A Quiet Reunion

Like a ghost, you concealed yourself in the dark corners of my mind.

Hidden in the shadows nearly forgotten until recently you emerged again, filling the absence of another.

I have made peace with you; I am not afraid. You have been a constant companion to me these years and I have come to value your presence. You have connected me with a deep part of myself, given me access to a new dimension filled with wonders. You are a painful presence, but I do not resent you. You are a gift given to me to teach me hard lessons, to be my guide. I welcome you, my old friend: Loneliness.

Confession of Anger

Forgive me, Father, for my anger.

And not for the anger itself, but for the depth to which my anger roots itself to my soul.

I have caressed it, coddled it like a child, raised it up to grow into a monster. Feeling blessed by my own self-righteousness I give way to bitterness, resentment, envy. They make me feel good. They are faithful friends who stay by my side, nursing my hurt and making me powerful.

But this is not the way of Love. Love takes hurt into her arms and weeps. Her tears wash away the filth in my soul, melting the monsters I have grown to cherish. She puts pain in its proper place – acknowledging it, grieving it, transforming it – and letting it go.

Juliet’s Rant

I miss him terribly, but even still
I doubt the truth behind my sentiments.
I hesitate to call it love if all
it is is pure infatuation that
is typical of young hormonal girls.
I do not trust myself to use the term
of love accurately because I have
such difficulty understanding its
pure definition. I was taught that love
is not a feeling; it is sacrifice.
I think of love as a decision to
commit, and lust being the feelings that
come after. I come up with mental lists
of things I’d do for him as proof of my
commitment, for my feelings do not make
for solid evidence of love. That’s why
I say I’d make him dinner or massage
his feet, or take care of him when he’s sick,
because I’m desperately trying to prove
these feelings are not senseless whims, although
that’s what I am convinced they are. I do
not trust emotions and I do not view them
as highly as I should, because they don’t
seem like good reasons to do anything.
Because I do not trust emotions, I
have found myself looking for concrete ways
to show affection, or whatever keeps
me bound to him. The problem is, I’m stuck
Because I hardly ever see him and
I rarely talk to him, and that prevents
my concrete acts done in the name of love.
These thoughts therefore swirl in my head, and I
am left to wonder if I truly love,
or if I only think I do because
it’s all infatuated fantasy.

I wonder why it matters. If I spent
some time with him, it wouldn’t for I’d be
too busy doting on him. But I don’t
spend time with him, and so I find myself
Desiring to tell others I love him,
although I fear I’d sound quite immature –
a girl who knows not what she talks about.
And so I guess the root of all this is
I am concerned what others think of me.
However, on the other hand, what’s more
is that I care about my use of words.
I want to speak correctly for I’d hate
to say something that I don’t truly mean.

Secret Land

I know about a secret land
That’s hidden far away.
So if you’ll only take my hand
I’ll bring you there today.

A place of stories, legends, mist
As old as time itself
Where those who know it can’t resist
The vast amount of wealth.

A place of solitude and peace
And where the children play
A place of comfort and release
And fears are stripped away.

But, oh, beware of bitter storm
That tries to come and steal
The beauty out of all the land
And make it all unreal.

The air is full of magic
And the water full of youth;
The scholars study endlessly
To know its deepest truth.

For much is undiscovered still
With so much mystery
But if you open up your eyes
Then you will be set free.

But I suppose you’ve guessed by now
The things that you will find.
I think you know that place quite well;
That land is called the mind.

July 2012

Resentment

I know you’re trying to make friends with me,
But that’s not my kind of harmony.
You are dissonance,
Causing friction in the very fibers
Of my being.
Clashing with the clarity of my mind,
You paint pictures of people’s imperfections –
Creating caricatures of their flaws
Just so I can find fault with them,
Forcing me to forget
That they, like me, are human.
I am undone; I am broken,
Believing that bitterness will better me,
But instead it is a fetter to me.
You hold me hostile to my hypocrisy,
Only to harbor animosity.
Tell me, what is so satisfying about
Seeing others struggle, only to sneer
In your insatiable hunger for hurt?
I am not sorry when I say
That your sickness is not welcome here.

The Adult Cult

I joined a cult called “Adult”:
Ditching the dramas for the documentaries
And embracing the boring which many call life.
Scheduled into a system
Formed by the few for the many
Leaving little room for spontaneity.
Where is the creativity, the craziness,
The charisma from our youth?
We have traded the marvelous
For the mundane mediocrity
Of daily life. In the name of
Making money,
We have drowned our dreams
In the depths of human sorrow.
I have come to realize
That what troubles me are not
The traumas of a lifetime – those
I can handle – but rather
The pesky flies of petty problems.
The daily disturbances and annoyances
Coupled with the crippling hopelessness
That comes with realizing
That that’s just the way it is.

If Facebook Were a Woman

4/2013

So, you’re the one
Who causes all the trouble. Dressed
In blue makes you look innocent,
but you still manage to steal
my eyes for hours. “Come on,
what’s what harm?” you ask me,
showing off some of your recent pictures.
Another cute bunny or advice
on dieting. But if I see one more kitten
I think I might throw up. You know,

You are a great photographer, especially
when the photos aren’t yours. But that’s okay
because you change your style so often
that your selfies would become outdated
really fast. You’re a great seducer. Those
green kisses on familiar faces force me to think
that my friends may want to talk to me,
but you lure them to yourself
with your latest gossip.
You have a way with words.

You sit back and chuckle
pretending not to notice how many relationships
you’ve ended, how many fights you started,
and how many times people share
your poisonous words of “wisdom” and “inspiration”.
You seem to thrive on clutching people’s throats
and holding on for dear life, while still
convincing others to do the same. Temptation
never felt so subtle, but honey I know
you’ve got me good.