The Eternal Love Affair of Day & Night, A Multiplied Story:

Part 1. It started with an Emerald Green Empress in Disguise

She was The Empress of the Day and she had green eyes. Plain old greenish-gray, but not hazel brown or any shade of blue. The most remarkable thing about those Pits of Maelstrom were the bright Emerald green they turned when welling with Emotion (which was often, so with a little Imagination, they were fiery and spectacular always). The Fluorescing green could be seen by Blind and Sighted equally; everyone but the Empress herself.

Beauty-blind (and sometimes transcendence-blind), she saw only mouse gray, pond scum, vomit green, emoji vomit green – for she was modern, too – cannabis leaf green, browning leaf green, mold green, and the artificial of squalor green in her own eyes.

She was so upset by the Tides of her Eyes, she forgot she held two priceless jewels affixed perfectly on her face, her reflection, and in her presentation.

Next Chapter: The God of Night sees the Kryptonite-like Rocks on TV on an Antiques Road Show episode and immediately recognizes them for the Uncut, Undiscovered, Rare Emeralds that they are. Stay tune for the juicy details as we wander far from our Sweet Spot.

Isn’t It Ironic?

Irony is simply something occurring to you in a whole different way later.

The realization ushers in a tide of emotion, which in those with the purest intentions,

Results in the Art of Self-Expression.

By reducing oneself to zero and becoming “self-deprecating,”

A person is able to experience things as a child again

Capable of capturing a “feeling” at its deepest intensity,

Pouring it into words or paint and begging to believe again.

To imagine again.

Even the ridiculous like Love at First Site.

P.S. Same goes for Sarcasm, so don’t give up on Me and my Fellow Dreamy Sarcastics❣️

(I could make the poem better, but it’s a love poem, and I wanted to capture it at its fullest intensity).

LOVER OF “HE & SHE”

LOVER OF THE COLLECTIVE & PERSONAL “HE” & “SHE”: HUMANITY

Broken.
OK With It.
Sparkle Most Radiantly When Blended and/or Paired.
Individually Stronger Than Originally Thought.
Capable of Incredibly Courageous Acts.
Passion.
Compassion.
Welcome Home!
Welcome Back!
I’ve Missed You So Much!
Dream Architects.
Lifelong Learners of Both and Each.
Seek Wholeness in Self.
Seek Greatest Potential in Relationship.
Great Times.
Mediocre Times.
Tough Times.
Life-Threatening Times.
Devotion, Dedication, and Commitment in All Times.
Don’t Take Pain Out On Others.
If Pain Taken Out On Others, Sincerely Apologize for Any Pain Inflicted.
Put Both Loves First.
Sacrifice One for the Other to Become a Best Both & Each.
Capable of True Love.
SOLE Home of True Love.
Is LOVE.

P.S. Convicted by my own damn poem! I NEVER post my poems on Facebook, but my poem compelled me. It’s why Poetry makes me a Better Lover of He & She❣️

LOVER OF “HE”

(Thanks to @anniespratt for use of the image).

LOVER OF “HE”

He works behind the scenes,
Designing worlds of Magic
For his Precious Girl,
He sees the Princess in the Whirl
Winds her down to calm again.
His shoulder comforts at days’ end
Into nights where long
He longs to love-express
Be seen and loved for his Best Self.
He’s loved all day, it might not show
There’s just One Place he calls his Home.

The Pathetic Pleas of Ash, Even if Designed for Flame

THE PATHETIC LAST OF ASH

I’d let Water have
Its way with me,
Absorbing every atom
Into every part of me,
If it would just return
A little life to me.

But it causes no surprise
That the booty shakes
And pseudo-body quakes
Which clog your feeds
With more enticing sighs
Obscure my ashy pleas.

It’s the sad fate of fire
That, just to live,
She must start herself up
Somewhere else;

She’d become accustomed
To your lingering scent,
But she has to leave
If she hopes to begin again.

LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED


LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED

At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”

SEEKING REFUGE


SAFE PLACE TO LAND?

You might not count the costs incurred,
But they won’t erase away.
They were much too great for me;
They show in line upon my face
And well within my eyes
When both are lost in pain.

I know that You can’t erase my costs,
But you COULD kiss my pain away.
At least for another day?
I’d be grateful either way.

The Bitterness of Burned

The bitterness of post-burnt
Feels a lot like toast spurned
After an eternity of tears spilled
Crying out in thirst,
Never being quenched
Parches until too pinched
Beyond all recognition,
Dried and too hurt.

