Field

In the field beyond words

Our spirits meet

I’m not too blinded by the light to see your energy and delight in the way the wildflowers sway with us

Physically, I am bound in this life

In spirit, I am boundless

That field beyond words is our playground, filled with passion and joy, gratitude and care

It is easy for relationships to seem perfect when they aren’t actually happening

I wonder if you have a sense of my spirit’s desire to bond with yours

I used to think all beings were one spirit, but it is more fun to flirt with another than with self

I used to take for granted that a spirit bond was enough, then I lost the one I loved

His absence taught me the importance of being there, of showing up

I stand here in the field with so much love to share

Sweet Tooth

I’ve got a sweet tooth for untruths I speak when I think he is too bitter to handle new answers to old questions.

Part of me doesn’t care what he thinks of me because I’d be better off without him, but I don’t want him to bring the full weight of religious shame crashing down on my body.

Why do I find the forest more sacred than any church?

In nature, I can be a woman.

I try to maintain a semblance of integrity amidst the corrosivity of saccharine lies

Like going to bed without brushing my teeth after dessert, I know this is only wishful thinking.

What am I to do when he prods me with questions about my life that are none of his business?

I’ve already overshared and over cared.

Every time I repeat a lie to him because he is demanding that I relive painful experiences out loud against my will, it makes it harder to tell the truth.

He doesn’t treat me right. Even on our best days, he makes me pay for everything and do all the work to take care of him, so what do I owe him?

He has not demonstrated himself to be worthy of knowing my most personal memories, given his previous reactions.

Perhaps it is true that the truth will set me free, however I am too terrified to change my habits tonight.

Paradoxically, while I have not yet changed the habit of wrapping myself up in a protective cocoon of lies, I have changed the pattern of no longer flooding my body with sugar, which is a victory.

Guys I’ve Dated

I’ve dated guys whose eyes watered from the burn of undiluted wasabi

Thinking they were Japanese cuisine purists, they were only fooling themselves

He judged others for cutting off their chi from wearing their socks too tight while his own panties were in a bunch

He took me to a restaurant where the jazz was so loud we couldn’t hear ourselves

He didn’t intend to listen to me anyway, I found out later that night

I’ve dated guys I could only wash down with an unhealthy amount of alcohol

Guys who made gourmet meals taste bland with their predatory presence

I’ve dated guys who tried to shame and control me

They must feel so ashamed and out of control themselves

I was never into that scene

I’ve dated guys who believed their suffering was unique, artists who didn’t want to feel understood

I’ve dated guys who made me feel special for a time, until I realized that they only wanted me to make them feel special

They didn’t see me as a person, but a tool to be used, an addiction to leave them unsatisfied

I’ve dated guys who drank too much and called out for me in the middle of the night like a babe to its mother

Like a mother to a babe, I gave them my teat

The narcissistic and manipulative, the accusatory and dramatic

Guys who implied suicide if I ever left their side, yet somehow they are still living

Guys who stalked me and threatened me with their bodies

I prayed for boundaries

My man isn’t like those other guys

But he wants to know how many, and why

All I can do is bask in relief and sigh

Grateful, deeply grateful

Plunge

I want to plunge into you

Get lost and find my way through

If I dive into your deep blue

I don’t want to hurt me or you

Though I know that diving into someone’s heart is not without risk

I wish I knew how to plunge gently

I like having you around, at least for now

But when we’re inside out and upside down

I hope I remember that you were a good friend

That gives me courage to plunge into your eyes, your arms, your mind, your charms

I want to surround myself with you, to take and to give

Please, plunge in

The Thirteen-Handed Man

Man, you got me writing in this journal like an adolescent girl

My heart gushing forth while my mind’s in a twirl

I haven’t crushed this hard since I can’t remember, and probably longer still

You’re half comedian, half musician, and 100% enlightened genius skill

You must have a lot of girls climbing up your hill

There’s so much I wanted to say to you, but I hold myself back still

I wanted to dance to your music wildly, sit next to you in the circle

Be the first to hug you, jump into all of your arms

My inner alarms played their broken-record tune, ‘you’re shy, you aren’t worthy, it isn’t safe to follow your heart’.

