i've tasted
fire and ice
neither
fully satisfied.
I taste you
a combination
of heat
and cold
of floral
and earth
and I want it
again
and again.
You are a balance.
An in between
I didn't know
I could experience.
I waited for the moonrise
and you showed me worth
in holding out
for the sun.
Author: restlesscrescent
I write when I feel. I write to release and to share. This is my poetry. Most hours I spend on others, listening while I work as a therapist. This is a space for me. I hope you enjoy the pieces of self I choose to share with you.
Worn
I fell into something familiar
and like the last go,
it ended in
abrupt
explosive
and repetetive
goodbyes.
The familiar no longer
felt like
a warm fireplace.
It burned my
skin
and I turned to look
to something
cooling.
Something healing.
I fell into something familiar
those two years ago.
This time,
I walk into something
new.
Changing tides
I see the water meet the sky’s edge
I expand, here.
I take in what's changed
what's remained.
I remember the moments
I came to her shore
seeking something other
than what was,
seeking answers.
Today
I come to her
with a new request.
Her waves sing
and I ask for witness
as I recognize
my own growth.
I seek her
expanding memory
so that when I forget
she’ll remind me
that tides change
and so do I.
In joy
What
is joy
compared to
a lasting
ache
In joy
I lack the
preoccupation
the restless attachment
the wondering if
my feelings are matched
or returned at all
In joy
all I have
is the way
you leaned in to kiss me
The memory of standing
in the stairwell
you held my gaze
you held me
to share you’re not
dating anyone else
All I have
are the hands
that didn’t let go of mine
from that first kiss
in the middle of your kitchen
I’m not sure how to write
in joy
But I can try.
I don’t want to feel
Let there be an exorcism.
I don’t want to feel.
I want to let love in
and not the tortured kind
the view
I’ve looked through
and looked to.
I want to be love.
I want to be loved in return.
Changing of the guards
I pour a glass of wine
light a candle
my work clothes fall to the floor.
I attempt comfort.
It isn't clear yet,
(to me)
how to write in the calm
in the peace.
(what is this soundlessness)
I eat an entire bowl
of popcorn
I watch the sun recede.
I search for words.
It's 11:00 now.
It was so quiet
I almost missed
the
change.
My hands are clammy
my body overheated.
I am sweating.
Is it muggy in here?
(am I searching for a problem)
Shift change.
The new guards
fresh pairs of eyes
I am angry
I ever let the others past.
I look out the doors
its dark
I still have not
put into words
the feeling
of content
awareness.
(hope feels irrelevant)
I'm going to write
a poem about you.
It won't be a poem
of longing
or molding
or pain.
It will be a piece
about you.
And of what is.
My glass
sits half
empty.
The candle
dances.
I thank the changing
of the guards.
(writing of you
makes you real)
Slut
I fly below the equator
a boy kisses me
while we dance.
We go back together
sleep in separate beds.
I do not let him in.
He starts the new day
telling his friends
that he’s had me
in ways he has not.
My heart bleeds
for the times
and the moments
I knelt in shame.
Begging the universe
to take from me
the impossible
polarity
of being a woman
in a world
where I must be
Sexual
but conservative.
Beautiful
but subtle.
Audible
but silent.
Desirable
but chaste.
He slapped my ass,
called me a good kisser.
My lips burned.
Not with lust,
but intuition
that he would cause harm.
And he did.
