Category Archives: Tender

Five Men

I was at the market tonight, standing in the alcohol aisle clutching my little basket of chicken breast and whole wheat bread.  I was staring at a bottle of Macallan 12 year.  I wondered…if I bought it and showed up one night on your doorstep with that bottle, an aged olive branch in my hand…would you invite me in? Would you pour us a drink? Would we sit together awkward at first, then rediscovering that easy rhythm we once shared? Would you be glad to see me? Would we talk into the wee hours, sipping our drinks and hoping the night lasted long enough for a conversation that never truly had an end?

***

I checked my email seven times today.  Hoping to hear from you and being disappointed seven times.  This was not how I pictured this going.  This feels like a recurring nightmare –  it hurts like a pain in my past.   Are you going to be the next in line to try to bring me to my knees? Are you going to say that I brought you to yours?  If I showed up in Ontario, my heart wide open for you to see, would you tell me I was too late? Would you shake your head and tell me to turn around and go home? Would you take me in your arms and kiss me like you’ve always said you would? Was this all just a terrible illusion or was the love we believed in for the last 18 months real?

***

I reached out to you today about a trivial thing, a mere matter of logistics.  You struck like a viper, injecting your poison straight from your soul and into my heart.  How can it be possible that I knew you intimately for 17 years and never saw what a petty, vindictive little child you can be?  I reacted in anger, my buttons perfectly pushed.  And yet now, in the chill of the night, I see your pain.  I feel the pain you still carry – fresh as it was the day I flayed your heart open by saying yes to your question. But you don’t get to punish me for that any longer.  You don’t get to bully me or control me ever again.  You say I wasted ten grand and gained nothing more than what you were offering two years ago.  But the truth is, I spent what I needed to buy my freedom.  I did what was best for me and my children.  I stood up to you and refused to let you bully me.  I learned to fight and built up the stamina I need to go as many rounds as it takes to keep you in your corner.  This is my life now so…would you please fuck off?

***

You thought my Christmas present was over the top.  And to some people’s perspectives, I agree it looks that way.  But your gift was as much a present to me as it was to you.  Yes, I gave you the Mancala set.  With 48 stones, lovingly and thoughtfully, purposefully and intentionally picked for you.  Yes, I spent about 10 hours total time compiling a 20 page list detailing each stone and its physical and metaphysical properties.  But that part of the gift was for my benefit, not yours.  It brought me in touch with my hopes and dreams, and made me acknowledge my unnamed fears.  It gave shape, color, texture, and a name for the feeling I have for you.  It helped me reignite my love of the Earth and brought me back to my Mother’s bosom.  That was for MY benefit, Slappy.  While yes, the gesture was absolutely one of the most tender love, it was directed at both of us – not just you.  So don’t get too blown over backwards by it.  It was just a Mancala set. 😉

***

You are the faceless, nameless man of my future. Would you please approach me with a degree of intelligence, a hint of compassion, more than a little patience?  Would you be forgiving when I am socially awkward? Would you be honest with me, give me real human interaction, and drop this Game-Face Bullshit game everyone seems to play? Would you please fuck me hard enough to make me cum from my head to my toes? I hope you and I mesh well.  I hope we treat each other like a gift.  I hope we behave like a couple of conspiratorial partners in crime. Would you be the greatest adventure of my life and please, may I be yours?  I hope so.  I hope we never stop having fun together – even if there are rough times in between.  I don’t know it right now, but some day I will look at this and see your face, maybe even reach across the couch and take your hand.  I will read these words and know I was talking about you.  I just want to say: I love you.

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Unbefitting

There is no argument among the members of the jury:  I fucked up.

My mistake, a boundary somewhere on the path, blown past in my haste to understand. Sometimes, I rush to communicate and it backfires on me.

I am guilty.

Guilty of showing my insecurity.  Guilty of applying pressure, something I promised never to do.  Guilty of lashing out and not taking time to choose my words with care.

Guilty. As. Charged.

But the punishment Your Honor, was too severe.

The harsh degree of punishment did not befit the crime.

And in the face of these blows, I throw my hands up in defense and silently scream:  This doesn’t fit my crime!!!

I can’t change the judgment.  I can’t defend against this.  I can’t undo the crime itself.  I can’t get through to you.

I

Can’t

Stop

Missing

You.

I have moved on already.  Multiple times and in a variety of positions.  I have felt the tingling of emotion trying to blossom in my chest. And then I think of you.

And our friendship.

And our victory laps untaken.

And the dreams we confessed to each other.

And the sins we committed.

And the parting.

And the distance.

And my crime.

And the sheer void you left behind.

And the punishment that is still hurting.

And how it never fit the crime.

I pull back hard on the reigns of my heart.  I pull into myself like a snail recoiling from unexpected touch. I push that tiny blossom down under a weighty cloak of boundless cynicism.

I could try to argue.  But it would be pointless.  In the end I have to accept my punishment.  In the end, I have to submit to the Judge and Jury.  In the end, it is just another end – I’ve survived enough of them to know I’ll get through this one too.

But you were to ask me, Your Honor, how I feel about my life sentence I would raise my voice and say: “THIS PUNISHMENT SUCKS!”

And it did not fit the crime.

 

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Filed under Erotica, Poetry, Tasty Morsels, Tender

Casting Off

The art of letting go.

Why is it that I find it so much easier to let go of the ledge and fall into the void they call love, and so goddamned difficult to let go of that swirling ghost ride when it is over?

It’s a good question.  One I do not have the answer to.

I had thoughts today. Dark, dangerous, impulsive thoughts.  Thoughts that, while they swirled through my mind in an angry I buzz, revealed to me the fact that I have still not let go.  I have not disengaged where I really need to most.  Where it matters most.

And I need to.

In boating, there is always one last rope that you must cast off before you are free of the dock.  My rope is still tethered to the dock, my boat bobbing in the water, waiting to ride the currents.  If only I could cast off that line, I could be free to begin the journey I am meant to travel.

It creates a sense of frustration, a feeling of impotent rage.  The struggling within myself to accept what is not going to change, to accept the things that have changed, and to accept that the twists and turns of fate have brought me here, to this point of being that feels so unfamiliar to me.  My life itself feels unfamiliar to me.  Like I have put brand new shoes on the wrong feet and I am running in a marathon, trying to figure out why I am struggling and everyone else is breezing past me.  The answer is so clear.  Let go.  Let go of the anger.  Let go of the pain.  Let go of the people who didn’t value me enough to stay present in my life.  Let go of the transients that were just passing through.  Just let fucking go.

Let go of the emotions that are stuffed down so deep inside my immune system is fighting against itself.  Let go of the hurt and the doubt.  Let go of the blackness that is swirling around me, sucking me into a vortex of darkness.  Let go of the guilt.  Let go of the blame.  Let go of the versions of myself that are not true to who I am.  Stop trying to be the fantasy and just be me.  Let go of the past so I can see the woman staring back at me in the mirror clearly.  Maybe for the first time in my life.

I need to swap those running shoes, grab that bitch of a rope and cast off.  Let this journey begin before my time runs out.

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