an abrupt farewell.

C'est la vie. Hoping to be reunited.

let me go

The monotony
Of life should never be
Of such consistency
You can't imagine
What you'd embody
If presented the opportunity
To be free

Tragically
I've seen my self deceased
My being taken from inside of me
Leaving a fragment
Of my "used to" me
To desire what I once used to be

I wonder
How this continues to hold me under
How I've watched my passion to plunder
Desire to blunder
Drive.to.die.

second chances

i respect it. real words really written by breezy.

...Go...

i haven't thought of you. i don't know what you did today. i don't care. i dont want your heart. at least i don't think i do...But come here. I like that there's no awkward dance around why we're here. Its instinctual. My feeble attempt to hold my ground becomes useless on touch. You can see it in my face. I know. You knew it the whole time. The momentary flash of the last time I saw you quickens my heartbeat. Then there's that unassuming chill down my back that runs up my thigh. I wonder if you'll pull my hair again this time. My skin pulsates. You throw me against that wall. I barely feel it. I feel you. Skin fused. Obsticals seem trivial. Temporarily my thoughts are only here. Go.

...Go...
...Go...
...Go...
...O...

Breath heavy. Body pulsating. Climactic sensitivity. A gaze. Eyes locked but quickly broken. The intimacy within intimacy may make it more serious.

Clothes on. Breath catching. With a smirk, "How did you get here again?". Break. Gone. Distance.

Obligations resume.

She is ...a tribute...

She is super human. She's possessed the courage to carry three men through life, loving unconditionally regardless of the trials and tribulations they'd been faced with. Her spirit is laced with hardness like marijuana splifs sprinkled with base because some middle america high school drug dealer had to fake having the toughest shit. The same splifs that trickled into her marginalized neighborhood building upon each other, like bricks and mortar, a gateway to a place where needles are filled with opiates and prescription pill bottles are stolen from the same cupboards in those middle class neighborhoods that the first splif came from. She couldn't control it. She didn't fake it. It hardened her. It is hardness of the highest kind, infused with hatred and anger yet effervescent with the perserverence of hope. Hope that was most visible when no one could see. Hope that kept pushing to provide while every breath she took was like another step to tomorrows health issues. Every weathered sigh carried the chemicals of cleaning supplies so stubbornly intertwined with nicotine from her cigarette.

Her hardness makes her unwelcoming to those who do not understand her struggle. But, Hidden within her is one of the most loving women I know. Contrary to her hardened impersonations of a woman with no need for love, she is first a mother. Like every mother, she yearns for the day where all her children are happy. She lives for the manufactured family moments she was never able to have. She shows flashes of excitement at wedding talk and would do anything to have a woman she trusts around. but she would never, ever tell you. She exudes love in her own particular way. With her use of jovial expletives she's just trying to speak freely as it is the only way she knows how. She let's no one in, until she let's you in. With consistency, she can trust. With unrelenting persistent love, she becomes a mirror. She offers her love every time she's asks "do you need anything". Every "honey" that she calls you by Actually is a privilege. Her sarcasm and humor are crude, but if you know that, you've had the pleasure of knowing her. When she giggles like a schoolgirl reminiscent of her youth and asks, "come look at my dress", you can be sure she cares. She loves. She is satisfied with the simplest of things.

She is the mother of a man I used to love. If only her love had been easier to understand when he was little.