TheCourtRose

Island in the distance now, lights fading from the shore Bleeding fingers gripping planks All that was, no more, no more Breathing now, just barely Painful heart keeps flaring Held on, held on for so long Unable to stay, cannot move on Storms are raging Collapse, deep dig, fall through All I want is you, just you Nothing ahead but impending sea Please, stars, come back to me Come back to me, come back Not ready to be alone! Can't we postpone, impart, intone? Push off again, once more Paddle uselessly towards shore Girl on water raft winding What used to be a binding unravels, shrivels and dies carried away from home on wave Held on for that one goodbye Ties to docks and moors, no more A sailor now, towards sea No longer a lover No more a daughter A new navigator, negotiating Stretching fingertips pull invisible bindings Finding wooden footing on a floor made of waving, standing now on the raft that's winding Come back to me, co...

I'm not sure what got in to me this evening. I think the voices in my head that are constantly bringing me down and telling me "You're not good enough" or "You'll never accomplish anything" or worse yet, "You never commit to anything!" said one too many things today. I'm tired of listening to them. I sat down to write a letter to my dissenters- the shadows in my brain, born from real life bullies or the casual assessments of loved ones, that consistently rake their nails across my confidence. This is my letter to me. *** "Badassery Incarnate in a Badass Suit Made of Badass" I finished high school at the top of my class at the age of 17 (having skipped eighth grade completely) with honors, as an awarded thespian, with a free ride to the local university, with additional scholarships and grants awarded to the out-of-state private college of my choice, with my freshman year completely paid f...

By definition it is vindication I sought Absolution A resolution to bone borne guilt Crawled on hands and knees to seek succor from the gravity of experience What was deserved, though, was validation for the shadows of said experience were real The demons that haunted these heels, with teeth all too large, left true damage in their wake The gap expanded between us You- unsure as to the validity of my perceptions Me- raw and broken under the weight of sight Yet, you built a bridge to span the difference Despite any hesitation or reservation, made your way into the space I occupied alone Within the warmth of your understanding, standing inside the light held aloft, there was peace Finally, peace

I miss my mother like the earth misses wind Autonomous until the sounds go silent- she was the breath across my skin in the face of such stillness It was she and she alone who made the autumn leaves dance I am lesser without her I am more with her gone

The writing. I've been all a titter with it. I don't think I used that right... It's titillating that you're all a titter. It's scintillating that you're titillated that I'm a titter. The implication of my scintillation is that your titillation is making me a titter, as well. Well, you've aroused my attention! So it was your intention to arouse my attention? Or perhaps my affections? I reckon they beckoned the second I seconded. My intention was to arouse both attention and affection, beckoned by your scintillation of my titillation of your titter.  The second you beckoned I reckon my retention of your affection was inevitable. As inevitable as it was unenviable, my dear. For my attentions and affections, once aroused, are ineffable and inexorable. An affliction of contradictions whose retention eludes prevention and exudes expression. Once aroused, this affliction of affection eludes prevention? Then my gratitude is a p...

It was our secret Daddy would say "Here sweetheart" cut the apple to show me the star The only person in the world who knew where to find it We shared it- Apples in peanut butter Peanut butter and honey sandwiches with apple slices -between us I grew and grew and grew Curves started blooming, so I stopped eating to shrink, take up less space On the Halloween they sold caramel apples, took one bite to throw it away Tasted like being alone and secrets now so far away Years go, started to eat and continued to starve Ingested, but did not taste Grew, widened, became enlarged Where's the girl beneath? Somewhere behind bones that once protruded towards the sky, scanning the night for light Let myself be plucked, pulled away by eager, abusive hands Tongue against flesh, living a Manzana's Song , being consumed Though nothing left to give the barrel was scraped, bobbing and drowning for more and more, to give until every heart went fallow ...

