Wild Words and Poison

Standard

30 years old, and I couldn’t tell you if I welcome that barrage of thoughts that march with alcohol, or if I fear them. But, I can tell you for damned sure that I open my mouth to every drop of that poison…and my pen hand shakes with anticipation as the heat of the words fill my existence.

Love-hate, at its finest. Dropping that pen would mean that the poison runs its unprecedented course through my body, and paper directs it toward its purpose. Legitimately my muse, the paper makes me visible.

So, write me. Write everything that bleeds through that poison and climbs its way toward a voice. Write long nights, started early and cursed to my aging, swollen eyes. Write regret. To never find that mountain that allowed two feet to find a hold toward dreams that wept so far away. Find loss. And, above all…find failure. Words unspoken by the day-to-day but growing by the fate of poison and the moon. Forever in my mind, unsilenced until they find their way home.

Are you awake?

Standard

The formidable darkness envelopes me. The recognition does not subside with the fear that emanates with every breath that I take in its silence. It comes, regardless of the cloak that I wear. I cannot pull a hood over the dread as much as I can silence the pounding of my mind.

Destiny awaits in the night hours, the time when all at peace can find their beds. I have never recognized mine, nor do I turn to it in times like this. These hours are the beckoning. The fight for the life that is to remain but must be covered by all that this world has found to hold it down. This time is the proving grounds to the depths of souls that can mascaraed in the brightest of days. No hiding, no covering. Night folds within us. ARE YOU AWAKE?

Blueberry Banana Bread

Standard
  • 1 egg
  • 4 ripe bananas, mashed
  • 1 cup blueberries
  • 1 ¼ cup flour
  • ¾ tsp. baking soda
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 6 tbsps. Butter, softened
  • ¾ cup brown sugar
  • 1 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 325º. Combine all ingredients. Grease and flour a loaf pan, and pour in the batter. Bake for about 1 hr. and 25 min. or until toothpick comes out clean. Let cool for 10 min. before removing from pan.

The Words that Impaled Distraction

Standard

I fought myself to go that weekend. You could call it an intuition, but I’d attribute it to everyday anxiety—something that has only risen as my years have passed. It would be hard to find an outfit. It was cold. I’d be tired. So many bullshit reasons so I pushed myself to go anyway. I pulled off the outfit, and I was pleased to feel that the confidence dressed me with the clothes. It was the old game that I knew well: Distraction masks fear. So, with every touch of makeup, the straightening of hair, a spray of perfume, and the way-to-high heels–I nailed that distraction. Too well this time, in a world that I still have so much to learn about…

It was the usual routine. A hand off of money and ID to my safety net, and we left the guys for the bigger party. Most of the conflict I had envisioned proved to be drawing my attention to the wrong threat, and I relaxed as the tequila added up and the moods were calm. I had years to know the majority of the people around me. Unfortunately, I would find that my distraction would not prove infallible to the tarnish that laid beneath that pretty coat.

We began dancing, something I can never force myself into without the right amount of alcohol. He joined us, and the mood changed quickly. He was like a father figure for so many years. It had to be the environment. She held my hand, letting me know she had my back as always. We kept dancing. The song let up, and I complimented the band. It was only a second of her walking away, and eyes hit me like steel. No amount of makeup would cover the tears that leapt with his words: “Why are you…the way that you are?” I couldn’t stop them. A slap in the face wouldn’t have held a candle to the impact that those words were driven by.

He saw, and it was too late to look away. “Do you want to go outside and talk?” I nodded. Talk, yes. See, that was the man I knew for so long. He’s just worried about me; I can make him understand. We passed her, as well as my other safety. They were both concerned, but I assured them that I wanted to go.

We were barely out the door when the apologies started swimming from my mouth: why it was my fault, how I fucked up, all that time alone and scared. I couldn’t make it understandable; there was so much built up. Bits and pieces poured out, and the tears were uncontrollable. He hugged me, and my friends were certain I was okay. I wasn’t okay. I was back there, and I couldn’t break out of it now. All the screaming and begging. The hopelessness. The desperation. It was consuming me, as I stood on that porch.

We were alone again, and he ushered me to the parking lot. I was cold, and there was so much more I had to explain so I agreed. I didn’t realize how drunk he was until we got there, and by then I had already walked all that way in those heels.

Sitting in that car brought it all to an end. He didn’t care what I had to say; no one seemed to. I couldn’t be a distraction. I couldn’t cover up the pain and the damage that was done so long ago. Who am I kidding? My ruin grew that night, from a past that I am unable to escape. It is a part of me, something that I can never wash away with the makeup remover; I can never take it off and hide it in the closet. Because I was used long ago, I will forever wear the silent invitation to do so again and again…

17309407_10154725115488096_4311852666679490729_n

Peas in Cheese

Standard
  • 4 ½ tsps. Butter
  • 4 ½ tsps. All-purpose flour
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 1/8 tsp. white pepper
  • 1 cup milk
  • ½ cup processed cheese
  • 3 cans peas, drained

In a lg. saucepan, melt butter on low. Stir in flour, salt, and pepper until smooth, and then gradually add milk. Bring to a boil, cooking and stirring for a couple min. or until thickened. Stir in cheese until melted. Add peas, and cook until heated through.

Dinner Table

Standard

Hands, fused to the table before me.

We sit, eye-to-eye, in this debacle of a world that we call home.

Across that table, you are burning

Under the scrutiny of eyes that cut souls like diamonds.

I remain in front of you, an open wound.

You wrapped my soul in bandages,

Only to find blood trailing in rivers across the table.

It is this very space, this very seat

That holds my destiny.

From Passion to Love

Standard

Steal an extra moment,

As your eyes meet mine tonight.

Move hands a little slower;

Let’s give in to what feels right.

Taste me a little deeper,

As my tongue makes way for yours.

Listen, closely, as our bodies meet,

For you’ll realize…

Your heart roars.