recurring

I keep having the same nightmare. This dream has the same main players, myself and one other face. Together, we traverse the allusion, directing the course of events that will result in my abrupt awakening. Rousal from sleep, accompanied only by palpitating fear and cold sweat. The circumstances are sometimes different, the setting shifting, the supporting characters faces, skewed and inconsistent. But the dream remains. The theme stays the same. A premise that both chills me down to the core and steers me away from the comfortable path you present. I am not sure if God communicates through our dreams, in this modern age, however, the repetition of this reverie is difficult to ignore. So realistic and attainable, I cannot turn a blind eye. The very thing I daydreamed about in years past, now strikes such fear into my heart. The concept of Forever, with you, no longer brings the joyous bliss of teenage fantasy. Instead I can feel my very soul being suppressed. This newfound independence and strong-willed spirit annihilated and subdued by the new values you ascribe to. Why would you continue wanting me, when it is not reciprocated? When my true feelings arise even in the depths of my subconscious, the emotions that surface in the quiescent dawn.

arduous reverie

“Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again”
- Matthew Arnold

Makeup gone, my face scrubbed away
From the counterfeit performance of the day
My head rests on the cool-sided pillow.
Dreading and desiring both the soon inevitable
Thoughts rampant, my heart sensibilities unstable
Your feautures always haunting me in my dreams
The comfortable face that taunts me in waking hours
Eyes closed. I see incontestably what could be ours
You are ever consistently, my most Beautiful Nightmare.
Greet me, my love. Come, as you have appeared
Giving yourself to me. Gloriously a thousand times before.
Gazing into my soul, with that smile I adore
Only in the terrifying realm I cannot control,
The place where my subconscious takes over
Giving me the pleasure of an unreality
Wishful thinking of confidentiality
Upon waking, this alone will get me through
The hopeless longing of the day.

winter

Sly glances out
Corner of the eye
In the shadow, you are here
I snuggle closer. To him
To what is comfortable
And reciprocated
And sure, and warming.
This will do.

I loop my arm in his
Fending off the stares
Unwanted hollers
Eye undressing
I wish it was your arm
Not his, protecting
But for now,
This will do.

pigments

Irises lock.
Across this wide space.
Mine icy lavender and blue.
Yours warm brown and gold
And just for a fleeting moment,
We connect.
Unspoken words,
Rise above the din and clatter.
My hands grip tighter,
Comforted by the warmth
of the styrofoam coffee cup.
Embarrassment creeps up
Face flushed with pink chagrin.
I smile beneath my skin.
Nothing will come of this, I know.
Self-imposed reality
as my tongue is marred by shyness
and a reliable lack of confidence.
But only for a moment.
We connect.
Antipodean irises.
Yours warm brown and gold.
Mine icy lavender and blue.

canvas

Blank-slated soul
Void of all emotions
Or perhaps, too many
Deep chasm of indifference
Alabaster, achromatic.
Blasé, discontent.

Here, only, in the crust of creation
I see most clearly
The whole of the land
Laid out before my feet
Your first blank canvas
Constructed flawlessly
Erected beautifully

Above, tiny pinpricks of light
The descendents promised
Further evidence of One greater
Stronger than my fears
Longing for my heart and soul
Loathing only of my doubt and misery

My future is your canvas of late.
Smooth and stark white.
I will remain.
Until your unwaveringly steady hand
Strokes a glorious picture,
Brilliantly hued.
Perfectly clear.

nostalgic

scatological catalogue
of unrequited memories
best left buried