The Middle of It

For more than three years, I’ve had the opportunity to journal and share creatively here, and it has been an unbelievable experience. I’ve grown, connected, and found the creative voice I thought I’d lost. I’m so grateful.

Over the past year or so, I have journaled less and less here. Along this journey of knowing myself and allowing myself to be known, it helped me to unravel and sort, to exercise vulnerability in more complex ways, to connect with others who shared a similar journey, and exercise my creativity. It helped me to connect dots and dive deeper. It unleashed creativity.

The thing is, after a while, I began to feel like I was circling human experience instead of engaging in it.  It sometimes felt like I was gathering information and looking for material, just a visitor in the present moment.

I’m also a deep thinker, so if I wasn’t gathering information, I was often deep in thought. I have this deep need to understand, to know in order to be known, and it’s easy for me to get lost searching for revelations that bring me to new places. All the while, people are pulling at me, beckoning me back to the surface. I would sometimes find myself getting irritated, thinking….leave me alone! I am comfortable down here. “I cannot pay attention to you, because I’m too busy thinking about you.” How ass-backward is that?

I found that I’d often been either hovering above my life or diving deep beneath it.

The purpose of my life is connection. To love with every ounce of my being. Of this I’m certain. But what I’ve come to understand is that love isn’t just a feeling or a thought or a way of being. Love is a place. It’s a place between two present people. A sacred place created when two people decide it’s safe enough to let their real selves surface and touch each other. To invite the other in to dive, until it’s all transparent. Love is an experienced place. But the cost of constantly hovering and diving, of being someone who thinks about love and analyzes love, is that I cannot be in love. I miss out too often on being IN that place.

I have needed to try to find a balance of it all. I have needed to live this awakening, and not so much create it on virtual paper. I have needed to let it be what it is, and let it become, without forcing my feelings into art, or shoving my life into a storyline. I have needed my journaling to be in the form of direct communication with those who wish and need to hear it. To be IN love.

As I have been trying, it has become easy to see that I have had many unrealistic expectations and fears regarding my writing, creativity, and presence online. I’m still not sure where it’s going or what I wish to do with it. But what I have come to feel is that my journaling and creative writing must happen when my spirit moves me to do so, and I will try not to put any other expectations on it. More than anything, I need to be awake and open to what my spirit is telling me, and follow where it’s leading me, in all aspects of my life. Right now, it’s telling me my life is not running material; it’s moments with people which are the most amazing gift. It is love.

And I want to stand right in the middle of it.

Tinder

in these social situations,
she especially loved their magic,
it was like he was holding her hand,
even when he was across the room,
helping her butterflies settle and her fidgeting
to wane

tonight, he’d chosen the black, backless dress,
the one that accentuated all her curves,
that made his eyes glow a littler brighter

hungrier

as she stood there conversing,
she felt his fingers gently graze the exposed flesh of her upper back,
their strength coming to rest upon her shoulder,
his thumb softly caressing the base of her neck as she spoke

she was suddenly thankful for the cool breeze
against her warming flesh,
as her words instinctively fell to the rhythm
of his thumb’s back-and-forth,
back-and-forth

until the warmth of his palm pressed flat,
gliding to where his thumb had been strumming,
fingers wrapping themselves around the
back of her neck,
gripping

owning

that’s when the words caught in her throat,
something between elation and need
bubbling up,
her belonging effervescent,
so readily flowing just beneath her surface these days,
but threatening to overflow in the moment,
contained only by the slight upturning
of the corners of her mouth,
her bashful anticipation reaching for him

her eyes flicked right to meet his,
and green met green the way steel
caresses flint,
flashing sparks

a foreshadowing of what was to come…

-Gif found via Tumblr, source unknown

Ignite Me

I am your wick
Ignited by whispered words
The heat of your gaze taking hold
Radiating, encompassing warmth
By your hand, your instruments
Melting inhibition
Drawing my soul to the surface
Fueling your smoldering need
Defying all external forces
Except you, I burn
And I burn, for you
One surrendered flame
Dancing, free flowing
A fiery, lascivious glow
Of wanton desire
I am your wick

Ignite me

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown 

I Awake…


I awake to vibrations of electric blue
Afloat in a sea of me and you

Where time is waves of thrashing heat
And space is endless as our bodies meet

Eyes still unfocused, yet clearly I see
My soul knows every inch of the flesh against me

Molding together like sinking feet into sand
Or aching clay resting in the palm of your hand

Pushing and pulling like the moon and the tide
As my body to your commands does eagerly abide

~photo credit truenomads.com, reworking of an older poem

Vacation


I’m going to be on vacation for much of March! My new work schedule allows for some down weeks and I’m going to take advantage of those as mostly unplugged, while I work on my house, dive into some longer writings, and spend time with my family. 

