Mistakes

I made one…

I didn’t listen to my heart

And now I will live in regret

But how do you know, when you choose a path

That’s it’s not the right one, until it’s too late?

Sigh…

I’m so fucking tired of the bullshit

So, today I turn the page

Fresh and clean

Blank and unrecorded by time

And write my story alone

I’d take back my virginity if I could

And claim the biggest do-over of a lifetime

Hello Universe…I’m just looking for me

How hard can that really be?

And perhaps

I shall even being to write anew…


Infinite Sadness

It hurts in a place I can’t see or even touch

But the pain is ever present

Looming and sharp and isolated in a deep melancholy

It’s the thing that makes me cry out in the night

And howl at the moon in anger through my tears

Desiring a phantom touch that has long since turned cold

To want a dream that has always been just out of reach

I miss her

I want her

I suppose I will always miss her

And want her

And ache for her

She was my universe for so long, my love, my P

Still is, in that very secret place where denial has no place

And only truth stings like red hot licks of fire

The scars deep and wounding my once open heart

I am reaching in silence for a ghost of a thing that may have never been there

The uncertainty of it fucks with my mind and wrenches my gut

She left me so easily

My heart, my soul, my love second to her need of self

Abandoning me so completely to depths of a despair

I have yet to recover from

I smile on the outside and I laugh and I play

And I do what I need to do to get through the day

But I am broken inside

Dropped and smashed into a million tiny fragmented pieces

And yet, still I love her

I know she is gone

As am I

We have said our goodbyes

It is over…

But even knowing this

My heart still seeps from a heavy weight and a need to express

My sadness and longing and loss of love

And here is the only place I can do so

Without admonishment, guilt or correction

I need to let go

I am letting go

But only because I have too

And it’s killing me slowly

This infinite sadness

That will always be

Deep within the soul of me

Forever

I hurt

So much

And loved with equal measure

I wish I had known the same…

Today is not a good day

 

 

 


Random Notes and Correction

I am sick

I am angry

I am disillusioned

But I am not blaming

In moments of weakness

I feel you

And I miss you

And the promise of what you lead me to believe

I found a note today

That you had written randomly on a pad of paper

When we lived together…

“I don’t pretend to dance in the rain

For in my heart water flows

I am and forever more

A broken glass

A fragile wisp of once was

I can’t remember a time

When the scent of you

Wasn’t in the very air

That I breathe”

This is what makes my heart ache

And always will

 


Liar

Broken

Inside

Where no one can see

The fragmented pieces

Of my

4 year old whore…

You should never have left me

I believed in you

And now I know

There was always truth

In the black ugly

Everyone leaves

One way or another

And I will never believe

Ever

Again

Liar, liar, liar


Everything Is Temporary

REWIND. REPEAT. FAST FORWARD

“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t want to do this and if I don’t show up, it means I’m not ready. Just bill me and we’ll call it a day!”

I slammed the phone down and glared at Jesse.

“Damn it! What the hell am I doing? What good is gonna come out of opening Pandora’s Box? I’ve managed to live my whole life, successfully I might add, without needing any of this mumbo jumbo voodoo crap!”

“Baby, you promised you would go at least once. For me.”

She walked towards me, a lazy, seductive smile playing on her lips. When she looked at me like that, she could make me do anything she wanted. Her hands moved across my shoulders, down my chest, stopping at my belt buckle. I felt the heat stirring between my thighs and kissed her hard. She moaned deep in her throat. I held her close, pushed her backwards until her legs hit the bed. Slowly I slid the straps off her shoulders.

We lay together, hot and slick, our hunger satisfied, our breathing normal again. She traced me with her small, soft hands. Felt my scars. Asked me questions. I don’t like talking about them. Brings back painful memories. But she was fascinated with childlike innocence so I couldn’t be angry. When she found the mark on my left thigh I said I had no idea how it got there. She asked me if I was curious. I told l her I let it go a long time ago. Once sharp and obvious in the shape of an iron, it’s now a faded reminder that someone had hated me enough to brand me for life.

