Soul Searching

Our souls can’t bear to be apart. 

Mine kicks to be released from this confinement through the palm of my hand

Reaching,

She needs to find yours.

My soul screams your name, 

Receives phantom squeezes in bed,

walks to the tip of my tongue to drop off your name with three soft kisses. 

Kiss.

        Kiss. 

               Kiss.

Until you return.

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Tug

She tosses the weight between her shoulders once more. Her head has become heavy, her arms low, her back worn. She ages a half life while he wears her down, yet her smile can be spotted from the other side of town. No worries, no bother, she’ll tend to his pleas. One day he might actually get what he actually needs. Her strength doesn’t buckle, her confidence anew and she loves to care for him in the way he wants her to. Her body is stuck. Freedom dances only in her mind, crawling on the floor to feel the heartbeat of earth for awhile. He’s back and he wants her – he’s gone, now, no more. She’s stuck in his withering tug-of-war.

Missing Man

There is a peace missing. A peace you filled many lifetimes ago and cannot be reached without knowing where you are. When I think of you, I am reminded of the nights we laughed in the bed of my dad’s truck; picked stars to call ours and screamed back at lightning in the rain. We would giggle about poetry we wrote in notes and picture frames we once made. I remember the first time we had our first time. The blanket wrapped barely around our hips. A motion so slow, yet so quick. 

And I remember the first time you had a hit. Blunt to your lips, red eyes and long rips.Too many pills came next. A needle and that blue shit. White powder lines, who’s next? You got in the game real quick. Thought I was stubborn and your friends needed you more. They called me cunt, slut, and whore. You were wrapped up in the game that played you harder than them all. The best way to explain is that we still cannot find your soul. You’re out hustling the streets without a way to retreat. Those withdraws have a way of working the weakest into the wall. A build-up, a quick draw, a small hit, a large fall. 

My stomach stretches stress the size of a cigarette burn. The hole you left when you never returned. I know the world can be harsh! I too cannot face people most days! But I’d never hurt them without the knowledge of my stay. I’ve hurt them enough with knowledge of my ways. So if you can hear this, know I search for you in the parking lots, parks, and gas stations of our town. Any spare change or a blanket given is on your behalf. I have dreams of finding you and being the heroine of my past. I also have dreams you’ll leave for the heroin – surely your last. 

An Ode to the Desert Car

You seem bent and out of shape. Your music vibrates a low-fi hum with grinds of shifting gears. I adored you. The way you provided protection and direction. An escape and a sanctuary. How many adventures have we reached? Missed appointments and bare feet. A clutter of life thrown in the backseat. How many hot days have you protected me, thrown the seat back and let me sleep. Been the lifeline of long distance lust and getaway from those I could not trust. Oh, dear car of fabric, plastic and metal, I wished you were here to be my hero.

The Woman in My Body

There is a woman in my body ashamed of all the men

who wants to rinse her skin clean and her uterus from within.

She wants to scrape the cells from the walls and burn it in a sage.

And light a fire within her soul to settle all the rage.

A cleansing of her body – that would do the trick

Fix her right up from her skin to her future kin.

She wants to tell her younger self to respect body and time.

She wants to tell her younger self to be nicer to all kinds.

There is a woman in my body itches to come out.

She doesn’t like the dance anymore and the music’s all played out.

There are no more drums in her circle and the candles all burned out

so don’t pray for her with all your little doubt.

There is a woman in my body she loves the way she feels;

her curves along her waist her thighs her pelvis and her heels.

She could moan for hours if she did it all alone

She knows her spots, her points, her pulls with every angle and every groan.

This woman in her body, she wants to break out

She wants to feel again without a male weighing her down.