a butterfly’s
broken wings
do not
detract from their
beauty
magic cannot be lost
in the wind
or rain
the beat of my heart
remains strong
despite it’s ache
and your love never
waivers
even in the ugly face
of doubt
I am Pretty
basking in
your glow
simpering beneath
your smile
stinging from
your will
so pretty
in the clear calm warmth
of your gaze
you know just the words
and look
and touch
I need
to burn away that fog
and see myself
clearly
once again
I am Pretty
in the reflection
of your love
my wings are healed
because
of your love
The midnight hour gleams with the polished hope of a wistful, wishful girl, gazing at stars that would trace the edges of her magic if they could reach her.
But the window is shut and the curtains drawn. The silly dreams of of an immature mind are dismissed by the must-do’s and not-now’s of responsible adults who know better.
A dismissal she will know many times over, even from those who make promises through vows to cherish and through fingertip kisses and even through toe curling bliss.
That loneliness is a requirement, it seems. A right of passage into the realm of grown ups. Where the glitter of the night sky holds only the magic of sleep and where the moon speaks to no one but the wolves.
But you know the secret, don’t you? The sky isn’t where the magic lies.
It’s not in the clouds or the stars or the moon…
It’s right inside each and every one of us.
And the magic in your heart can only be dismissed if you let it.
I refuse your dismissal, cruel world.
I throw back the defeat of your drapes to glimmer, shine and light up all the darkest corners of the universe, right alongside my stars.
There is no goodnight in that magic. There is no dismissing me.
The air, sweet and thick with the breath of angels, clings to my clothes, making them sticky and heavy against my skin. My sun hides beneath a thick blanket, lacking the energy to burn through so that he might shine down upon me, cheer me, and will me to be better. And my moon remains missing, keeping watch over someone else, somewhere else, someplace far from me.
When the summer rain finally falls, each warm yet refreshing drop washes away a bitter memory. It cleans me and grounds me, folding over and around me like a security blanket. It whispers to me, about my purpose and my plans. It settles into me and strengthens me, cell by cell, until I am whole. Until I am wholly different. Until I am completely changed.
I hear the song of the future, and it rings through me like a lightning bolt. There is no past or present, there is only what could be, what can be, what will be.
Brought back to life from the brink of yesterday’s death, I look beyond today’s, and see a flood of tomorrows. Each bright, shining possibility glimmers with promise and hope, and sings to me that the rain will not last forever, so I must remember. I must maintain the magic of this moment, even when the magic dissipates, and the bleak, sunless sky frowns in darkness.
My sun will return and he will light up my skin as he has tomorrow after tomorrow before.
I will close my eyes to my moon, and sleep through his ever present disappearance, until he is forgotten.
The puddles of the sweet, burning knowledge that have coated me and cleansed me of my misery, will evaporate. But this moment will never be gone.
And as I stand here, beneath this summer rain, smiling at each drop and splash, I recognize that I never needed it in the first place. Because all of that knowledge and magic came from within my heart. Bottled up to be protected, but there is no protection suitable for faith. There is no umbrella large enough, no raincoat strong enough, to hold in and hold down the hurricane of love which erupts from within me.
A random occurrence
Not planned
But not an accident
Two edges
Fitting together
Perfectly
And peacefully
Combining
To create a new
Image
A new world
Not with simple
Smooth
Perimeters
Beveled lines
That rub against
Each other just
In order
To blend
But instead
The perfect
Male/female
Union
Mountain meets valley
Soft finds rigid
Smooth and supple
Against
Hirsute brawn
Locking together
Melding
To form an
Artwork
That is painted in
Frothy white layers
Over soft
Peach curves
A beauty
Beholden
Only to fortune
Or fate
And
That dark
Torrid want
Inside
All of these
Complicated
Glorious
Edges
Burns quietly
And brightly
Until
The boundaries
Fall away
To bliss
Captive to the
Sunrise
I bloom and burst
With the thrill of
My sun
Blessing
and
Burning
Through the fog
Of doubt and
Despair
To light me
From within
So I might glow
Another day
So I might
Grow
Again
Today
And hear the wind
Breathe
Over the sea
To roar in my ear
And whisper
Against my flesh
The promise
That tomorrow
Will always
Come
The wildness presses itself against every pore on my body. The inside, desperate to extrude itself.
To introduce itself to the world.
To be known, felt, seen.
To thrash about in the foreign openness.
Learning to breath.
Learning to walk.
Learning to live.
Tired of being taken out and stuffed back in over and over. The wild, in seeking freedom, is taking over.
It manipulates my very sight and breath, taste and hearing, letting me feel the world anew in every waking hour.
How have I lived for so long without ever truly quenching my thirst, sating my hunger, hearing the ever present truth, or touching…
Really touching?
Being touched?
Feeling what it is to be touched?
Obsessed with the attention, never paid properly, I’m impatient for the sensation of being the object of desire.
The wildness knows.
And as it threatens complete devastation in order to be free,
I no longer fear the uncertainty of that freedom. But I clutch at what I know, overwhelmed with the chaos of emotion roiling within me.
I cling to the present, ignoring the numbness of the past, and hiding from the knowledge that the wild within me is installing directly into my spirit.
I hide from him, because it’s habit.
I hide from them, because it’s natural.
I hide from you, because. . .
The wild awoke beneath your stare, the beast became within this creation I built for you, the inside turned outside purely because of your presence.
And as I cling to the covers, hiding from the dark and begging the light to return, like the scared little girl I’ve always been, I simply do not know how to stop.
Sweet, calm dreams.
Soft light. Brilliant colors.
Dancing in the rain.
Coloring beneath a blanket
of pale, twinkling stars.
Picnic in the glowing sun.
Dinner with laughter and excitement.
No more nightmares.
No more monsters.
No more.
It is a breath inside an airless room.
To escape those monsters.
Those metaphors.
Haunting me.
In doubt. In fear.
The best kind of therapy.
My monster slayer.
The brave hero of my story.
My patchwork knight.
A fighter for love and truth.
Saving me.
From myself.
Always with me. Never far.
Take the monsters.
Kill the metaphors.
Steal my heart,
Again and again.
The metaphors can’t get me.
As long as you are with me.
You hear me.
You see me.
You know me.
The sweet dreams you give me,
Are my true reality.
MelDouleur.com 