiators

trying to keep warm

this is the danger of

sore hearts

seeking solace

in the unknown

corridor of others

tempered souls

watchful against

storm

Flat hands pushing

They predicted

she would write down

the scar

since healing

was slow

words conveying

that breakage

They predicted

she would condemn

the ones who made the thirteen turns

in hangman’s noose

and pushing lightly

watched her fall like dandelion seed

catching heavy air

she was predictable

and not the one they knew

but some amalgam of all they had hated

in their little boxes of life

laid without opening on red shelf

she who carried her shoes

when stepping through

knew there were times words

could not save

could not banish

the cruelty of flat hands

pushing

Winding a clock

Whom ever first penned

the idea coldness was strength

and weakness came when we

trusted and let others in

must have known the curve of the knife

those disposed to violence

carry in their mouth

just incase a moment

should present itself

and licking their lips

wide

they conquer and divide

our feeble entreaty

just leave us be

on the wet coil

perhaps our world measures

guts and glory

on how much blood

remains

when after battle they come

to count the fallen

and it is always your dearest

the one who came closest

the one who said I will never

remove you from warmth

who sharpens that knife

and turns it like

winding a clock

makes it tick

reluctantly

ahead

Imperfect glass

Time

did I mention you have run out?

and the dye on my head turning me another color

will not rinse

we change ourselves

we re-make ourselves

we are the same within

striving always through infernal din

to measure our worth

against imperfect glass

Death

Strange faced girl sits in her pew

itching wool tights with Bible corner

whilst Mormon’s console Jehovah’s

witnessing their profit in the funeral

business

all along she hadn’t believed

people could turn to wax effigy

the poor man in his pine coffin knew

formaldehyde truths

his children driving home

instead of toys throw words

of anger and resentment

she had always wanted siblings but now

in her black faux expensive dress

less couture than ransacked bargain store

she wasn’t so sure

how the language of the world made sense

if God laughed at those who pretended

to repent

or God was a lizard drinking from brown bottles

one block down from the mockery

of death