Smile, Thanks, Love

There are a few simple things you do that make smile, be thankful and I find just down right sexy.

• The way you smile at me, not necessarily because I said something funny; that smile you give when I say or do something sweet, it's infectious. Even when I pretend I didn't see it, or it's no big thing, I smile broadly on the inside.
• The way you laugh until you cry or have to stop to catch your breath. I love that I can make you laugh that hard; I love that you have a sense of humour and could care less about laugh lines.
• The way you stroke/rub my head when I'm upset or having a bad day. The way you go a little out your way to make me smile; hold my head to your breast and touch my head gently and lovingly. I love when you kiss me on my forehead.
• I love the way you look so sultry wrapped up in your towel (yes, your towel) - don't ask me what it is but there is something so sexy to me about a woman in a towel and nothing else.
• The way my t-shirts fits you like a mini-dress, falling just below your butt. Your tiny feet in my slippers.
• Those boy shorts, or lawd those boy shorts, fully covering your butt, but barely covering your butt

Just a few simple things you do, they make me smile, they make me laugh, they make be happy that I'm with you.

Best unsaid

The lyrics of the song "Secrets" by One Republic plays over in my head as I ponder my own secrets. "...My life is kinda boring, need something that I can confess...till all my sleeves are stained red from all the truth that I've said..."

Confession, they say is good for the soul, I'm not sure the same can be said for the heart and the mind. Some things really are better left unsaid, un-confessed - secret. Collectively my friends and family can disclose a lot of the secrets that I've kept over the years - but even then their collective knowledge of me can not unravel the secrets I still keep, or comprehend the confusion that at times is my mangled mind.

The secrets I keep, the thoughts I have entertained; many of which I will take to my grave - are better left unsaid, confessed to none. Secrets are necessary, they are meant to shield the innocent from the deeds and misdeeds of the guilty. Secrets are not kept by inherently bad people - bad people could care less that they deeds/misdeeds are known by all and sundry; it's the inherently good who struggle with their human condition  who find it necessary to keep secrets - invariably to protect the ones they love. These untold truths are a necessary evil, a bi-product of the good intentions that pave the road to hell as it were.

What we choose to not say is a blessing and a curse. It is the path I have chosen;  I'll accept the tedium of this life I live, my sleeves need not be stained red with truth.

28th day 2013

It amazes me sometimes how my mood changes like the weather as they say - with no warning and seemingly with no reason. I moved from giving myself a pep talk this morning to this space where all I want to do is nothing; just fade to black. This deep feeling of melancholy has enveloped me, and I'm no hurry, not the least bit inclined to unseal that envelope of wretchedness. I think I'm bordering on the line of....oh gosh, the word escapes me now, what the fuck is it - why can't I remember. Ah! Bipolar! Ok back to trying to do work for the money I earn.

Faith! Where are you?

I'm having a crisis of faith. I have been struggling with this for some time now - but it seems to have come to a head. My crisis of faith though is not so much to do with a loss of belief in the existence of a supreme being (although it has waned some what) - side note even the use of the word god bothers me now; my crisis in faith centres around prayer, the power, purpose, and ultimately the utility of prayer.

The free dictionary defines prayer as: 1.) a reverent petition made to god, a god or another object of worship; 2.) the act of making a reverent petition to god, a god or another object of worship. Really what it seems to me to be is respectfully begging a being we assume to hold the reins of power over our very existence and our every success or failure. Prayers, it would seem is perpetual plea of either gratitude, or a desperate plea for reprieve from the mounting trials of life. I have the biggest issue with the latter. It seems an exercise in futility to pray to a higher being for a better life, that promotion, new job, husband, wife etc - if it is assumed that this supreme being knows all and sees all, and everything that happens in this life is pre-ordained, a destiny written since the beginning of time. Essentially, where you are in this life is exactly where it has been pre-ordained for you to be; and if relief from the trials of your life is to come, then that to is pre-ordained, so why pray for it, it must happen - and then of course there is the possibility that you were placed here to see misery as a lesson to you and others of the power of this supreme being; or that we may learn some meaningful life lesson through suffering, which would make us either better human beings or more devoted in our devotion to this God. 