I woke up cold and shaking, the glow from the streetlamps the only light in the room. Jesse whispered in my ear, calming me, and then fell back asleep. I laid there quietly haunted by snapshots.

Rewind. Repeat: Her scream pierced the air. Sharp in disbelief. I watched her stumble, one hand clutching her belly, the other reaching out. Dazed, she sank into the chair and stared in growing horror at the TV screen. Three shots. One to the head. JFK was dead. It was November 22, 1963. I was two and a half years old.

I wasn’t born abandoned. I had a family once. A dark haired, flashing eyed Ojibwa vixen and an African American ‘Casanova’ gave birth to me and a brother. Two dreamy, idealistic teenagers, who fell in love, got married and thought they knew the world. Thought they would be the difference. They were wrong. We never had a hope of surviving as a family. All of us had been lost at conception.

We lived in a small, one bedroom apartment and slept on bare gingham mattresses. My brother and I shared a bed. More than once I woke up soaked in urine. I didn’t mind that much. I loved my little man and protected him fiercely. Sometimes we’d wake in the night. Alone. Forgotten. The air quiet and sour. The dream of being the difference died after he and I were born.

Fast Forward: Twenty-seven foster homes and life in a failed childcare system had all but erased me. Casanova? A ghostly shadow passing under a streetlamp. Perhaps, the night he had finally left? The Ojibwa vixen? A terrifying dream that still haunts me. And the little man? Lost him. We held on to each other as long as the system would allow, but were eventually separated. I worried about him. A lot. I had seen the deceitful soul of the desperate caregiver and the darkness a government cheque could unleash. It seemed girls were more adoptable. I was saved. He was lost. When I found him again, much had happened to him in the dark.

Rewind. Repeat: She was ironing calmly, wearing a white slip and humming a tune I couldn’t quite make out. I watched as the steaming iron fell from her hand. She stumbled, one hand clutching her belly, the other reaching out. I started to cry. I don’t know why, but I was afraid. I crawled towards her, needing the protection of her arms. Her reassurance.

Black eyes flashed in anger. “Shut up! Just shut up!” She slapped me. I cried even harder.

Fast Forward: I had a new family. The Backways. Nice people. I was happy with them. I had an older “sister” Kathy who taught me how to roll white bread into plump little balls, coat them in butter and dip them in sugar. We danced to The Archie’s and The Rolling Stones and had pillow fights. Every night I was read to from my 365 Bedtime Storybook. I liked the picture of the New Year baby wearing his banner of hope. I was four.

They came and took me away one day. A man and a familiar brown-haired woman wearing a long white coat carrying a briefcase. She spoke softly and carefully, but her words blanched my heart. I was being given to someone else. I was numb. I had already learned that everything was temporary.

Everything was temporary.

Everything was temporary.

Everyone leaves…

Rewind. Repeat: She was wearing a white slip and humming a vaguely familiar tune. My brother was sleeping in the play pen. I watched as she ironed. I started to cry. I was afraid. I wanted her love.

Black eyes turned on me, flashing in anger. “Shut up, you little brat!” she screamed and slapped me. I cried even harder.

She jumped up and ran past me cursing as she grabbed the iron from the floor. A dark smoldering stain burned deep into the carpet. “Now look what you made me do! “

The baby woke up crying loudly. Black eyes accused me. I knew it was all my fault.

Fast Forward: I have a girlfriend now. Imagine nearly 50 years old and just coming out. Christ. But I wanted Jesse and Jesse wanted me. It didn’t have to make conventional sense. We connected and it felt right. I have yet to understand how the heart works.

