A Step or Two Beyond Do Unto Others

Wild Heart Scribe

It is often said that we should treat others the way we ourselves want to be treated. I agree with that. However, I think we could at least equally benefit by treating ourselves the way we wish to be treated by others. If I regularly indulge in self-deprecating humor, how much easier do I make it for someone else to put me down? If all I give voice to are my faults and shortcomings, how soon before others also see me as far less than I truly am? If I often apologize for who I am, my very nature, how long before people are sorry they met me or worse… sorry forme?

On the flip side, if I recognize my intrinsic value without having to pretend I have no flaws to do so, how much more likely will others accept me as a complete person – one with flaws…

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Now & Later

Wild Heart Scribe

I want mine
now & later
in any flavor…
free is what
I most want
to be…
and so I will be…
my spirit is free
and then my
mind follows
and what has
kept me hidden
and stuck
is shattered
to bits
and then released
to die a
scattered death.
I release it…
wish you could hear me…
I release it…
Don’t think it’s
my fate
anymore
Can’t hold its
weight
anymore
Won’t let it
dictate
anymore
so I forgive you
you don’t deserve it
but I do…
so I forgive you
for me…
for me…
and the taste
on my tongue
is the dance
of the free!

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I Will Walk

Wild Heart Scribe

I was feeling powerful when I wrote this yesterday, not so much today.  I will post it anyway and wait for the power to free my wild heart once again.

Where others have failed

I surely won’t.

I take the road

yet to be.

Not one worn by

the failed steps of those

who have gone before.

I may come after,

but whom do I follow?

Nary a soul –

I forge my own path

and

I dare anyone to follow.

No faded trails to hint the way…

No bridges built to span rivers unexpected…

No graffiti guide etched in bark.

I

creep

crouch

crawl

through the

harsh, natural brush

finding bends and twists,

sudden drops and steep climbs

that make no sense…

And I will walk it to the end.

I slip over and under

twisted

gnarled

tired

limbs barring my path –

I slip over and under

with…

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The Slip and the Groove

Wild Heart Scribe

Sometimes I slip and slide into the

grooves of well-worn static patterns

Canned speeches

slip from lips to sustain you…

 Smothering under the rote emotions

that slip and slide into me

I slip on the tune and beg you

to slide with me

but the melody hurts so you don’t

I try to hold you with arms

slipped into the sleeves of another time…

why do you slip me into that outdated dress…

I clutch and claw at you till we both

slip on the tick of time…

My slip…

Your trip

Together we could rip

away

apart

from where we are

to where we were

and reality’s grip would loosen

and leave us in the

static groove…

The tear

drips…

wetting the groove

 letting us slip out of the static…

The best dance ever to be danced

slips in and out of silver shade

tripping the light so fantastic

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Claim Your Sky

Sometimes I need my past words to push me through my present moment. This is one of those times…

Wild Heart Scribe

Freezing hot periwinkle stars

fall onto my closed lashes

like fairy tale dust

in the boldest daytime dream

beckoning me to open

just open

and drink in the expanse of sky

spilling itself onto me

putting on a show for me

just to get my attention…

My attention?

Who am I?

You are the one

for whom you have waited

the one whom I have

caught

kept

considered

and now what has been held

no longer needs to be

it clamors for you without constraint

and

colors

colors

colors

you with the finest brush

so as not to miss a spot…

you are you

you are yours

you are Mine

the freezing hot periwinkle stars

have stood Our test of time

So, go on, claim your sky

claim your sky

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Butterfly in a Birdcage

I made plans to write a book, entitled Butterfly in a Birdcage.  I have since changed my mind and have instead determined to rededicate myself to this blog. Everything about my past is here in this blog, all throughout it.  I don’t need to reshape, reformat, or retell it. It documents my journey, which continues as all journeys do.  However, I don’t see my life as a journey anymore, as though there were some place to get to…some final destination to let me know “I’ve made it.”  I have learned that life is more like music… meant to be played note by note.  I really just want to play.  But I will make this last offering to my once was by way of this poem, as the image this title conjures in my mind absolutely sets my soul ablaze and must be set to wings…and words.

I don’t have to stay here

Oh, but I do…

I can pass through these bars with ease

even gracefully

Oh, but I can’t…

I try to stay still

not a flutter

can’t let the wind shift

don’t want him to look my way

so I stay

I stay still

the door is ajar

I stay still

I try not to see it

cause with laughing eyes

he swung it open

watching my wings touch the metal inside

knowing I am too much for this cage

too slight for its bars

thinking I don’t know the same

oh, but I do…

relishing in my unmoving

watching me try to hide the beauty in my wings

trying to become one with my cage

oh, but I can’t…

my colors won’t be choked out

my colors won’t be bled out

and he hates me for it.

Even he knows one day I will be free.

He knew.

And now I fly

And he just imagines it

BASIC BITCH

Said to you over and over and over

again and again and again

oftentimes you have to move on

without knowing why

someone hurt you…

Never thought I would give

those words

to myself

about you…

Maybe I outgrew you…

your constant miniature crises

your claim on my time at your leisure

your tramping in your own misplaced footsteps

over and over and over

again and again and again…

just like I used to…

Maybe you grew tired

of my slow ascent

of my sudden winning

of my surrender to love of self

over and over and over

again and again and again

cause I refused to

keep resuscitating

what was of no use

to me anymore…

Maybe I am of no use to you anymore…

Somewhere in your shaky world

of not good enough

ever, not ever

no, never will be

cause you don’t know how to be

maybe you grew tired

of my fire

of my words

of my force…

And so you crossed a line…

shooting venom over your shoulder

in my direction

as you took

that sloppy leap…

suddenly finding a supposed backbone

against the purest support you’ve ever known…

Did you

flirt and flit

with the line

for a bit…

considering what it might

feel like

on the other side?

