Me From My Words

What I write when I'm someone else. What I think when I'm me. Short stories. Poetry. Random insights. And other stuff.

Friday, September 26, 2003

Little Girl
Little girl with a chip on her shoulder
Little girl with a burden on her back
So young to be so jaded
Little girl...
You wanted to believe
in everything they told you.
You wanted to believe
that faerie tales and god were true.
But after all you’ve been through
even now you still do
want to believe...
Little girl with only half a shoulder
Little girl with a broken back
So young to be so jaded
Little girl...
Still (STILL!!!) you want to believe.
Hold My Hand
Pain.
Actual physical pain.
A constant throbbing ache,
A sudden stabbing sting.
Fingers splayed,
Fists clenched,
Nails clawing the empty air.
Desperation,
Longing,
Something more intense than desire.
The vacant space
Begging to be filled.
A phantom,
A shadow,
A ghost.
A reality too distant to be real.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

There Are Times
There are times
when I'm awakening
or drifting off to sleep
or walking
or talking
or blinking
or drawing breath
There are times
when I can't not be in your arms
when I can't not be kissing you
or holding you
or looking at you
or with you in the same room
There are times
when the moon is full
or new
or harvest
or waxing
or waning
or eclipsed
There are times
when I can think of nothing
when I can be nothing
when I AM nothing
but yours
Guenivere
Arthur was so far away
When Lancelot was near
Lancelot was not afraid
But Arthur held his fear

Arthur was too perfect
He'd reified her dream
But Lancelot was something else
And not quite what he'd seemed

She truly, truly loves the king
And will for all her life
Yet the knight is in there, too
Though she is not his wife

Because this woman loves them both
All Camelot is doomed
Though if she ever let them go
Her heart would be entombed

She'd loved him first, and always would
Her once and present king
As time drew on the knight she knew
Would grow in her esteem

She felt the pain she'd caused them both
And suffered worse with them too
Her heart had already been a mess
And now was split in two

She'll be with he who will be there
Because her will is frail
And though these words are at an end
There's no conclusion to this tale