0 of 35 to 35: Midnight Promises

"Midnight Promises"

As I laid my head down,

Words ever so gently

caressed my face. He

soothed all anxiety and

made sense of all

thoughts. His inspirationally

delicious lips whispered

the sweetest of images

into my ear as I drifted to

ecstasy. I was enraptured

and certain his electric kiss

would linger 'til morning. I

at true peace; knowing

tomorrow's journey

would definitely greet me

with splendor, after all

the last words Words uttered

before I succumbed to blissful

exhaustion was a vow to

always be present.

Yet,

I awakened empty, bed

and brain abandoned. Promise

unfulfilled. My mind and heart

left to unscramble cryptic words

to spread across this page. 

If only I'd captured the moment

in the moment when the words

were plentiful, when thoughts

were clear, when the promise

and potential were true. If only

I'd captured the moment before

it was broken, before it faded

like they all do... if only...

But like the true writer I am,

muse or no muse, Words or

no Words, determined and

hope filled I grab my pen

and try my best to pen again.

* I've started a new challenge. This one is 35 to 35; meaning a 35 day countdown until I turn 35, however I seemed to have started 36 days out. Enjoy!

Some More Works

“Something to Be Said”

There is something to be said for

Having someone to decompress with.

Something to be said for having

Someone to have some form of

human physical contact with... There’s

Something to be said for having

Someone invested in you that

Isn't just your father or mother.

“Legacy”

If children learn from the actions of their parents

and their parents are PTSD sufferers are they not

raised to struggle with the same behaviors? Don’t

they then struggle to find normalcy in a world where

normal was stripped away? Where security of mind

never existed? And what then of their children's

offspring? Does the legacy of trauma fade or

is it a permanent ingredient in the milk? Why then

do we keep pretending that an incident in the past

has no impact later, that ancestors should forget

past hurts when the wound is still so freshly exposed?

“Hurt or Help”

Hurt seeks to hurt but I use it

as a source of sympathy. I

use it as a 6th sense to sense

the sensitivities of another. I hate

my own hurt enough to welcome it

if it helps me provide comfort. It is

my super human power, my ache

provides strength for others.

"Poop" Day 11

dog poop,

bird poop,

person poop,

group poop.

that's the

kind of day

it has been.

"Sick and Single" and "Ever the Day?" Day's 9 and 10

“Sick and Single”

The worst thing

about being sick

and single is that

no one is there

to bring you that

cup of soup, that

extra blanket or

to check in on you

when you need

pampering most.

“Ever the Day?”

Will there ever be a day,

where that scent will not

take me back to 16,

where you, my first love

made me feel like a queen?

Will there ever be a day,

that a single rose

fails to make me grin

like I did when you gave me

my first one back then.

Will there ever be a day,

that someone causes me to

forget the days of you and I

simply because he is

finally the right guy?

“The Public Hearing” Day 8

Young, middle, aged, gathered

in the room. Some to support,

some to defend, some to hate,

others to learn. And despite

the strategic church like

outbursts all were respectful,

that is until a light brown one called

a dark brown one an “uncle tom sellout

negro.” Ruckus ensued, those that

needed to remain fled, and when

reconvened the air had a stench.

That micro incident emphasized

the macro purpose; to succeed

we must treat each other better.

"Next Steps" Day 7

The toe ever so slightly and

slowly approached the line

but so fearful of what might

be demanded once crossed,

it paused and endlessly

contemplated its next step,

not realizing it sentenced

itself to stagnation on this side.

“Quick and Dirty” Day 6 part 2

I'm going to rub one out.

Make it a quick and dirty

poem. No love making. No

delicate or intricate touch. Just

me handling a necessary task

to start my day or end my

night. Addressing my needs

until muse brings climatic

passion back to the scene.

I can't be rusty, out of shape,

or a victim to cramps

when inspiration returns.