Did you delight

in your decision

to drag me

in the dirt as

you decimated that line

knowing the side left behind

will never bear your weight again?

But maybe I outgrew you…

your weighty weakness

your obvious oblivion

your inability to see and explore your magic…

And maybe you grew tired

of my evident expansion

of my striking spunk

my ability to see and explore my magic…

Not superior as you labeled

Different…

Different because I am not

mastered by mania

for the accolades

for the affirmation

for the affection

of a man

as you so plainly are…

Not superior to you…

Different from you…

And since I no longer

walk in my own footsteps

it is farewell to you…

The basic bitch

who doesn’t have to be

but doesn’t even know she has a choice…

So damn basic…

Oh, yeah…

And fuck you

Falling in the River

For so long my ever wish was

of living in the river

sunning in the echo

of engineered dreams…

so much so that I prematurely

rested all my substance

on flotation devices

riddled with red flags

buckled with blackened holes

willing them to keep me afloat…

no regard for their cocksure collapse

no regard for their destined decline

no regard for my own

chronic choking of water…

Then, suddenly, the bather wore a new skin

I had no affection for

living in the river

sunning in the river

or even being in the damn river…

I wasn’t even sure the shore was

a safe place for me…

Then, suddenly, the bather wore a new skin

and here I am flirting with the idea of

holding my breath under

clear blue glitter river droplets

that parade through my floating black hair…

coming up for unfamiliar air

even as I am

holding sparkling waves of once confusion

in my hand like a puppet master

flirting with the idea of living in the river

with you

just with you…

not with your potential if

only you didn’t have so many

damn flags and holes…

But you

just you

in the river

where we wear

the wetness

like new skin

In the Morning

In the last minutes

before the alarm

my mind works to hold the

weight of your strong thigh

across my body…

the feel of your

quick-pause-quick

sleep breaths

against the back of my neck..

the way my breast fits perfectly

in your cupped hand…

and the feel of your skin

against my stroking thumb.

The alarm sounds

the spell is broken…

Forced to disentangle my body from yours,

I miss you before I’m gone

and my heart beats

whispers of words

I cannot yet speak

My Inner Child is a Stubborn Little Bitch

Well, she’s not really a little bitch, but she is pretty damn stubborn.  Most days, I adore that little girl with her you-have-to-wash-them-out-cause-you-can’t-brush-them-out curls.  But, she led me down a treacherous trail to a marriage to an abusive and narcissistic psychopath because he made it okay for me to be angry and she needed that.  She now leads me around to date after date looking only to realize her little girl fantasies because she needs them to live outside my mind.  It isn’t her fault completely.  She’s just a little girl whose unmet needs and unresolved anger shaped me and nearly allowed my assured ruin.

She missed out on the family life she wanted, the one she felt she had a claim to.  Maybe, she did have a right to an expectation of a healthy and intact family life, but she didn’t get it.  Certainly, not in the package she wanted.  So, there it is…she missed out and someone was going to get her what she wants – that someone became me.

As a consequence of my unsettled anger, I made choices and sometimes fell into situations I do not believe I would have if my extreme emotions had been explored and set free.  But, no one was watching my downward spiral.  No one understood or even saw the effects of their actions on me.  So, I coped as most children did in the 70s and 80s before therapy was commonplace, alone and on my own – just being and not progressing through the damage and grief ensuing from my real and perceived abandonment due to my parents’ divorce.

Not being shown how to work through my pain in a safe and honest place, I became ripe prey for someone who knew how to influence a person tethered to her daddy issues.  He made it acceptable for me to have anger.  He did not help me through it of course.  That wasn’t his game plan.  Instead, he acknowledged it, which is all I ever wanted, but then he used it to exploit and manipulate me into believing he was all I would ever have and at least he wasn’t leaving so take what I could get.  He used my unreconciled past, among other things, to fence in the best of me.  And I existed and endured in that psychological prison for 21 years.

Since I put my freedom back on several years ago, the little one inside has brought up those unfulfilled desires.  She says, “Here’s my chance.  That maniac is gone.  Now, I can get what I’ve been waiting for all this time.  Let’s do it!”

But, she only looks out for herself.  I’m a means to an end for her.  She has all the gritty strength of mind and floods with optimism at the end of a select few of these dates while I get all the sorrow and disenchantment when things do not go according to her plans.  She’s – well, she’s a child.

I’m not angry at her, though.  I love her.  I really love her.  I know her pain.  I feel her pain.  Her pain is mine.  But, it’s in the past.  It’s not part of my present.  For me, it’s done.  For her, that’s all there is.

So, tonight, I will let her climb into the lap of my mind and I’ll hold her and stroke those stubborn curls as I try to persuade her though I may never be able to give her that which she believes she needs to be whole, she will never – not ever – be alone again.  And, maybe – just maybe – we can be whole together.