Advocate

Let me step
Inside the hell
That lives within
The outer shell
Of you, I love
And for whom I’d lay
My own life down
To keep you safe
Let me fight
On your behalf
When the demons raise
Their heads and laugh
Together we can
Put to rest
The haunts that taunt
And leer and jest
Because these two hearts
Beating strong
Can kill that which
Would kill just one
So when I come
And knock for you
Let me in
To fight for you.

Those Holiday Trips

Our post a day month is winding to a close, and I am struggling with these last few days. I want to send out congrats to all you other bloggers who participated and succeeded. It’s not as easy as it looks!

With it being a holiday week here Stateside, it’s been a lot to work in writing. And I think my problem is partly one of burn out, and partly of being in a difficult emotional space. I have my ‘writing’ space, which is a dark space. It isn’t so dark that you need a flashlight, though. Just dark enough that the ghosts aren’t afraid to come out, that those fantasies and desires that hide in the tunnels come out to play in the shadows. It can be a hard place to live for extended periods of time. I’ve forced myself to stay in it longer than usual this time, in my attempt to realize my vision for this blog. And the downside of tapping into it is that I start to lose my foothold. It’s too easy to take those external things that happen every day and allow it all to push you too deep. And sometimes it seems there’s no way out.

As I slip ever downward within my own worlds, I put on my mask, the one that protects those I love from the things I sometimes see. The deeper you go, you find the monsters have teeth. And if you go deep enough, the words stop altogether. There is only a depth of feeling that seems to have nothing with which to describe it. When the words stop, I’m lost. I’m lost to myself. And too often, I’m lost to everyone else.

This is my therapy. This is how I feel my way along the walls and start the climb back up.

There have been many factors that contributed to this trip into the cave. Hormonal imbalance, seasonal affective disorder, bad memories that plague me around the holidays. And probably, most of all, my own dark thoughts, the ones I need to do what I do here. So I can’t kick them to the curb. I can’t put them aside, or I have to stop writing. And that brings on a different sadness, leaves an empty space in the center of me.

But I may need a little break, when November waves goodbye and disappears around the corner, I may need to take some time to re-gain my perspective. So material may be lighter, both in content and frequency. I hope those who have gotten to know me will understand.

What I put into my writing is myself. If you’ve taken the time out of your day to read and enjoy my work, then that’s what you deserve, and that’s what I’ll continue to deliver.

Love, Felicity

Exodus

Fallen Eden’s silent death
Of eroding shore beneath the crash
Of sighing singing ocean
To eat her with its laugh-
The music of a thousand climes
Of salt, of sea, of sinking sands
The clap of thunder silences
The dawn of richer lands-
For what diaphanous distant veil
Could fall upon the eyes of hell,
What whisper could remind her
Of the past her arms once held?
Nevermore the dreams that whispered
Or the hand that clasped the breast of youth-
The age-ed plodding heart
Now leaps in hope of truth;
A wealthy nation’s slow rebirth
Emerging paradise-
A land so flowing milk and honey
No extremes of fire or ice-
Mountains burst from soil chest,
Rivers of winding rend-
Shades of green, a verdant cloak
Cast over all the land;
Cries arising skyward, bow,
Muted, your hopeless prayers-
In whispers beg forgiveness and
Possess what once was theirs.

Until

Love tries
‘Til it tries no more
‘Til it falls and crawls
Across the floor
And the laugh that rang
The final bell
Echoes these halls
Like death’s cool knell

I heard
‘Til I heard no more
‘Til I fell and knelt
Outside your door
And I waited there
For any word
To indicate
You may have heard

But silence met
My straining ears
Heard only the blood rush
Pushed by fear
And purple bruises
Stained my knees
While my heart broke ‘neath
What you’d never see.

Me.

Flawed

Today, I felt like I let down a friend. The details are unimportant; what is important are the emotions involved. Mine, theirs… mostly theirs. But their emotions I can’t be sure of.

I suspect they weren’t as wounded as I felt they should have been. If the tables had been turned, it wouldn’t have been something that I would feel particularly let down by. Maybe a little disappointed. But nothing I couldn’t get over in about a minute.

But it was hours ago, and still, I worry. I worry that this person protected my feelings by hiding theirs.

Am I worried because they were let down? Or because I showed a human flaw?

