The Nature of Hope

A clockwork butterfly
With hodgepodge parts,
Metal and tissue paper wings
And the dream of flight
Spreads its wings and waits for a breeze.

Without the strength
For a textbook takeoff,
It flutters and flaps
With parts that don't quite fit
Like they should.

Striving for the freedom
Of a life in the clouds,
It strains skyward
Toward the blue and white
Toward the dream of something more.

A sudden breeze blows through
Tattered and heavy wings
Giving birth to hope
And its heart soars
As feet lift from the ground slightly.

The gust transforms in an instant,
To something more terrifying
Something surreal and sudden
Something too abrupt for tissue paper wings
Rent so quickly from their metal supports

The wind is gone,
A brief taste of heaven
Tore the newly formed wings
Completely from the body
Red and black, wasted, lost to the winds of hope

Eyes skyward, it wonders
How it could have better prepared
For such an ill-fated plan.
The maker had ensured it had the right parts
But it could not have anticipated the nature of the wind.

Avaritia

I want the dirty, filthy things. I want rug-burned knees and a bruised backside.
I want the pretty, girly things. I want poetry and sunsets.

I want someone to watch over me.

I want someone to make me cry. I want someone worth crying to, about and for.

I want the silly, crazy things. I want Ihop at 3am and people watching.
I want the sappy, lovey things. I want kisses and stolen glances.

I want someone to pick me up when I fall.

I want someone who will let me fall. I want someone who can support me without restricting me.

I want the breathless, painful things. I want a hand around my throat and a racing pulse.
I want the thrilling, tender things.  I want a soft caress and an endless kiss.

I want someone who knows the difference.

I want someone who can teach me. I want someone who can help find the answers for both of us.

Acedia

Luxuriate in ignoring the daylight seeping through the shades,
mingling with the dust in the air to create sunbeams.

Revel in the warmth of the down comforter cradling you in comfort unsurpassed,
keeping you safe in your little cave.

Savor the sweet sounds of the waking world outside and know
they are not for you, they do not matter.

Cherish the fact that you have no concrete plans for the day,
that you are unbidden by anyone to do a single thing.

Enjoy the feel of your flesh sliding slowly against itself,
how soft, how delicious and sensual you can truly be.

Love the knowledge that others are working hard,
living the rough life and you can lie here in your pillowed bliss, safe and sound.

Luxuria

The dull pain of a welt or bruise leftover from a particularly delicious encounter
The sting of the impact of a hand or tool of torture leaving weals against tender flesh
Red crisscrossing stripes left as a reminder
Porcelain flesh interrupted by finite scratches

The burn of raw skin from the repeated motions against rough fabric
The ache of sore muscles used in singularly-minded motions
Black fabric binding ankles and wrists
Satin sliding slowly along curves on a body

The writhing pleasure of begging for a release
The desperation of needing to serve, to please
Pursed lips being licked, ready... willing
Muscles twitching, tense... eager

The sharp gasp of pained pleasure
The shock of a release wrought from a wanton body
Lips parted, trembling... speechless
Body quivering, conquered ... breathless

Midwinter

Grey over grey, a seamless patchwork of monotony plays out before us with the merciless robbery of all interest. White melting into brown, grey asphalt; the only break from downtrodden snow and general discontent of nature. Fleeting glance of sunlight blocked out by clouds that refuse to merely linger, but insist on dominating the skys above, relentless in their silent taunting. Hope of spring lost to the etch-a-sketch grey of the world. Sky melts into horizon, melts into foreground and that beneath your feet. Odd...birds flying, outlined in the color of the dirtied snow the cars run over and slush up onto your shoes. It seems as if this grey, this in-between world would consume even the most arduous of people. Still, there are whistles of cheer and smiles now and again, when the wind's demanding howl isn't too icy to keep them inside. Scarves blown away in the zephyrs, lost forever to the North wind, for all his restlessness. Sweet cocktail of apathy mingled with stress and a drop of ice

Reality Carnival

White cotton hugs the curves, which stretch the multicolored polka dots into ovals. Artificial zephyrs tug at the sheets, swaying them like maroon sails. Lit from the inside, they wave and flutter lazily as the breeze washes over my skin, still soft from the shower.

The vast expanse of this once-tiny bed impresses its solitary mark on me and I sigh with a melancholy smile curling lips that once smiled for others. Lips that kissed and touched, begged to be broken and stitched back together; lips that will do the same again someday.

Cherry blond wood nearly a century old creaks with the shifting weight of its burden, as the body atop shifts and silently wishes for another. Another touch, the sweet stinging caress... the dull itch of the marks left behind.

With the right backlighting, anything seems possible. Colored film against the lens through which the world is seen changes so much. Red, blue, yellow. No rose-colored films for me. I'd rather see the possibilities of reality, not what I hope reality was.

Strings

There are always complications in life, I know there is no exception to that rule. I moved here to become a better person; to become the person that I know I can and should be. To be the one that I knew I couldn't be when I was with him.

I came here, to the place that I knew I could get a good start at becoming me again. Where I am accepted and loved without question, despite my proclivities and shortcomings. Despite the way I seem to need to make things complicated.

So here, with my friends and extended family, I've made a good home, a good start for myself. I've started to figure things out for myself, to realize what it is that I need and want. What it is that I don't need or want.

These close relationships are excellent... wonderful. I could not ask for better people in my life. Each of them has a string tied to my soul, helping me go this way or that way. Helping me divine the right path to take.

Sometimes, the strings pull taut in opposite directions.

Sometimes, they fray and break.

Sometimes, the few that fit around the column of my neck feel a little... tight.