Dirty Rags

Laughing, talking, enjoying each other,

Not realizing I had found a new lover,

Offering smoothly to walk me home,

Agreeing, without realizing we were alone.

As we trudged down a path familiar,

I had a feeling very peculiar.

I realized I did not truly like your person,

My heart was not exactly bursting.

I did not like the you in front of me

But only the you I wished you could be.

As you casually gesture and ask to enter,

I am taken back for a moment, then centered.

I consent and we enter together

I have let the beast take my feather.

All of this is a heavy reminder the morning after

Of the boy who I truly loved and who could see

Yet that was long ago, a different time, a different me.

Long ago I lost the cleanliness of my rags.

Confessions

Occasionally, I no longer wish to continue in the race of celibacy.

From time to time I hear the stories of casual sex and I feel alone, oddly. As if I am the only one who is still complete and not a fraction.

I should be encouraged, yet I feel discouraged.

I believe I am longing for something I have never had.

I will continue, I will not give up.

The most beautiful thing in the world is being tempted. Is slipping out the question, the statement that I don’t want to wait anymore.

No, that is not the beautiful part.

The beautiful thing is the response: “We will wait together. I love you. Until the end, I love you.”  

Definitions

Beauty is lying next to someone and laughing hard and loud in the dark. 

Friendship is watching a film you both enjoy over again, just to get back a glimpse of what made you love it the first time. 

Love is two who become one on a night set apart by celebration and cheers and laughs and a set of rings and all of it has an undertone of commitment for a lifetime. 

Purity is finding the one whom your soul loves and craving indulgence yet refraining out of recognition of a greater Love from the Father above. 

Never to Fade

I used to believe in 11:11 wishes, 

Used to dream of midnight kisses, 

I believed in these things and much more, 

But all that was in a time long, long, before, 

Before the boy ripped at my chest, 

Smiling, thinking he knew what was best, 

Tearing me limb from limb, reaching for my core, 

My insides are completely red, raw, and sore, 

Mutilated, none of these fairy tale dreams remain, 

My once white canvass has a permanent stain, 

a stain made in a fit of red passion all too fast, 

I guess intimacy and love were never meant to last, 

All my birthday wishes never did come true, 

Every day no longer bright, but gray & blue, 

Waking up in this big bed all alone, 

Searching for a nonexistent note by the hotel phone.

The young, beautiful boy disguised as a sheep, 

Snuck out quietly as a wolf, leaving me stuck in sleep. 

White

Once a girl was happy, light, and loved.

She was white and beautiful and shown like a dove.

she never did anything wrong, only did what was right.

she learned it’s not okay to be colorful here, only white.

So she got a job, had a boyfriend, got married

Very soon she felt heavy and burdened and buried

In this whirlwind we call life, and she said goodbye to her.

She became the girl who goes to a party and soon slurs.

She was told one day that she had had no life

She looked down at the sharp, pointed knife.

She considered, if only for a moment, to really wave bye

But then she thought with a drawn out sigh

No. I want to live and love and dream and BE

So she got in her car and she drove far away to see

What was out there in the city of life and happiness, NYC

So she bought those red heels, and she wore them everyday

and she kissed that one boy one day on the subway

she made up for lost time and she learned all along

You don’t have to be cool, hip, or even belong

One just has to believe, live, love, kiss, dream,

Because you may wake up one day to a too bright beam,

You realize the brightness and white light

Is your blank canvass, called Your Life.

You thought you did everything right, did nothing too tart.

But in the end, all you made was Nothing, completely void of art.