Prayer to me seems nothing more than convincing your self that where you are in life is not your fault; things will get better; and in case it doesn't don't worry, your reward for enduring this suffering will be granted onto you in an another life - an eternal one. It's acceptable way to relinquish responsibility for your actions or inactions, success or failure, deeds and misdeeds.  

Maybe my crisis of faith is because I have lost faith in God (at least the biblical notion of God) I feel and have felt abandoned by this manifestation for quite some time (maybe it's because I don't always get what I want from life; then again I should take solace in God never gives you anything before its time - there I go relinquishing responsibility again). I stopped praying long time ago, I stopped believing that things happen because it is the will of god - I'm not convinced that some being hovers above or around us like some puppet master with a distorted sense of humour, tugging at the strings of my life. Perhaps there is a supreme being, perhaps not (maybe there is more than one; or maybe the one has multiple personality disorder). Maybe he/she/it created us and then moved on to the next project - leaving us to our devices; periodically sneaking a peek to see what a beautiful mess we've made of his/her/its creation. I can't speak with any authority on the existence or non-existence of God. Suffice to say I do not think that his/her/its existence has been dis-proven by science, nor has his/her/its existence been proven by religion. And I suppose this is the crux of my crisis of faith, or rather my crisis of prayer. How can I seek assistance, or give thanks to something that I'm not sure exists? Faith! Faith is what is necessary for this to happen convincingly and faith is what I'm running low on. Where has my faith gone?

My space I love to hate

I'm at it again, that place where the deluge of words meeting paper quiets the thoughts lingering in the subconscious of my cerebellum - where the hemorrhaging of disjointed sentences parading as conscious intellect brings some harmony to the cacophony of my mind.

These episodes of rhythm and rhyme purporting as moments of clarity lights the way to a temporary escape; that saving grace from the edge of insanity, just off the cliff of desperation. Ah, I'm back to this place where my every word inspires something out of nothing - where the very air is laced with literary musings; where I convince myself of my poetic genius.

Back to that place, that oh so familiar place, where I revel in negativity fighting it back with words, thoughts, clawing out of the abyss, rising like a phoenix. This place where I loathe to love. A contradiction in terms it is; I find moments of inspiration ostensibly in my dark hours - find profound moments, loving moments, vile wicked venomous moments. A veritable hodge-podge of ideas and emotions.

Moments of joy reflecting on the sensible drivel flowing from my head onto the page. I have a real love hate relationship with this space. Alas, it is a fleeting space - so while in it, I will revel ; make a lovely mess of the mixed moods that I experience. When it is gone I will bid it adieu, till next time. My space I love to hate.

Only, In my dream

I saw you watch me as I slept
You dreamt wide awake of us
In a different time and place, in a life not ours
I felt your lips on my cheek, as you whispered
I love you
In my dream, your lips felt warm, and those words meant everything
I saw the way you spoke with your eyes
Words you won't say out loud
In my dream, you confessed your darkest secret, your deepest fear
As I slept you held me tight, and said, don't leave me
In my dream you said, I'll never leave you, never stop loving you
I smiled, warmed by the thought of undying love
In my dream, we were blissfully unaware of reality, happy in fantasy
In my dream, I awoke to you, asleep, smiling, dreaming, happy dreams

I Write

When the tears won't come, I cry words
When words won't come, I hemorrhage sentences
I escape through this ink flowing on paper
Confide my darkest thoughts in the open
Tell my fears and secrets to the canvas of my mind
Seek counsel in these lines, recompense with the hush of the voices in my head
These pages, this ink ingrained in my soul
A reprieve from the journey of my life
When the tears won't come, and the words aren't enough
I'm thankful, to god, that I, can write