Jesse’s got a few demons of her own. She’s trying to find balance. She’s seeing a shrink. Says it helps her to move past her stuff. Says I should do it too. Says I need to talk about my stuff. Says it’s not good to bottle it up. I tell her I’m fine and I don’t need some tree hugging mind guru to dredge up my past. I’ve seen children beaten, teenagers OD, street kids starving and prostitutes get sliced. I’ve seen drunks get rolled and kicked for sport, police rape simply because they could and mothers murder their babies before they’re born. I have barely escaped death. Twice. I have been a victim. But ultimately, I am a survivor. I don’t need to talk about it. It’s life. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s bad. All depends on what side of the bottle I wake up on.

She thinks I see it as a weakness to need a shrink. She’s right. I do. It’s not for me. I’ve got a handle on my stuff. I’m okay. I’ve seen the seedy underbelly, the black insidious heart of humanity and yet I can still wake up and smile at the god-damned sunshine. What more does she want? I refuse to admit I am affected. That I am damaged.

I did meet my mother again. I lived with her for a short while. I was thirteen. She could not have been uglier in her beauty and perfection. She had demons abound that came out to play with the whiskey. I came home from school one day, front door wide open, bright red arterial spray all over our daisy and marigold wallpaper. She walked through the door moments later, her bandaged lover just steps behind her. She had stabbed her in the throat. Weeks later and on the eve of my fourteenth birthday she tried to kill me. If her lover had not stopped her I would have died. I am sure of it. Two months later I ran away.

Rewind. Repeat: She was wearing a white slip and humming “Hey Jude”. The television was on low. My brother was sleeping. She dropped the iron. Three shots. JFK was dead. We both started to cry.

Black eyes turned on me, flashing in anger. “Just shut up!” She slapped me. I cried.

She jumped up, ran past me, cursing as she grabbed the iron. A dark smoldering stain burned deep into the carpet. The baby woke up. It was my fault. She knelt down in front of me, eyes wild with hatred. I watched unknowingly as the iron came down on my thigh, branding the tender flesh.
God! I remembered it all. How could she do it?

Bitch.

The sun was coming up. Jesse stirred beside me. I kissed her awake. Through my tears I told her I was not okay. That I needed to tell my story. I was ready.


Listen!

Listen to the song here in my heart
A melody I start but can’t complete
Listen to the sound from deep within
It’s only beginning
To find release

The time has come
For my dreams to be heard
They will not be pushed aside and turned
Into your own
All cause you won’t
Listen…

Listen,
I am alone at a crossroads
I’m not at home in my own home
And I’ve tried and tried
To say what’s on my mind
You should have known

Now I’m done believing you
You don’t know what I’m feeling
I’m more than what you made of me
I followed the voice you gave to me
But now I gotta find my own.

You should have listened
There is someone here inside
Someone I thought had died
So long ago

I’m screaming out, and my dreams will be heard
They will not be pushed aside or worked
Into your own
All cause you won’t
Listen…

I don’t know where I belong
But I’ll be moving on
If you don’t…
If you won’t…

…listen to the song here in my heart
A melody I’ve started but I will complete
Now I’m done believing you
You don’t know what I’m feeling
I’m more than what you’ve made of me
I followed the voice you think you gave to me
But now I gotta find my own,
My own.

 

Damn it!

Thank you, Beyonce

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7SLhPo30ds


Lesbian Warp Speed

Dizzy.

Deconstructing.

Need. Need. Need.

Reassurance. Constant. Exhausting.

I am unsure at this moment if I will ever be in the necessary space emotionally, intellectually and spiritually to occupy a woman. Their deep sensitivity does not come without a price and I have paid to the point of being stripped of all vestiges of self. The things that attract me to them are becoming warped by a common experience evidenced. I can’t do 24/7 needy.

