I’ll See You Tomorrow

A legend in her own landscape

I’ve been to a place where people go to die
Living until the last of their lives
Head held high

I worked in the valley of riches
Pushed heavy carts as I dragged my feet
Beat

The valley of riches and the valley of death
Lovers hold hands as the ship sinks
The lonely wait to reconvene
One last blink

This isn’t a love story, though
It’s just something all should know
Life comes and goes
Death keeps no toll

I’ve seen him look her in the eyes
Without compromise
Left a husband
Left a son
Now they’re left with no one

Dazed is the look on their face
Having conversions with a wall
Living at their pace
Until they take that final fall

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Irresolute
Weak
But waving

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hope it is
Hope held tight
For the fear of the light
Is greater than the fear of tomorrow

But the poor soul doesn’t always go when it wants
It leaves the body when it’s time is done
Leaving you saying “I’ll see you tomorrow…”
To absolutely no one.

So leave me here in the valley of tears
The valley of riches
The valley of death
Because where tomorrow isn’t promised today is cherished

Recycled: “Fairy Tale”

Fairy Tale

 

 

 

A poem about a love lost by distance, Fairy Tale.

London

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Kissed her lips in the bitter cold
Her hands in his pockets to rid the bite of frost
There was no rush to get home

So they continued to walk

Heals clicked on the cobble stone
As music notes around them dance

“Você é linda”

The bells tolled
But in the moment they were lost
One that could never mock

Feet lifted and flown
Floating on air at first glance

“Tu és o meu amor”

A love that was bold
Two paths graciously crossed

She left her heart in London
She left

her

heart

“Eu vou sempre me lembrar de você”

Playing with Fire

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Dear mother why haven’t you warned me
I keep on playing with fire to cure the lonely
Needed to keep warm but can’t get to close
Stepping nearby and beginning to provoke

Illusions dance in the flames
Shadows and sights- difficult to not embrace

See what you want to see in the golden blaze
Overlooking the pain of the inferno
Begin to saunter closer in a daze
Bit by the fire and embers glow

How does the toxic air taste?

The ribbons of red will never set you free
And forever you will be reminded by scars of agony

Dear mother I wish you would have taught me
This would be painless to foresee
Being cold will send you shivers
And anything is better than those embers
That the fire will blow into its storm

Wicked

leaves
The windows were open bringing in the movement of the night
This chill in the air sends shivers up the spines of the wicked
And calms those who are kind
Let the wind blow and welcome autumn.
Let the wind make it right

“Hey Mr Brown Eyes don’t let your whole life pass you by”
She whispered in his ear before the summer had departed
“I won’t as long as you’re by my side”
He responded so lighthearted

Summer came and gone
Like the peaking waves at dawn
Just like the season he’s vanished and turned shy
Not knowing its ok to no longer be her guy

For its autumn that blows in all the fury
Makes the air crisp and freezes the worry
There’s no need for the summer light
When all that brings fright is slumbering well into the autumn night

Let that cool air bite every time she’s reminded of those eyes
Because like playing with fire there is no compromise
Remember the grasps of air while she pulled on his hair
Love is a game that is not fair

Let the wicked be wicked
And the kind be kind
For it’s the changing of the seasons
No reasons
No rye

Why He Cheated: An Interview with an Ex

cheatThe whitful bold lies would slip out of his mouth like an actor that’s mastered the art of memorization. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone in the world, cheating is a knife in the heart. After being in a relationship for four years I couldn’t help but wonder, “Have I ever been cheated on?” There was this constant curiosity of why he hasn’t come home and who it is that keeps on calling. “It’s my boss.” “I’m having drinks with my dad.” And my ultimate favorite, “She’s just my lab partner” (from the school he was lying about attending). I was always someone to give the benefit of the doubt, maybe it’s the political scientist in me that truly believed in “innocent until proven guilty” or in this case “innocent until he left his email up and I saw the messages exchanged between him and girls on his secrete e-harmony account.” I’m no longer bitter, but after three years of being broken up I can’t help but still wonder why he did it. And the answer ladies and gents, he’s scum. Even knowing that, I called him up to find out. It wasn’t a heated conversation. There was no name calling or tears falling because after all of this I know I’m a better person than when I was with him. I just simply asked him, “why?”