When I was little, growing like south Texas weeds, cicadas sang at dusk I loved them heralding darkened oncoming skies Their voices as constant as summer’s clinging dew Mournful, stoic, a eulogy to light's end Their songs persisted in my existence Yet their nighttime mutterings, in between the flutterings spelling good night, sounded like apologies For taking away the day, maybe? I never knew Only that their lamentations haunted me long after childhood left As if each iridescent wing, every jointed leg and reflecting eye, was deeply, irrevocably ashamed Being so young, I never understood their music- but all I hear now is you in cicada’s song I am so sorry, mo chroi, they sing After being apart for as long as we were ever each other's, I am sorry Not for leaving, but the manner in which I left There is so much inside a goodbye, and now, being older, honoring our ending should have come first Paused in my...

What message has been so thoroughly whipped to skin that it is readily agreed upon without further consideration? What perceived truth is consumed, like medication straight to the gut, as the surest path to love? To acceptance? I have readily swallowed so much even from unworthy hands Scripts repeat, repeat, repeat "Be a good girl" "Don't cause a scene" "It's not lady like to be angry" "Wait for your prince" To concur so readily with discussions of misogyny and sexism- without fully accepting my internalization of both My acquiescence to each Knowing that All and Everything hinges on my ability to keep. taking. it. It is not who I am, but what I am able to produce that is of inherent value here I am a milking cow and I am being devoured whole So easy to keep shambling forth To actively remember that I am choosing to stand in this space is a trial Trained so well, I would almost be proud if I was...

Your biggest wish for me (perhaps even still) has always been to turn off the frenetic energy of my brain. Just lay it aside, you intone. Put it to rest for a spell, for some semblance of quiet from the mad rushes inside me. (Not sure if you wanted me to take a break from myself, or you needed a break from me, or if it was a weary combination of both.) Yet, to my ear, this is akin to laying down weapons in the midst of battle. Then, at this saddened juncture, I must admit to viewing life as an ongoing war. (Which may account for this deep-seated, long held fatigue.) There are times when separation from relations is so acute, it's like I wasn't birthed but instead crawled forth, fully formed, from the head of Thunder Gods and can claim no parentage. Other times, I am a wonky/perfect patchwork of my mother and father, so exquisitely sewn together it seems as if I could never be any other rag doll...

Supreme discomfort here Discordant refrains that jangle teeth Acutely aware of the spaces, the sounds between us Despite whatever else we may desire, we are all separated, one and all

When seeking the definition of precipice I had hoped to find some softer alternative Like, precipice means "steep, a rocky gorge, a sharp cliff, the protruding ass cheeks of a mountain giant, etc." AND it also means a tiny herd of soft baby unicorns I mean, if kindle means "to light on fire" AND "a bundle of kittens" (I shit you not!) shouldn't precipice be the same? No- because for some things there is only one definition The sky is blue Jumping is an up and down movement, pushing oneself off a surface and into the air Precipice is a very steep rock face or cliff with scattered unknowns beneath  And sometimes, despite every definition, you jump skyward across that precipice anyway just to defy description 

(A response and agreement.) I bluster a lot, puffing up my feathers and saavy- mostly because I am further away from my personal truth than I ever imagined I'd be  With a wiggle and knowing wink, "Man, if that fucker ever touches me again, I'll kick his balls into his throat" with my cocktail tray cocked on hip, gliding across the floor, hands shaking, rattling snifters against each other But let's be honest, I probably won't because this is a job, and his tip counts more than my integrity All crumbs in the water when there's rent to pay, and simply keeping out of reach will suffice to keep his touch at bay Bosses will shrug, "Well, it's the industry" they say When walking to work, one polite smile on my side turns into a slow crawling car behind me, hanging out the window, spittle flying for my attention, eyes enraged at my silence I could say, "I shrugged that shit off and flipped t...

The soft animal of my body, she knows Always does While everything else panics about, she waits Gentle breaths swooping in out in out on blue feathered wings There is no hurry , she intones Pushing is a punishment, only causing meat and bone to convulse and stagger Shhh , she whispers Come here Inside the sinking velvet of her, surrounded by sunlight and ribcage- I am too large to completely contort, yet not small enough to be dismissed

A. After much derision and research Through loads of therapy and reams of poetry I can finally admit to having a monster in my closet She's large and purple and fuzzy and rather shy She has three big green eyes, instead of one and wild pink hair Isn't fond of eating people but is very fond of cats (For petting, rather than eating) She does have an abominable temper, I must admit and it comes out at the most awkward occasions It's just that she hates being ignored almost as much as she hates being seen She doesn't fit very well in my closet these days (I don't tell her this, but she's pretty big for her age) I mean, ever since I found her it's been rather hard to put her back Even though she's prone to envy, pouting and insecurity Has selective hearing, falls in love too fast, has a bad temper and low self-esteem, with tendencies towards over thinking and moodiness Well, she's mine after all and it isn't her fault she...