Love, Felicity

Quickening

And still the aftershocks
Trembling this young earth
Yet untrodden virgin soil
Given to its birth-
Rending forth explosive fire
Reaching for a worth
While screaming destinations of
Some Celestial’s sailing berth-
On beyond Polaris
Shaking now and breaking
Running eyes beseech my soul
Where other suns forsaken
Such fury once beheld in palm
Of just such a migrant soul
Euphoric once a soaring heart
Now a falling snow-
And still the tremors shaken
Throbbing limbs unused and weary
Lie beside the strengthened pulses
Of a lasses’ listless body-
Still the tremble reminisces
Still the touch of fire-
Pirouetting toward empyrean
Castles held on high.

To Reach

Thundering heart
My own I hear
Pounding ‘neath the darkness’ leer-
Defying life
To pass it by
Deriding night with anguished cries-
Encased in flesh
Caught like a bird
Struggling vainly to flee this earth
Cupped in palm
To still its throb
Hold it still and feel its sob-
Blanket night
Thrown over me
To suffocate my thundering beat-
Quell my passion
Quiet my lust
Kill the demons that scream and clutch-
and when it’s done
I’ll lie beneath
The waters of tranquility-
My heart released
To thunder on
Beyond some long-forgotten dawn.

Charlie

Sometimes she cut herself. Felt the razor skating over the surface of her skin, then slipping under, through, into, and it was almost sexual. Not pain, it never registered as pain. It was like masturbation. A filthy release she couldn’t tell anyone about, couldn’t let them see. The tiny welted scars criss-crossed the insides of her thighs like white-washed lattice-work. No one could see. No one could know, not ever.

He didn’t listen when she spoke. He’d always talked at her, like she was a dog or a mule not doing its job. Eventually, she stopped speaking, just like the others. None of them spoke. They just did as they were told, no questions, no arguments. She wondered how they coped when they were alone, or if she was the only one rebellious enough to need something more.

When Charlie came along, he talked back. It got him sat in a chair and lectured, lectured about being seen and not heard, about the importance of listening, about respecting authority. He learned quick enough not to roll his eyes. He learned that leaving the chair without permission just got you brought back and verbally pummeled. There were always more words.

Pretty soon, Charlie didn’t speak, either.

She caught him one day, with a cigarette behind the shed.

“That’ll earn you a whole pack smoked at once,” she told him. “Not as fun as it sounds.”

He handed it to her, but she waved it away. “I’m guessing you’ve had the pleasure,” he said. “Don’t matter, I won’t be here long.”

“Yeah. Me neither,” but her words fell flat. No one believed them. They didn’t believe themselves, those words.

“Want to fuck?” he asked.

She shrugged. She’d never done that before, with another person. Other people complicated simple things.

“Ever done it before?” He was grinning. He had curly red hair and eyes the color of the aquamarine crayon in the Crayola Big Box.

“How’s that your business?”

“It ain’t. Just wondered.”

She ran her finger along the cutting edge of the razor blade in her pocket. She thought she could bear down just a little and draw blood. But she didn’t.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Nineteen.”

“You seem older. You got nice tits.” Little boys trying to sound like men. What did Charlie know about tits? Not nearly as much as he wanted her to think he did.

She shook her head and turned to go.

He grabbed her arm. “Hey, “ he said, “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m seventeen,” he said. “A few more months, I won’t need foster care no more. Why are you still here?”

“Not fostered,” she said.

“Shit.” He lit another smoke. “Still,” he said after he drew. “You’re old enough to leave. And fuck.” The silver smoke curled out of his mouth with his words. She imagined it was what speaking looked like, if sounds had form.

She stared into the belly of the woods behind them. “Not that simple.”

He pulled her by the hand and kissed her, sort of on the lips. It was clumsy, not nice, but she didn’t resist. Instead, she adjusted their contact and kissed him back. Kissed him properly. After all, she had kissed before.

She left him there to think on that.


Charlie was her first, and she wasn’t sure what the fuss was about. It was over fast, in and out, he grunted and rolled away and got up and left, and she found her razor and her release in the dark. Alone.

He was true to his word. On his eighteenth birthday he was gone before dawn. She didn’t like the emptiness, the return to ordinary caused by his absence. The loose end of his suddenly being gone. She went back on auto pilot, cooking, cleaning, scolding and dressing the little ones- working side-by-side with Mama like she always had. Like she always would.

Maybe it was okay for Charlie. But for her, nothing was that simple.