a lover that never was, was better than

I guess you could call it a missed connection
I mean, I did say Hi once
mostly it was me bumping into his flesh and bone expression
far too frequently for it to be anything other than
divine timing
or so my romantically delusional mind
would have me believing

oh, but there was this FEELING
when we locked eyes for that first time
the memory so fleeting
still sends a visceral response in my being

I can count on a few fingers the times when
an object of fascination
returned the feeling of really being seen
a sense of satisfaction that I lap up
as an insatiable savoring of flavor that displaces
any rational outrospective behaviours
that would contribute to two people meeting

like when we locked eyes
I left that room as fast as I could
and every time after that
though I could feel him feeling
his eyes revealing
what was going on

love lust fear
the truth that all idealization of another
is a recipe for disaster, given that
they’re better in illusion
fuck, I’m better in illusion
so I stay illusive
when given the opportunity
to indulge my romantic inclinations I
run the other way
and stay in my imagination
until years later when I think of this being
and question why I didn’t at least
reveal my amounting curiosity and desire
instead of running to another
disappointing romantic reality
years later

I’m being hard on myself
i’ve had plenty of experiences being with
men who could never meet me in a moment
like the muse I still admire
men who are safe because they’ll never be able to match my heartbeat
rhythm and flow with my spirit, my soul
men I’ll never have to commit to because they’ll never see me
never be one with me, moreso

penning these words
sends off the impression of a womban with a heart
that breaks often
from deceptive romanticism to lamenting
on those who could never be
who could never be a match for me
but I’m getting it out and
out of the way
to free up the space, the truth of my nature
sexual, hungry, with a desire of revealing
the deep nurturing of my being
through the intensity of my feelings
to a lover that neither bends nor breaks
but dissolves
with their own passionate revealings

maybe we’ll meet in each other’s imagination
and neither will be afraid to fully feel the sensations
that emanate when
two people are
attracted
we’ll revel in our equally decided disdain for this common
reality where
two eyes too often conceal
what’s really going on, inside
and we’ll hold each other up while holding oneself accountable
for being who they really are in all ways
at least, that’s how i imagine us meeting

strength is found in the vulnerable

a lot of old and buried wounds have been surfacing lately
triggers from the outside world reminding me that all of the experiences of my life are woven into the fabric of my being
my bones, my flesh, the sinew and muscle
the soft and gooey bits, the firm and unfaltering

I used to be really afraid of painful memories and the emotions that came with
and maybe now I’m just a little bit afraid
but mostly I see how every painful memory is stored somewhere in this
flesh and bone expression
and when it comes up into my mind, my awareness
and I feel that tightness in my chest, or the quivering of my lips,
leaky eyes
it is actually an opportunity to dig really, really deep
and face it
to not hold onto it or identify with it, but to surrender to that same pain that
I was not strong enough to endure
at the time of said making-of-the-memory

I see all of the traumatic events of my existence
unfolding in due time
always to be recognized, to be processed, to be let go of

too often those memories have surfaced and I have not been
strong enough to let them go
and so they stay buried
nestled in my smile, my eyes, my heart
the creases in my hands, the roundness of my hips
my browline

and they end up as all the bits I don’t like about myself

but emotions really are just energy in motion
and so the movement of my body
the poking and tapping and prodding
of all the bits of my physical expression
coaxes the body to release
and allow for all the bottled up feelings
to surface up to the mind
and when I can recognize that the memory is just that,
a memory
I can make the decision to be completely and totally
vulnerable to it
to let light be shed on the ugliest layers of my self
and release it
or I can decide to bury it deeper, for later
for when it inevitably resurfaces again

so if nothing else today,
I can be brave enough
to be vulnerable with my self
and with you
and recognize that life is filled with pain and suffering
but I don’t have to let that
take over the narration of my story

every moment is an opportunity
to get really, really real
and there is incredible freedom
in being totally, authentically
vulnerable
to your experience

it is a big and wide and courageous journey
to take!