Rejection

It was such a beautiful morning. A rare beauty.

All of it was so special. My work day was magical to say the least. I was astounded at how much we got done that day.

The rain which poured down was so soft and pure and softened the land beneath my feet. The leaves glistened and hissed at their falling cadence.

Even the critters sang along.

Would that Nature would sing along.

But my voice. But my voice which sings so differently.

Sings a discordant song. A minor key needed by me.

I can't, or is it "will" say what is inside my soul?

Dare I say, dare I say

Dare I say Rejection

From within my own soul?

I Miss Your Kiss

Your breath breathed into my own
in our hometown.
And our arms embraced
almost like a tomb.

I miss your kiss
Lips encircled into mine
tongues intertwined
feeling each other's heartbeat
landmines intertwined.

You never wore lipstick
and I loved you more for that.
The taste of your breath
honest, insecure,
a dirty little brat.

This is who you are.
This is who I am.
A reality too far.
Damn, damn, damn.

Red Hair District

My first memory of you was when you disastrously mishandled the Jiffy Pop popcorn in Sayerville, NJ as we all laughed so hard as you cried over cutting away the aluminum foil on the stove top burners and the popcorn flew all across the kitchen. I was still too young to notice how beautiful you were. You had a red headed sexiness about you that even my older brother couldn't help but notice and comment about.

Betsy was your nickname we all knew, a Jersey girl who became the Southern Belle with that newly developed thick North Carolina twang which bewitched me the moment we arrived in Burlington, North Carolina. I shouldn't have fallen for you, but I did. You somehow managed to awaken my sexuality. You reconfirmed what team I was playing for. You taught me how to overcome my phobia of water by showing me how to take a shower and not a bath in your bedroom shower. I also never ratted you out about your pot plant in your bedroom. I can't help but laugh at how clueless your parents, my aunt and uncle, were about your devious behavior. You showed me Foosball at the mall.

Your freckled face and speckled red hair behavior inspired my love and lust from my earliest teenage years. You awakened me in many different ways. You, showing up in the kitchen topless as I slept in the living room nearby, was also an awakening moment for me. Later, I waved to you as we drove away, weeping, as my mom and I drove back to NYC, when none of it ever worked out, heartbroken. I still wonder how you're doing to this day.

Prisoners

The two state officials lagging behind me in their grey uniforms wore them like the straight jackets that they are, though unaware though they are. Their documents authorizing them to follow me are their handcuffs, imprisoning them more than any prison could capture me. But still they follow me down every alley and around every dark corner. They know I see them. In fact, they want me to see them so that I know and live every moment knowing that I'm surveiled. All they know to do is lurk. Why are they following me? When I manage to dive behind a corner and watch them as they try to watch me I can't help but notice that they're uncomfortable as they persist in following me, a nothing person who presents no real threat to them personally.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye today. But I didn't dare let her know I looked at her. She haunts me day and night and yet I can't imagine being with her. I wish I was healthy enough to tell her how I feel about her and how beautiful she is on so many different levels. But I dare not, for her sake as well as my own. I remember when I first saw her bare feet. I knew then that I was madly attracted to her. I honestly didn't hear a word she said as we talked. Her passions are overwhelming. She sings to the angels but hears from the devils far too often. It's funny. At first I didn't really like her. I couldn't get a bead on her personality. She's wicked angsty. Very complicated. I didn't recognize her being coiled up as being a self protective posture. I didn't realize that I'm just as coiled up as her.

I sit here in my solitary room. Hell. God, sometimes my solitude can be both at the same time. Isolation from others is my salve and salvation and my anti sanctuary from reality, Nonesuch as this rings in my deafened ears as the silence rings out telling me lies about myself. My screaming silent lies decry my self satisfied lies which hate myself so much, as such, too much. I'm so tired of the self sabotaging self destructive lies imprisoning my mentality.

The fragmented stained glass is all I have left behind from the church fire from 22 years ago. I got the call from my mother that Friday afternoon after I got home from work. She told me about the smoke billowing from the steeple in Saint George.