I met a woman recently online. Believe me I wasn’t looking. My break up with P had left me feeling incredibly abandoned, alone and teetering on the ledge. Questioning if I should ever pursue a woman again.  Toes hanging over, eyes closed, arms spread in supplication and ready for my descent, this woman found me and in her sweet words was the message of hope my mind clung to for sanity. She texted me for a week, every day, several times a day, until the ledge was no longer in sight. She was compassionate, understanding, empathetic and seemed to feel my shift before I even recognized I had moved back into a place of emotional safety. I was and still am grateful to her. Without her intervention I’m not sure I would have endured this painful separation from P with as much dignity as I have.

And then the lesbian warp speed kicked in…

First the deliberate, casual sexual innuendo. She is a dyke after all and a boi. The line was cast to see if I’d bite. And, admittedly, I did. A part of me felt starved for this kind of attention. P had all but abandoned our sexual intimacy for almost a year and as I have said before, I am a very sensual and sexual person and I need that kind of intimacy in my life. So yes. I responded. A willing and eager participant in sexting and it was crazy fun! Within a week and a half of beginning our connection she had sent flowers to my placement – I hadn’t shared my personal address but had mentioned in passing that my placement for school was with World Literacy, so she put two and two together and I received a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a note attached saying “Get used to it!”

I wasn’t sure whether to be freaked out or pleased. Did I have a stalker or was she merely apologizing for a faux pas she had made during one of our text conversations? I decided not to question it too deeply, accepted the flowers happily and the girls at WLC were agog and wanted all the details! I told them I would have to kill them if I shared and had to chuckle at their naive assumption that the flowers had come from a man.

Every week since, she has had flowers sent to me – 3 bouquets in all to date. The last was a beautiful array of 5 magnificent bright yellow cymbidium orchids with deep red anthirium as a compliment and to be honest, they were quite possibly the loveliest arrangement I have ever seen. And each arrangement was wrapped tightly with an indigo blue ribbon… Yellow (big bird yellow to be exact) and indigo are my two favorite colors. Clearly she was paying attention ;)

The first week felt, to me, like I was talking to a very scatter-brained 14 year old boy! It was almost a turn off. I felt like she was on a completely different wave-length then me and I could barely follow her conversations. I knew it was excitement and her wanting to shower me with attention and affection – so I couldn’t be angry about it, but it was frustrating as hell. I am a very literal person. I need clear communication!!!

So finally I told her that she needed to focus. That I couldn’t follow her disjointed rants that flowed from Shakespearean love sonnets to esoteric fantasy. That were at once eloquent and soft, then randomly interspersed with I wanna-fuck-you-hard dirty sex talk. I got dizzy fast! I’m sure it took great effort on her part, but she slowed down and focused.

And then I met her. Figuratively speaking…

And I liked her.

When she isn’t being spacey and way out in left field somewhere, she’s actually quite engaging and entertaining and the onus of the conversation isn’t entirely on me, which is a refreshing change. She has an uncanny accurate sense already of who I am because she has dated Gemini women often in the past. She calls me on my shit all the time and it makes laugh every time cuz she’s usually absolutely right. I’ve never had that happen with anyone before. It’s the oddest feeling!  Proof that there really is something to this astrological stuff :)

Sidenote: She’s a Leo. My first crush was a Leo and broke my heart. My best friends are a Leo and Pisces. P is a Pisces. Hmmm….another post perhaps.

We’ve had this ongoing dialogue now for nearly a month. Ripe with fantasy love-making and wild imaginings. For the first two weeks it was exhilarating and fed my neglected and under-served sexual needs. When I heard the familiar chime of a text from her, I would smile stupidly at my phone and breathlessly await her next lines, which never disappointed. She is funny, witty, smart, mature, sexy, hungry, thoughtful, energetic – and sexually insatiable if her texts are proof. She calls herself a lion. It’s a very powerful image when used in foreplay.

And now she wants to meet.

I am not sure how I feel about that.