THE TALE OF POST-CINDERELLA

THE TALE OF POST-CINDERELLA

She tired of being a step,
The toil and aloneness.
She dreamt of being a princess
Before midnight.
Sadly, only frogs arrived,
Their magic never tricking her,
Damning her to shine,
Under cloak of Darkness,
During Its wee hours,
Leaving her a pile of cinder
With the return of every sun.

She thought it was her only Ending,
Making It “The Only One.”
Now she’s been returned to Step,
Only below where she first begun.

It fills her mouth with ash,
Shreds her heart to trash:
This hope to be a part of Sum
Instead of “Only One.”

CHANGING MUSES

CHANGING MUSES

Since You were the only intended audience for my poems,
I guess that means You were My Muse.
The thought disturbs me.
Because, without a Muse,
How does one Make Music?
I couldn’t stand the quiet of
Loneliness any longer,
So I had to learn to Make Music without you.
In the process, I’ve learned to A-Muse myself.
I’m even making better music these days, oddly enough,
Enhanced after blowing through a Muse, and
Exchanging Muses.

The Best Lover

Sorry judges of character get sorry examples of character on their lists of lovers.

In retrospect, I’ve never been in love with anyone but me in my relationships.

When I rewind the movies in mind, I was the only one who loved the way I wanted to be loved.

The only one who was willing to be there during the tough times, the only one who didn’t ditch, the only one who tried to make holidays and birthdays special. The only one who KNEW the other’s birthday (without having to look it up). As in: “by heart” because “close to heart.”

I was the only one who cried alone, often, and at all.

Husband #1 did go to some medical appointments with me, but not many. I did all my own chemo , radiation, post-surgical, and most of the fertility appointments, including the driving. He was golfing (like he always was; husband number 2 was always biking) when I miscarried my first pregnancy. Said “pregnancy” hadn’t met the dictionary-definition of “child” yet, so I suffered alone and no one comforted me. It was a terribly lonely time.

Basically, I was the only one who could be bothered to keep a promise in most of my significant/insignificant relationships.

I have a million other examples, but I’m suddenly green at the gills. Or is it gray at the grills? Honestly, I can’t remember my “stupid shit” anymore!

You know, the kind of stuff you blab about over pillows when you’re in love?

Or how I would imagine it might feel.

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably keep saying it, but:

I am The Best Lover I’ve Ever Had. For My “Life’s Official Record,” I was THE BEST: The Personal Best and The Collective Best.

I did it ALL!! I kept the plates in the air. I dropped half of them, but at least I was at home, breaking them-while-TRYING-to-juggle-them.

So, no “mea culpas” and no “mes culpabits.” In now and in retro: I’m an 11❣️❤️‍🔥🔥

A LOVER, NOT A FIGHTER


I gift Myself on a silver platter,
Tied up in a fancy bow;
I promise to love you with
My Parts Above
And show you with
My Parts Below.
But if and once the flirting
And playful un-skirting stops,
And what remains is a
Self-elevated mound of slop
Whose touch now feels
Like a Dirty Mop,
I’m grateful to the point of pain
I’m a High-Giver, High-Risker,
High-Lover, and Mutual-Taker,
Not a Low-Giver, Low-Risker,
Scarce Lover, and High-Taker.
The latter soup is a selfishly bitter, tasteless combination
Which only causes full-body vexation,
But NEVER a case of the shivers.
So Here’s the truth I’d swear is true:
Girls DO like spice,
But Guys: TREAT THEM NICE!
Or you’ll soon find you’ve lost
Your chance to dance
With your own
Quakes and Quivers.

P.S. I’m sincerely sorry to resort to binary terms, but I grew up in a binary world and it’s what I know. So please forgive my pronouns, he-nouns. she-nouns, and they-nouns.

DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT

It certainly wasn’t love.
It wasn’t even friendship.
I don’t know WHAT it was… perhaps some of the younger ladies could help me understand?
I think it was a giant bunch of nothing, and I have no idea why, but I allowed this giant bunch of nothing to distract me for an inordinate period of time.
However much time it was, you can rest assured the interval was inordinate!
Because he wasn’t even worthy of distraction, so clearly I must’ve been in love with myself the entire time?
In this pseudo-ship of a pseudo-shit that I just survived?
The only residual problem might be…

I think I made a TOTAL ass of myself over this Big Lug of Nothing.
As in: got the emotionally embarrassing equivalent of “sloppy wet drunk,”
highly-hormonal, possibly puberty-level of embarrassment,
Only compounded by the significance I placed on something of such Apparently-Obvious Insignificance which wasn’t Significantly Obvious to ME!

So, I don’t know, Girls and Boys:
What DO you call “IT” when you act like a Mindless, Stupid Twit over a Useless Heap of Shit these days?