Mar 102014
 

Her love for him was fresh and untainted. It was a sunny day with a hill of untouched snow. It was delicate. It was a pretty picture.

Their tracks went back and forth on top of the hill. They hung on to each other for better footing. Neither wanted to upset the fragile allowance beneath them. In time, steps became stomps and walking gave into a run.

On her way down, she felt a hand at her back, not one that offered aid. Her body cleared a path down the hill. The snow hid the branches that tore at her clothes. The slicked grass permitted her no foothold.

She slid. He watched from the top. He was stoic. She relinquished flesh and tears to the tumble. There was no pardon for her. It was inescapable. Every rock, branch, and punch of earth was a recitation of what she already knew; but had to live through to pocket the experience.

Be careful who you climb hills with.

 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Feb 092014
 

In the dead of goodbyes, I would have swallowed my pride.

I would have set the past aside. No hard feelings inside.

***

But you, couldn’t see what was true. Couldn’t feel me and you.

You were afraid of what we’d do. I was afraid of it too.

***

I could feel you grow. You let it show. You let me know.

But you had to go. Excuses I’ll never know. Cards you’ll never show.

 ***

No more wailing inside. I patched up my pride. Your bullshit won’t ride.

No more reasons to hide. I set that part of me aside. A lesson learned in stride.

Jan 092010
 

I told him I didn’t know what to do.

He said he would figure out something.

I said it was in his hands now.

He said … no better place.

I told him I was scared.

He said I should be, I was fucked.

I wasn’t getting out.

He said he wasn’t giving it back.

For the first time in a long time… I felt safe.

Those words were like cardboard cupcakes, bright, shiny, and beautiful from a distance.

Couldn’t make a dent in them if I tried, even with all the rocks I threw. They held strong.

But when I walked up close, to see what the problem was…

Those cupcakes were  not at all what they seemed to be. I stood there alone, playing back his words, and cried.

I’m eating his words. Drinking his words. Smoking his words. Feeling them, blow by blow, sucking them in, having them carved into me from the inside, swallowing them down as they scrape my throat, my insides… slowly, painfully… all the way down to where they will scar my guts and everything I got on the inside.

I could try to hide it, but I don’t care, really.

Let him enjoy his work.

Let me learn my lesson.

They hurt when I swallow them. Just as he said, those words are strong and unyielding, so they don’t easily bend when I urge them deeper inside of me. Their pointy sides dig into me and puncture me. They needle me.  They just fucking hurt.

I’m eating those words to teach myself a lesson.

Never take anything sweet from a stranger.