His responses did not come as a shock to me, in fact they provided me with reassurance. “I can’t be with one girl for that long. I get bored.” –he told me. I then asked him how many girls he has cheated on, “I’ve cheated on almost every girl I’ve been with.” The responses were very honest and blunt. It’s not that he is proud of it, but he does continue to say that it’s in his nature. Things began to get even more personal. He was telling me about each individual relationship and where it went wrong, “At first it went well and then I fucked her over. I ended up going out more and sleeping with other people and thought, ‘shit I miss the single life.’” This was the most recent. He told me how he treated her like a queen at first, was totally in love. Then, things became mundane so he decided to make it interesting by treating his once-upon-a-time-princess like motel art, something that he saw only occasionally. This reminded me much like our own relationship, pin pointing exact moments where I began to notice his lack of interest.

Spite was another reason he began to cheat. With another girl, “… there was a part in our relationship where I did think she was cheating on me… out of revenge I started cheating on her, maybe ten times.” I ended our conversation with his beliefs, asking him if he believed in relationship Karma, “I do, what goes around comes around.” He paused after, as if he knew karma was watching him over his back, lingering for the perfect moment to cause him the pain he has caused others.

I no longer wonder why I was cheated on. Deep down I had a feeling that it wasn’t about me but his own insecurities. My advice to others: follow your instincts, recognize all the red flags, and understand that most the time it isn’t about you. Life after Branden isn’t tragic. It’s moved on. If anything I am more aware of what I want and what to expect. But, I can’t help but wonder what will ever happen to him. Will the perfect romance slip him out of the habit or is the player destined to be played as the shadow of Karma lingers behind him waiting for the perfect moment to cash out.

After a Dream

Andrew Newell Wyeth

Painting by: Andrew Newell Wyeth

My eyes grew weary from the heat filled room with eastward facing windows. The sun continues to turn my bed into a furnace as it shines through the glass during the hottest part of the day. As temperatures rise my eyes continue to gain more weight until they are too heavy to stay open. When my eyelids close out the sunshine all that is left is darkness.

The light kept out allows for a canvas of imagination. Dreams dwindling down the rope of the pulled curtain and left on the stage is the show. But, on this day I have discovered, even there you find me. My escape in my dreams, this hidden fantasy, a place where I can shut everyone out and welcome only those who are welcome, you find me there. You’ve walked into my room on this stage, entering the door as if it’s your own. I leap from the place I have fallen and land into the sea of your arms, until you melt away. You’ve left me on my own stage, in my own imagination, alone with you melted on the floor. Even here, in my own world, created with my own mind, my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, you’ve conquered me. I’ve fallen again, not just in the reality created by all men, but here in my world, I’ve fallen again. I am a fool.

So I’ve awoke from this dream and found myself laying back down in this hot, hot, eastward facing room. And I will stay here, for if I step out the desert breeze will only fill toxic sand in my lungs. I am left with nothing but these dreams I no longer have control of. The welcomed, the unwelcome- entering in and out. I allow my eyes to grow heavy to avoid toxicity within the desert air, for the wine stained clouds that float above this house never pour. Leaving the sun to continue to shine in these eastward facing windows and leaving you, the unwelcome, to enter on that stage door.

Solo Yo

-moon-a

Porque te fuiste sin regresar
No tengo una foto de ti
Solo mi memoria

No recuerdo cómo se sienten tus besos
Todo lo que queda es tu olor en mi almohada
Porque te fuistes

The smoke floated gently to the sky
As I looked at the moon
Lightly
Softly
Peacefully

Miro al cielo para ver tus ojos

A million stars look back
But I can never find you there
Sólo me veo yo

Sólo yo
Sólo yo
Sólo yo

Porque te fuiste

Recycled: “Blind in Paris”

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Blind in Paris.

Red Dress

sheets
She walked into the room with her red dress
Heads turned with eye fixated on her assets

“Look at her, just look at her.”
The men held desire to feel the alabaster skin
The women envied her, wanting nothing more than to be her twin

She sat at the end of the bar
Alone
And lit her cigarette
The tip orange
The end stained with lipstick

The look on her face was relentless
But held no regret

Waiting
Waiting for no one
Waiting for nothing
Waiting for the time to gently pass

She sipped her glass

He spent his day watching minutes on a clock
Nine to five tapping a pencil on oak desk top
Loosened his tie and walked in

“Cognac”

His eyes caught hers

Whispering sweet nothings into her ear
At the end of the night they both disappeared

Clothes scattered across the floor

She woke up and zipped up her dress
No longer looking like someone to impress

She spent her day watching minutes on a clock
Nine to five tapping a pencil on oak desk top

He lay still alone in his bed
Not knowing he will never see her again

Awoke with a look on his face that was relentless
But held no regret

He sat at the end the bar waiting

Waiting for someone
Waiting for something
Waiting for the time to gently pass
Waiting for that red dress