Your voice sang smooth as the moon, and I swooned

There is so much I wanted to ask you, about where you’re going and where you’ve been

So much I wanted to applaud about you, to share and offer you

Helping you is the least I could do

Even the man with thirteen hands could use an extra hand sometimes

Should you need them, my hands are here for you

Are you still suffering?

I was on my 24th consecutive hour of work; sweaty, hungry, dehydrated, and raggedly exhausted when a patient walked into the urgent consult office where I was posted on call, sat down and said:

‘A long time ago, you fell in love with someone who was not as in love with you, and for that, you suffered a lot.’

I was the clinician, yet without asking a single question he arrived at an accurate diagnosis of my neurosis: perpetual heartbreak.

I felt somewhat violated when he proceeded to tell me that I had one birthmark on my upper thigh and another under my breast, and that I should take off my clothing and show him. He wasn’t spot-on about the birthmarks, but he was correct about the heartbreak. Maybe we all have heartbreak in our pasts, but he really got me when he asked, ‘Are you still suffering?’.

If the imprints on my energetic field from that loss of love are obvious enough for some rando creep to read them like a news headline, I want to change the vibe I’m giving off.

I was still suffering, and in trying to escape my suffering I became a physician, hoping that the overwhelming process of medical training would take my attention away my broken heart- a treatment that provided a temporary distraction at best, but not a cure.

Now with spiritual healing on a level even deeper than heart break and reciprocated love in my life, I am still suffering, but less so.

Regret

I have a rum-soaked regret

I spent a night lying in a bed next to you, wanting you and warmed by the feeling of you wanting me, without getting closer to you, without holding you

We passed out immediately upon contact with the mattress as a result of all that we had imbibed, as we were serious about celebrating my last night in town

You lingered after the other guests had gone

As the party went on we gravitated together and let each other know in lover’s language our shared desire, finding reasons to touch each other without a reason

I remained unconscious to the world until I woke up, still fully dressed

You were gone, taking with you my only chance to physically express admiration for you

To this day, you are an ocean away

Maybe it is just as well

Why endure a one night stand, only to be followed by regret as I worry about sexually transmitted infections and pregnancy

Your presence was intoxicating enough

We both drank too much

The bridge of alcohol became our wall

Thank you for the fond farewell

Made fonder still by unrequited romance

Too Much

Are you upset because you feel that you gave too much, darling?

Too much love and affection, only to end in rejection?

Too much energy and time, too much of your body and mind, did you spend too many of your dimes?

Too many gifts, too many kisses?

You were too much for me

I risked my life for you, with every imposed act of unprotected sex

Your arms were prison bars to me, your body was a wall I couldn’t make fall

Finally free with the help of geography, I set to work separating you from me

I told you so many times that your love was toxic for me

You cared only for yourself, I was an object on your shelf

We both gave up the chance to be with dozens of other lovers

I gave you the best years of my life and you riddled them with strife

I thank you for all of that, even though being trapped in an unhealthy relationship damn near killed me

You were my drinking buddy and my drunk enemy

You never kept the peace for long

A loud grievance about how the world did you wrong was perpetually erupting

Despite the fact that you were a spoiled, silver spoon over-fed blond haired, blue-eyed white American male

Honey, your complaining is still ringing in my ears

You gave me the time of my life, never after

Our friends went out of their way to keep us apart because the damage we caused each other was so painful for them to watch

Our approaches to life are opposite

I ask what I can give

You ask what you can take

No wonder you were so fond of me

You want without end

I could never satisfy you

I am at peace now, and I wish the same for you

I no longer feel torn by my simultaneous love and loathing for you

I feel only grateful to have survived our relationship

It was almost too much

To the Men

In the middle of the night

Life catches up to me

My heart is both hunted and hunter, yet I stay in one place

None of these poems are about you

All of these poems are about you

Looking across the battlefield

I see many hearts, some still beating for me

Fallen soldiers, which way did your body land?

When I recognized that you did not serve my soul, I left you

I left you with respect and hoped the best for you

At least I do not call you spiteful names

Nor do I reject the lovely moments we shared

I do not fire hurtful words at you to make myself feel more powerful

Even as you show me how small your mind is

Nose

It is easy to get swept away

On the magic carpet ride of my imagination

To keep myself unavailable to all but the mythical prince on a white horse

In keeping my gaze on the distant horizon

I miss what is right in front of my nose, what is here and now, what is real