Gathering Pebbles

a pebble dropped in a shallow

lake

produces great ripples that

go on and on

but

drop that same pebble in a deep ocean

and

it’ll seem nothing was felt;

that’s how it was loving him.

instead of gathering pebbles

to try and affect

his love for me,

I decided to gather broken pieces

of me

and

to go and spend time making the pieces

whole again.

I just want to love again.

I want to touch and be touched,

without having to flinch.

I want to be kissed again.

No matter how he destroyed me,

I still long to feel love.

I long to be free from the pain

he caused.

I want to gather pebbles, not

throw them away.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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Bob Marley & Me

“You say you love rain, but you use an umbrella to walk under it. You say you love sun, but you seek shade when it is shining. You say you love wind, but when it comes you close your window. So that’s why I’m scared when you say you love me.” – Bob Marley

I’m lost,
wandering
on a sea
of forgetfulness,

the one
who
once loved me
now my enemy.

I remember how
he
said he used 2 pray
for me,
asked God 2 send me
then turned his back
on me.

He’s the type of
man
who prays 4 rain
but looks 4 sunshine.

He’s the type of
man
who wants
the one
he can live with
not
the one he
can’t live
without.

He’s the type of
man
who
taught me
to learn 2 forget
the love
I once
thought
I needed.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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Just a Corny Love Poem, For Him

Just some afternoon scribbling:

Let this love finally open your eyes.

Let the blinders finally fall from your eyes.

Let your heart hear the translation of my

heart & know what I’ve always felt for you.

Let true love in all its splendor wrap you up

in her loving arms, cover you with her presence.

Let your walls finally fall, so you can accept

all that I and my love offer you.

Know that I could never love another

the way I have loved you because there’s

never been anyone like you. To come into

my life unexpectantly, like a rainbow

after the storm. You erased all the memories

of life before you and renewed

my faith in love. Plant my seed of faith in you

and together we can watch this love bloom.

I miss loving you and I miss sharing my life

with you.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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I’ll Choose My Poison & You Choose Yours

When I should have been sleeping last night, I was up writing. I knew I needed to get up this morning and go to work, but I kept thinking about the piece of advice I read last week about following your passion, creating your art. The guy (the creator of Mad Men) said, get a day job, but don’t get too good at the day job because if you do, it’ll take away from your passion. So, while I should’ve been sleeping, I was writing. And reading. And brainstorming. And editing pieces. At the end of my hours-long process, I didn’t have anything concrete to hold up and say “I finished it.” But I did have a few more paragraphs added to the story I’m currently working on, I ended up with three pages of scribbles for future poems and stories, and I ended up reading a few more pages of Inferno.

Here’s one of the poems I started working on. It’s a collaboration of sorts with my best friend, the Mysterious Poet Dude ;-)

There are too many times when we
choose to run from our own distant
memories, to spend time chasing
other people’s dreams. In the space
of running other people’s marathons
we ignore our own realities.
The reality that we’re dying inside
a little each day as we try to find
a way to grasp hold to the poison
that was designed to kill us inside.
We take the poison willingly
believing we’re fulfilling the limited
vision of Romeo & Juliette.
Romeo drowned in poisonous dreams
believing he’d be free in death
to love whomever he pleased.
He didn’t know that even in death
someone will try to dictate
the kind of love you should choose
to drown in. You try to tell me
that what I feel for him isn’t real
not realizing I already know
it’s up to me to choose the poison
I will allow to kill me
for love.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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The Love Thief

Today’s poem is part of my exploration of masks. Like the poems before, it has to do with not being able to believe what you see. Not all who wear masks do so to be duplicitous, sometimes it’s just a matter of trying satisfy one’s goal. Whatever that goal may happen to be. Still, the wearing of masks makes it difficult, sometimes, to know exactly what you’re dealing with until it’s too late and the damage has been done. The thing to remember is that in every difficult situation, there is a lesson to be learned. It’s important to learn the lesson and move on.