She actually called my phone in the second week and I panicked. I couldn’t pick up. Speaking to her would make her real! I wasn’t ready to take her out of context. She left me a voice mail. I listened to it. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of her voice. Or was I judging because it wasn’t the familiar one I have grown so accustomed too? I was confused by my own behavior. I’ve never really dated and suddenly felt completely out of my depths. And then I was the 14 year old. OMG she’s calling! What do I do? What should I say? OMG OMG OMG!!! In hindsight it’s actually hilarious, but in that moment when my phone rang and I dropped it, practically ran away from it as though it had suddenly contracted a communicable disease, not so much!

I was so not ready to talk to her.

And I texted her as much. She seemed to understand but I could feel how much I was testing her patience.

I think she is a kind woman with a good heart. Very spiritual, into Buddhism and Reiki – as am I – and we share many personal philosophies. She’s told me she’s never had to wait so long to meet someone before but has agreed to wait until I am ready. I think she knows I’m terrified. I haven’t made any secret of that fact. Once burned – twice shy. We’ve had many many conversations. My position has been made clear.

So, I finally got the nerve to call her about a week ago. Yay me! And even though I have mixed feelings – meaning I’m not fully sure what she is expecting from me but have told her I don’t want a serious relationship and is she really okay with that? -  I decided to set a date to meet her. I am intrigued.

Dec 14th. On top of the CN tower.

Yes I know. A little bit “An Affair To Remember” lol.

She’s taking me to the 360 dining room in the CN tower – my choice. Never been and want to go and she told me to pick anywhere I wanted. The choice was impulsive and when I checked online how expensive it was, I tried to change the plan, but she won’t let me. Said “we” were worth it.

Hmmm…

Which brings me to reason for this post! LESBIAN WARP SPEED!

It’s only been a month but already I feel like there is an unspoken “we”-ness and I’m not too happy about that! She texts me non-stop unless I shut it down and I’m not used to that. She tells me she misses me. She hasn’t even met me! Seems to get quietly upset when I don’t have time to talk now – (I really am busy with school right now!!!) And to be honest, I want to slow it down a bit! I’m not used to being attached to my phone 24/7 and am starting to feel a bit pressured to always respond when she texts. I think I’m burning out. And I haven’t even met her yet!

Yesterday I wasn’t feeling well. Woke up with a sore throat, so wasn’t feeling particularly communicative. It’s rare but it happens lol. So when the texts started flying, I told her how I was feeling. And that I had to do some research and was going to call it an early night. We’ve had many 2 am text sessions, which she persists in continuing long after I have said I have to go (I don’t think she likes saying goodbye). Then apologizes for being selfish when I am exhausted the next day. She works, but seems to have an energizer-bunny amount of energy. And she’s 6 years older then me!

So, I’ve basically had less (but still reasonable amounts of) communication with her this week – only 30 texts a day instead of 100! – and I haven’t played as much sexually because it’s super distracting. She gets deep into it. And I know she’s feeling the loss of it. I did tell her that I needed time to get my school work done. That I won’t be as accessible for the next little while. Exams. Papers. I have to get into serious mode again. My honor status demands it. To say this been the most challenging semester with P leaving and me moving into my own space, would be a grievous understatement. I have been drifting all around my studies. I need to refocus. I thought she was okay with and understood that.

Apparently not.

This morning I awoke to a text sent at 6 am…

“Trish are you ok? I’m sort of scratching my head at our conversations of late. You said last night that you were feeling off and a short time later said “lights out for me” and goodnight sweet kate. This was after waiting to txt with u for hours and then I hardly get much communication from you. You have been shutting down my txts to you with any friskiness to them and then an hour after telling me you’re going to bed I see that you’re online. I’m not happy with how I’m feeling right now. And when I made the comment last night about missing “my woman”, your response to that made me feel as though I was stepping over boundaries. Yup sleepless in Barrie. Romeo is not sure where to put these feelings…”

Fuck. And so it begins.

I responded back with…

Wait.

My phone is ringing. It’s her. I’ll be back.


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