On Speaking Terms

We spoke today for the first time since we parted ways.

Your voice sounded smooth- rich and velvety as it always has- but it sounded younger today.

Your deep, southern drawl and slow pace of speech made the words bend and last forever.

Oh, how I’ve missed your voice.

I miss the comfort within each drawn out syllable.

I missed the way it danced on the drums of my ears sending my heart into a frantic rhythmic beat.

I miss the kindness behind each well thought out sentence.

“Friends?”

We agreed. We lingered.

And I let you go.

As I will have to do each morning when I wake thinking of your smile and each night when I go to sleep dreaming of your kiss.

Friends until the end.

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The Journey

You have to go alone.

No one will be with you through all of the trials.

No one can fight your battles and win your victories.

No one could ever complete it the way that you will.

Many will pass by like glimpses through your peripheral.

Many will accompany and guide you along the way pointing you in directions.

Some will start a fire within you that takes you on turns that you never expected.

Some will try to extinguish your light so that theirs may shine brighter.

Some will come along and attempt to rekindle your lost flame.

Some will succeed.

Some will fail.

All will impact you, one way or another, for better or worse.

But no one will stay through it all.

They can’t.

They have their own road to take.

So be brave and be bold.

Do not fear.

Do not try to control it.

Embrace what you have been given and make the most of it.

It is all any of us can do,

on this journey.

 

 

I am not going to miss you tonight.

I told myself I wouldn’t. I know that I shouldn’t. I am where I am supposed to be. I have been more productive in the last three weeks than I have been in the last three months. I finally feel free to be happy again. I finally don’t feel like a nagging bitch all the time. I feel useful and creative again.

So why do I miss you so much?

Why do I wish you would just call and say you were wrong.

Could you be wrong?

That isn’t possible, is it? For you to be wrong about being in love with someone?

You know when you can’t live without someone.

And you are.

Living.

Without me.

And you are happy, I suppose.

I should be, too.

So why am I not?

Brain, please don’t dream of him tonight.  Eyes, please don’t search for him tonight. Arms, please don’t reach for him tonight. Heart, please don’t hurt for him tonight.

💔

 

After A While & Dear Woman

These are not my poems. But they have resonated with me lately. I hope they speak to you and touch your soul like they have mine.

 

After a While by Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.

 

Dear Woman by Michael E. Reid

Dear Woman,

Sometimes,

You’ll just be too much woman,
Too smart,Too strong.
Too much of something
That makes a man feel like less of a man,
Which will start making you feel like you have to be less of a woman.
The biggest mistake you can make
Is removing jewels from your crown
To make it easier for a man to carry.
When this happens, I need you to understand,
You do not need a smaller crown –
You need a man with bigger hands.

That one poem

I have always preferred to write poetry in the style of Walt Whitman- free, full of feeling and noises. But Emily Dickinson’s gentle cynicism has always been dear to my heart. She was different and yet similar to myself.

There is a poem that I was taught in 11th grade when learning about American Literature from Ms. Pulliam- one of my all-time favorite teachers- and it became my immediate goal to memorize it. A short, sweet and utterly brilliant poem, it brought wonder and awe to my young, contentious mind.

I now feel the need to share it and document in blood (kinda since the internet is forever) how meaningful it is to me and to share it with you.

 

Apparently with no surprise

By: Emily Dickinson

 

Apparently with no surprise

To any happy Flower

The Frost beheads it at its play—

In accidental power—

 

The blonde Assassin passes on—

The Sun proceeds unmoved

To measure off another Day

For an Approving God.

 

 

Ponder that.

💘xoxo

– Am