He stole my love, took
it in broad daylight, knowing
I’d give in to loving him
without putting up much of a
fight. Loving is supposed to be
easy. I had no way of knowing
he would only love me undercover
and under the covers, always
remaining out of sight but
not out of mind. I craved loving
him and fell into it easily.
He only wanted to peddle his
wares a wholesale love affair,
some faux love that wouldn’t
look real to one trained in
recognizing love that’s unreal.
He did all his dealing – love is
kind of like a drug, isn’t it – like
any other thief. Quick in, quick out
smash and grab, then stay out
of sight. He chose to hoard all of
my love and kept his locked away
behind arm length excuses no warm
smile could penetrate. He was like
a squirrel storing love for Spring.
Squirrels never know they might be
dead by Spring. And by Spring,
my love for him would be dead too.
Killed by a thief who evolved
into a murderer.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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Beneath the Mask, Cont’d

masks

“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The idea of masks intrigues me this week. Everything I’ve worked on has had something to do with the wearing of masks. It started out as an observation that so many people don’t know who they truly are, people whose identity have been dictated by someone else either through stereotypes or just plain ignorance. And so they of the lost identities struggle with trying to know who they are.

Today’s poem focuses on people who don masks in order to appear strong when they feel anything but.

I’m aching to know
who I truly am,
the me beneath the
layering, a façade to
hide the years of pain
built up like walls
to keep me from being
free, a disguise to hide
the pain that formed me.
The me who smiles to
cover up the tears
in my eyes, the ones
leaking from my soul.
I’ve spent so many years
covering me &
protecting me
I have no idea how it feels
to be free
to love without
being a casualty
of the crashing of souls.
I’ve stood free & unchained
in heartache, but never
free in being awake
within me.
All this time crafting
a protective covering —
hearing no when you
claimed yes, expecting the
worst when promised the best,
seeing holes in promises
deep enough to hold
buckets of water,
along with my tears.
I lived in anticipation
of experiencing my fears
& now
I have no idea
who I truly am
outside of all the well-meaning
disguises,
donned to protect me
from the lies.
Do you know what it’s like
to walk in darkness, pretending
to see light. I’m tired
of pretending that your promises
don’t cut me
that your inconsistent actions
haven’t bruised me.
If you look beyond the mask
covering me
you’ll see a well of tears
you’ll see confusion &
you’ll see fear. Though
I’ll tell you it’s just love
that’s afraid to mushroom
and be free, my love for you
began to wither
the first time you caused me
to shed tears
when I knew my fears
were being realized,
the first time I knew
I couldn’t find security
in the crook of your words
as they embraced me, the
first time I mistook the slaying
of my love for a gentle embrace
misplaced. I’m carrying all this
emptiness around, pretending
it doesn’t bother me,
when I’m weighed down,
trying to carry this broken me,
the one you pretend to love.
When all I want to do is
take off the mask
finally
and know that
within the dark emptiness,
I’ll truly be safe
and
you’ll no longer be
able to hurt me.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

*Photo courtesy of wikipedia.org

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Hump Day Inspiration

cartoon for 05132015

If you haven’t yet, please check out my author page on Amazon. You’ll be able to view my latest book, Blues of a Love Junkie, and my two previous books: Tattered Butterfly Wings and Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood.  And always, always, I welcome your comments.

Keep writing…or creating because as John Green (The Fault in Our Stars) is attributed with saying, “If you don’t imagine, nothing ever happens at all.”

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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What You Can’t See or Beneath My Mask

An excerpt from a poem I’m currently working on:

I wear a mask, one
that grins and lies,
one that disguises the
hatred glistening in my
eyes. The mask of the
jester in me helps to hide
what I truly feel, so I
can keep all my anger
bottled inside, until I’m
ready to release,
flip off the valve
and let it all dribble out.

It’s not until I reach up
to place the mask upon
the shelf, that all those
around me can see the face
of a street slave, a home-grown
enemy. In the past week
alone
like a fool, I’ve created enmity
by taking the life of a newborn
infant, a baby sleeping
in mother-love’s embrace,
with blood covering her face.
I stole the life of a little girl,
so unafraid of the world, she
used to race up and down
the hill, sometimes
wearing her mother’s
too-big shoes, always dreaming
of the day when she’ll
be able to fit mama’s shoes.
But in an instant
I took it all away.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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Life Will Never Be the Same

My daughter worries about me. She worries when I write and drive. Like yesterday when I was driving her to work. Well, when I’m driving, I’m not just driving. I’m thinking. A lot. One of my weird writing things is that I come up with some of my best ideas when I’m driving, when I’m mowing the lawn, when I’m jogging, and when I’m doing anything…other than writing.

