The Girls We Were Without Knowing

high strung doesn’t even come close
to how high strung i really am…
but i lay like the dead lifeless,
empty inside, afraid,
seeing your departure as
the substance of my ugliness
and your withdrawal as
seceding heart to heart and
heart in heart.

anxiety is a fix-needing junkie
inside me, twitching and
twerking at the intersection
of thought and rational discourse,
wielding its squeegee
(some eldritch Excalibur)
over my heart wet and sloppy and screechy…
in its wake i am driving blind.

your hand feels absent.
my heart feels absence…
but your eyes are present,
wide in shock and gaping,
and finally open hurt outrage
asking plaintive, in naked anguish
what does it all mean, the cumulative
crowd of days and throng of years
in the long lost land called trans.
(and we didn’t even know
we were living there!)

your god-damned beautiful
perfumed forehead

(smelling always of heaven’s bakeries hot and warm
and working for that Feasting Day Coming)

it’s furrowed, that one line
near your left eye (silver-grey sea)
jumps up, twists and shouts
“this is not about you!
why is it always about you!
no it is not about you!”

you move off
like clouds racing the wind
black and billowy
to the mountains
to rain there on naked rock,
but I dwell
in the valley lonesome
and shadow deep
and dream of days
past and uncertain
to ever be days to come,
days of waffle weekends,
movies and popcorn (make my day)
chocolate and coffee…

and I am missing
long hours of talk
at the beach
in the wind, and later
at the fire
over wine…and later still
at hearts bonded deep
and words not needed
and action (then, now, coming)
rendered irrelevant.

I will indeed again
confess my love for you,
my desire for your company
and time and song

…and seeing…

oh to learn to be
grown women together,
all the while being informed
by the girls we were without knowing
and without needing to know
as long as we knew
how to remember wonder…

but you will never read this
(you never come here, why would you?)
so i can paint with fingers, feelings
and this canvas of grace
showing every clumsy stroke,
every wrong move
public and on display

and maybe
(Mama be gracious)
someday these words will be etched,
stained crimson on my crystal heart shattered
and each piece shouting love love love,
will sing to you of
all i thought
all i felt
all i forgot
all i am

all my loveImage 002

 

9 thoughts on “The Girls We Were Without Knowing

    • Oh, GK…that is the nicest thing you have ever said in a comment to me. You honor me.

      It’s funny cus I started replying to comments from the bottom up and had just commented to Kat that I didn’t know if men could relate to it or not!

    • Ohhh…yes Sis, I have sensed a sort of poetic twining as well…your poems have hit me right were I was going.

      While I cannot say very much, it is indeed a poem about a loved one, a cherished one, about the past, present, and about future hope.

      grateful tears, and comforted to have a walking buddy thru this odd and beautiful land called Poetic

    • Thanks Sis…this is written to a very specific person (no one here on WordPress), but I tried to make it so anyone could put themselves in the voice of the poem and identify.

      I don’t know if men can, if those dynamics are the same? I can just hear them saying “…the bros we were without knowing??? Duuuudddddeee…” lolol

      • I think the voice is very clear.

        I don’t claim to know how men think but being really good friends with a few who are very different from each other, I have to agree with you. It’s totally different with guys. Lol

  1. Oh my gosh!

    This is…
    so many things.

    I am spent.
    And this:

    “oh to learn to be
    grown women together,
    all the while being informed
    by the girls we were without knowing
    and without needing to know
    as long as we knew
    how to remember wonder…”

    Magic ❤

    • awww…it’s about friggin time you read that!! LOLOL!!

      Naww…seriously I am glad you finally had a chance, as you are first and last and always the one reader whose feedback I need like air. You know who I wrote this to…perhaps one day she will read it and also be told of the love and heart behind it.

      So glad you were transported

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