questions

i stare

at my imperfections and

wonder if it's

what you really dream you

want... i am here, but you

are there dreaming

of me?!?? i

don't know where the world

has taken us or time

has placed us... in this

cyclone of confusion. hoping for

others wishing for you...

wondering about past

and future

wrong?!?

How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself. ~ Anais Nin

dying love

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
~ Anais Nin

may i feel said he

By e.e. cummings

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

it's personal

The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself. ~ Anais Nin

For My Bruised Sister

Continuously
eating,
I can see you are full.

You shove me out the way
running,
to hide in your sanctuary

behind a locked bathroom door.
Forcing
fingers in your throat

I can hear your
purging.
The sensation you enjoy,

I think.

Collapsing to the floor, routinely
bruising
your damaged insides.

you and your porcelain friend,
struggling
between each other.

All of you is repeatedly
flushing
away; yet somehow you cannot stop.

Damaged

I’m locked inside
crying for help,
hoping to be rescued. I scream
loudly enough, I think
only the walls hear me. The pillows
suffocate the sounds
that I try to make. It feels
impossible for my hands
to free me. I know you
are watching me. Ignoring
my pain, you’ve created
damaged insides.
They fall out of me; the pieces
all over frighten me.
Gathering quickly, I try
to save them so they don’t fall
again. I squeeze tightly
to all the mess. I run through
the opened doors.
I have left some pieces running
right into another pretty room.
Inside this room I feel
different. Then I see
you watching
my damaged insides
fall out of me.

my disease

The diary was once a disease. I do not take it up now for the same reasons. Before it was because I was lonely, or because I did not know how to communicate with others. I needed the communion. Now it is to write, not for solace but for the pleasure of describing others, out of abundance.

~ Anais Nin