reinventing-wednesday

[reinventing-wednesday]

Inspiration drawn from the poem "Hope" is the thing with feathers, by Emily Dickinson.

You can read it here.

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

It wasn't the first time I've had to say goodbye but it felt like it. All the others had been practice, and this one, this one counted more than all of the rest. It hit every sore spot I tried not to dredge up.

My chest felt tight, my heart compressing with each passing second, saying, "this is it, my dear, this is the last of us". I tried to hold on longer, my eyes darting to the parking spaces in front of my house, looking for my co-worker/ride. I didn't want him to show up. I prayed for a flat tire. I prayed for torrential rains. Only an act of God would grant me more time, and you a change of heart.

None of that happened.

Instead, I crammed as much of you inside me that I could. Taking in the curve of your hands, the musky smell of sweat, the way you sat carelessly on the edge of the bed, waiting for things to pass over, be done.

I remember dreading coming home to an empty house.

In a panic I begged you to stay. Promising everything I could just to give it one more shot. Pleading with you not to go, knowing it was pointless, and how pitifully desperate I looked. Still, I stammered and cried until time ran out.

My ride was waiting outside. I got half a hug and was told to "take care of myself". It felt hollow, considering the life we had shared together all of those years. I wanted more than that. I deserved more than that but that's what I got.

I held out for three fours before I texted. Telling you to be careful, telling you to be happy.

No response.

I knew when I got home there would be no answer to the note I had left. You'd be gone and I'd be alone, knowing I'd never get over it but being powerless to do anything about it.

I was right, you know. There was no return note and you were gone. I didn't get over it, and probably never will.

I moved on as best as I could, but a big part of me still wishes you'd read this. A big part of me wonders what I would do if we were given a second chance. It would be different this time or at least, I'd hold on to you a little longer if it had to be goodbye.

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

Untitled 30" x 40"

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

Purgatory 20" x 20" acrylic on stretched canvas.

[reinventing-wednesday]

Blackout Poem Series #2

The poem reads:

God

filled his lungs

and poured out

hope

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

do you hear echoes // as I do? // your footsteps fall // heavy and hard // across the living room floor // but what's in a name // if you aren't really living much // these days //

I ache in the places // you last touched // you turn your head // to see if I've laughed once // but measurements only count // when the scales are balanced // and both of us have tipped them // so far // there's no hope // to align them //

I swear this isn't what I wanted // you don't hear me anymore // and I'm all mouth // shouting love // while you scream about abandonment // and longing // without effect //

[reinventing-wednesday]

I combined my love of creating blackout poetry with my love of painting.

The poem reads:

burned out

they headed back to

nowhere

This and other paintings are available at:

[reinventing-wednesday]

[reinventing-wednesday]

I combined my love of creating blackout poetry with my love of painting.

The poem reads:

burned out

they headed back to

nowhere

This and other paintings are available at:

[reinventing-wednesday]

under the blue sky // I lie, looking up // seeing dragons // scorching the tree tops // without concern // for the creatures below //

I stand-- a house divided // a series of boards laid down // sturdy and full of an unknown purpose //

there's a soapbox // in the corner // made of cards // at the center the newly named queen // calls for the noose // how far her crown will fall //

where should one put // the nails you have left // when you're still lost in the maze // a ghost // lacking the depth needed // to make a sound.