I will have some things scheduled intermittently while I’m taking a break, and will pop in occasionally to read your beautiful words. 

Love to you all! 

Liquefied


storm’s eye entrusted
within your palm,
glowing fury extends,
momentarily calm

closing space,
meeting trepidous skin,
lightning flashing,
gooseflesh begins

circling orbs,
as breathing catches,
creating peaks,
heat stinging like matches

slowly and deliberately,
traveling lower,
crackling and buzzing,
gaining power

or maybe that was you,
the eye of the storm,
shooting streams of light
against my form

finally reaching
my pinnacle of need,
with back-arching, sheet-twisting, lip-biting greed

my body awake,
every molecule alive,
thrumming and humming
in overdrive

then you touch me,
pure energy on skin,
and I liquefy
into a thunderous din

Photo is mine

Composition

as the morning breeze
whispers the melody
we made,
the sting and ache
echo last night’s chorus
with each movement,
replayed

the warm sheets still hum
our candlelit din,
a masterpiece composed
over willing skin

oh please, Maestro,
may we play that
song again?

-image credit Pinterest, reworking of some older prose

Write Me

Write me in lead, verse in unending lines,
In loops and curves, without any rhyme

Write me in sonnet, without any words
In fingertips, buoyant, like the wings of birds

Write me in symphony, with only your eyes
Be the conductor, between willing thighs

Write me in love song, with fists gripping tresses,
In fevered gasps and moans, and sheets left in messes

Write me in lead, Sir, a powerful refrain
Then, erase me, my love, and do it again

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown

Placement

img_5011

restless,
shifting weight from foot to foot,
as He positions the prickly jute, 
concentrating on the way He winds it ’round,
on the way it comes to rest upon her skin, biting,
and not on He who is doing the winding,
He whose flesh grazes hers,
whose breath is heavy and hot against her neck,
whose soft, yet forceful lips leave a slightly wet, cool trail,
as He works his way ’round, up, through, and around

her loose fingers stray,
following that loud, ass-backward, inside voice she has,
the one who keeps shouting and pushing herself to the forefront,
the unsettled, messy girl who needs

and wants,
and needs

that noxious voice which permeates, 
spreading its unwanted tentacles nimbly
under the surface of her skin,
first taking hold of her thoughts,
then conquering every ribbon of unwilling, aching muscle

she tells those fingers to reach down
and to adjust,
to find and target each tiny imperfection,
to, with her selfish actions,
demand perfection and symmetry,
to fidget and forget about trust,
and patience

she overpowers,
she deceives

she defies, not only Him, but her

she knows what she needs,
but doesn’t want to know

so, she bucks and she pushes against the very binding she knows she truly needs

desperately

His binding,
His will,
His way

one last time, though she’s been warned,
she commands those deceptive fingers
to reach out,
to touch His tie

He slaps her wandering, distrustful, hand,
hard,
an echoing crack, a lingering, itchy, throbbing sting

and she smiles

a smile of defeat,
of humbling,
of placement

and then, she disappears

img_7046

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown; shared as part of Masturbation Monday

Lingering…

I ‘m trapped in a lingering haze today,
Spellbound, thoughts in flight, stuck on replay

Your captivating lure, a mist upon my skin,
As achy reminders echo last night’s din

Whispers hovering in fevered clouds,
My inner voice howling, remembering how

Your stringed pins gripped fiery flesh, trapping desire,
And your hands drew salacious wings, stoking the fire

Until your commanding words set my wanton spirit free,
My body your vessel, aching to please

How the air abruptly changed when your flesh merged with mine,
And our breath became one, how there was no time

Then our hearts became fluid, melting from within,
One consumous puddle, an ocean of sin