The best way to deal with writer’s block, for me, is to get busy doing something. Anything. And while I’m doing that other thing, I usually come up with something. So, yesterday, while I was driving, I started thinking about this line that had come to me a few days ago. Life will never be the same…I knew I wanted to do something with that line, but I wasn’t sure what direction I wanted to go in.

Then, it started to come to me while I was driving. Since my daughter worries, I pulled over and let her drive. That way, I reasoned, I could write without having to balance my notebook on the steering wheel. I’m a responsible driver, right? Only once I got on the passenger side, there was nothing there. My ideas dried up like the rain when the sun comes out.

This is what I have so far, though:

Life can never be the same,
not since the day I heard you
say my name, the way you
held the letters of my name
on your tongue like they were
ice cubes you chose to hold
in your mouth, instead of to bite.

Life can never be the same,
not after you held my hand
like the string of a kite
you refused to release, afraid
of where it might end up.

Life can never be the same,
since hearing my name fall
from your lips; it transformed me,
made me believe
that the collision of souls
can lead to the building of
something real. That somehow
dreams can come true.

I witnessed the unfurling
of our souls, though hesitation
tried to intervene as we witnessed
the melding together of two souls
that had always been searching for
each other, and I knew as love
braided our souls together
that
life could never be the
same.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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Lost Within

I’m itching to provide a lengthy explanation for the poem I woke up out of my sleep to write, but I’m not going to. I will only say that sometimes we close our eyes to what’s really going on in our own lives because it’s easier than fighting back. And, in fighting back, I simply mean being our own selves. One of the truest acts of rebellion seems to be simply being oneself in a society that doesn’t value individuality. And not trying to cut our own selves down in order to fit in the boxes that others create for us.

Lost Within

 Living in a darkened tunnel
was never meant to be easy.
What can I see or feel with
eyes closed and senses muted
except what others want me to see?
Not being able to see for myself
without allowing the blind to lead the
free, I walk into walls easily.
Walls created to keep me out and
walls created to keep me locked in.
Only I guess I couldn’t tell the difference
between the two. My eyes were
closed tight against all that I truly
felt inside because I already knew
if I looked inside, I might
try to be free. Instead I stripped
myself & dignity like a pair of
dirty overalls that I’d suddenly
outgrown. Stepped away from all
the things that were covering
me, in order to be accepted in a place
where I didn’t and don’t fit. I
embraced the easy. The easy struggle
of stuffing who I used to be
in the dark places that others can’t see.
It’s easy to forget how
to love me when I’m so busy loving you.
It’s easy to forget what’s important to me
when I’m helping you chase what’s important
to you. It’s easy to not look at me when I’m
so busy looking at you. It’s easy to continue to
walk into walls and view the bruises left behind
as ‘shit happens,’ especially when I’m with you,
just so I can continue to pretend the war within
is being won. Until I wake up one day and see
I’ve only really lost all that was important
to me, trying to be what someone else needed
me to be. And that I didn’t need to wait
for the light to penetrate the walls of the tunnel.
It’s a much simpler feat to simply walk out
into it. The power was within me all the time, in
the strength of my will and my legs and feet. I just wish
somebody had told me.

One of my favorite quotes, one of the ones I try to live by daily, is “When people show you who they are, believe them.” This quote by Maya Angelou epitomizes what I’m trying to say in the poem. That we need to stop shape-shifting ourselves in order to be accepted by people who don’t truly value us. To stop walking within relationships of all types with our eyes closed because we’re afraid to face the reality: that the person we see before us is exactly who they are proclaiming to be.

Another valuable lesson I’ve learned: There’s no such thing as too busy. We make time for things and people who are important to us. So, if it’s important to you, you’ll make time. If not, you’ll make excuses.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind

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