In the Garden a year later

Twisted red loops fitted with black elastic
mother of pearl dripping
from her earlobes
painted on her nails
abalone
labradorite
dusts the wood with metals
precious
reflective and pearlescent
visits peoples gardens
works the soil in the sun
planting with children
dreaming of her own garden
earthly delights
flowers mist the air
with sex and rain
click goes the camera
a tangle of emotions
captured, reflected
sent out to touch
to taste
to dance upon your eyes
to touch again and again
this gypsy mermaid
casts her bioluminescent net out to sea
in hopes of a remarkable catch
sings prairie songs
on the swingset
leaves trails of petals to her front door
the swings leave bruises on her arms
dream lovers
tesser actors
softest mouth
most careful caresses
No one is watching
secret hideout
say my name in that place
when you come

Country Roads

The sun was so warm. The heat was pressing against my body as if I were in a pressure cooker. Instead of feeling exhausted and gross I just shed clothes and got in the water. My skin darkened, my senses awakened to the sounds of millions of cicadas, the smell of fresh cut grass and bbq, and the taste of fresh picked peaches and sweet icetea. Sweaty, sumptuous and free I soaked up the flavors and sounds of my hometown. Day trips to childhood places that I thought would shred my soul turned out to be journeys to enlightenment, strength and whole truths. The nights were drenched in laughter, furtive glances, healing music and sneaky missions. Whiskey trickled and tequila flowed down our thirsty throats. Our glasses full, stories on the table and the corridors of our hearts open wide as we reconnected. Like a wound that took a decade to bridge and grow anew we reached out to each other to form a sexy scar that no longer hurt, just made a story.  We came together with careful tentacles reaching pensively in search of love, patience, honesty and mind blowing excitement. We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams.  The hardest task on my journey home was to face the most horrific relic of my childhood. My dads house and the surrounding land has only offered miserable pain in my adult life. Shame, fear, resentment and great loss are soaked into the walls, yard and garage.  On the way my friend asks me "Why do you want to see it?", "Are you sure you need to go there?" ... I had no solid answer other than I must go. To my absolute astonishment I found the house had been rebuilt and the land cleared of all signs of what used to be. The wildflowers were ten feet high and the Texas grapes still littered the dirt road. My heart was filled with light. I was spared the hell that I was willingly walking into.   As if I couldn't have felt more healed, a dove lighted near us in the yard and was obviously very comfortable to be close. It was like a layer of emotional sludge had been lifted. It reminded me of the bath house in "Spirited Away" when she finds the bicycle and pulls it out of the side of the massive pile of sewage and all the garbage is released in a great expulsion. Then the river god was free of the poisons that had not spoiled it's beauty, just buried it. 

Beastly

They want to eat me alive. That's how they look at me. I feel like a curvaceous, wanton woman on the outside. Inside I am magma, razor wire and poison smoke. He infected me with his disease. I am now numb. No one can touch me. I used to throw my arms out to embrace and love. Now I turn away, cold and angry. I feel this rumbling storm inside me. I just have to paint, dance and write it out. An old friend came calling with crackling fire stories. I am indifferent, aloof, unimpressed. What a pity. This gipsy cowgirl craves release, revolution, seduction and to seduce. I am empty, hurt and dangerous. I don't know what to do with this power, this horrible, cold blade in my mouth. I'm afraid I will shred all suitors who dare to take my hand. Best keep to myself during this time. I'm sure I learned how to be more guarded after what happened.  At least there's that. However I never thought in a million years I'd have to fight myself this way. I am strong. I am a survivor, but it's going to take a lot of self discipline to forge a new path to hope.

Go it alone

I have had to tough out, cower, fight and run. There's never been someone to run to. I have no mother, no father. I feel like an abandoned project from space. Like I was being built to last somewhere far away by highly skilled creatures who were interrupted by some kind of cataclysm. Like I was sent in a pod to Earth so that I could live, but always to be alone. When I am at my most sad, which is rare, there's no one to call for comfort. Ever. My mother left me and I still hurt so much. I remember the last time I laid on her chest and listened to her heart. I remember the last time her voice and arms brought comfort. I don't know why this is hitting me so damn hard lately. This Texas trip has got me shaking in my boots. I'm so tired of being the black sheep. I want to go home and feel the support from all of those loved ones that used to be my family. I know everything is going to be ok, but I also know I'll be making sure of that on my own.

Stinging eyes

Ragamuffin Singing on the swingset
 Tired eyes
Slowly burning
Worn edges
 Rough cut
She can't be tethered
Nor tied
Always a Rosalyn
 This precious gem
  Cleavage planes
glinting in the moonlight
  Singing into the wind
Barefoot soldier
 A rainstorm in her soul
 Lighting in her veins
Thunder from her heart

Untitled

Layers of love stories
piles of precious velvet
lay thick and  heavy upon my heart.
I pull away each layer
 to dig out my soul,
 but I keep lingering on memories.
 They hum and whisper sweet songs that were made just for me.
  I get caught by a stitch or burn.
 Lose myself in remembering
our special patterns.
 I can hear the honeybees buzzing in my red delicious heart.
They remind me
I am queen.
So i continue digging
through soft, luxurious fabric
doing my best
not to linger here
or digress.
I'm on a mission
 I want to love
to be loved back
but I fear
adding another layer over my heart.
I don't want to bury her
She's a good and sturdy vessel.

Broken

This fantasy cowgirl
With lightning bug powers
Brought forth with fervent joy
All of her milky treasures
Exposed the secret places of her desires
She let herself be taken
Dropped her protective shell
Shared her cursive lines 
Gave it all away like a fool
See his face in puddles
bend down to kiss the street
A garbage heap in her  heart
She let him build
Can't help but wait and see
 should be working
Upon her beautiful soul to keep