My mind read "fever" which is why I was so confused How did the universe know my mind was aflame, my heart sick, my limbs tired? The poem by Lauren Zuniga says "This is the year of Quit the Dumb Shit" (So, I guess lever fits if it's my intention to open a new way) and I never argue with Zuniga I always forget, though, how much real change feels like breaking bones and the flu

At day's end, the body is crusted and crepe-d with a thousand collected words Clinging, barbed and desperate, to skin are letters, phrases, excerpts, insults, hopes, emails, curses, or any mutant combination of the above Unless, of course, you despair of human interaction in its entirety and currently live in a cave (Understandably so, good sir) Only fellow humans to could sling such words Hobble forward beneath a shower spray to scrape clean with pumice-d vigilance Yank those suckers loose with tiny, shrill cries of indignation and crossed little arms But what happens when the water sluices down, only to clog the drain? Sure, some words head straight for the pipes, like barely tolerable prepositions and unremarkable conjunctions Even a super cheeky determiner may grip the drain, squaring off in its many-limbed form, a desperate ninja, wanting only to be close to you (but a slight toe shove will send that sucker swimming) But adjectives? Verbs? NO...

Do not presume to fix me, kind ones Because, truthfully? There's nothing to repair here under your control Nothing more or less than a shattered heart mending Please, please just stand vigil in the dark A quiet witness to the ravages of grief My grief Hold a candle, hold it high Surrounded by light, there is a way through Enough to know you are here, a silent sentinel to this pain, reminding me I am not alone Weight lessening even now as we speak Already smaller than it was a moment ago and a little more whole

Heel prints on the ceiling Bracing, for the love of God Or you Not sure if any difference matters considering the breathy sigh of mingling names gets more confused as we go And go And go A little to the left... And go Until the floor is the ceiling, the wall a spiderweb of silk I, a desperate, ravenous, many-legged beast You turn to me, turn inside me I am seeing you, a pillar of flesh and love that I scramble upon Beside me, residing in me I thank God one more time while screaming your name When all goes quiet and the ceiling returns to its place above us, I wonder for the eighth time- How is there a me without you, a you without God, and what really holds the ceiling away from the floor if not the jagged limbs of creatures making love? And why on Earth would we willingly separate any of these things at all?

Forces like rain, earthquakes, lightning, like love and falling stars, are simple Existing in and of this world, a statement to those that molded time and space You are the rain to me As simple as that Fighting this truth surrenders us to shame (and we have traveled too far for such nonsense) and insults the bone-deep truth that love is as necessary and inherent as air Even though, unlike lightning, it will strike more than once, love never strikes in repetition You are the rain to me Could no more will away my heart for you, than I would beg for the stars to stop falling The axis incessantly tilts, clouds stray across mind and shadowy landscape, these forces never cease Long after these bones have shed, love continues And will do so, until the rain itself has stopped

Where are you, little one? My tiny fairy queen? Stardust and adventure make your bones into a terrific tornado of light and sound You never worry, do you, about when the sun will set? Focused on the moment at hand until dawn comes again Yet, I am mourning for you What happened, little one? How much I have disappointed you as years go by Quieting you slowly, hushing your big voice Letting the world convince me of my lack In turn, convincing you of yours Breathe again, my tiny queen I will cut space into my chest to make room for you I will listen for your calling bells in the middle of the night, at the dinner table, when fighting the terrible shadows of "Have-tos" For so long, I thought I needed It, needed Them, needed Him, This or That But I really just need you I clung to the scars of experience too long, as if they are unique in any way As if scars make me special- when they do not There are enough wounds in the world to go around...