he ate the soup
you made for him
a few weeks
before you died. it was
sitting in the freezer
with a strip of masking tape
over the lid, his father’s name
written in your hand.
just as beautiful
Taking a little break from poetry today to read one of my short stories about love, inspired by a real-life event and a young man I fell in love with so long ago. I hope you like it.
one step at a time
what do you dream of
when you close your eyes?
do you see a future filled with possibilities
or do you see a past littered with lies—
the ones you told yourself
when you thought no one was looking
the ones that shaped the way you saw the world
making you believe you didn’t deserve anything?
where did things change for you?
when did they fall apart?
was it when they said you couldn’t do anything right
or was it when he broke your heart?
was it the day they promised you the world
but never came back?
will you believe me if i tell you
that you can get yourself back on track
to a place where possibilities are endless
where hope and joy spring from deep within
one step at a time, one win at a time,
all we have to do is believe… and begin.
out of my depth
i’m tired of always being the strong one
some days i just need to let my shields down
just for a time so i can exhale again
maybe then i can remember when
you used to keep me safe from harm
until that night you left before the dawn
after telling me you’d be there when i’d wake
only you weren’t and so here i wait
being the strong one all by myself
out of control, out of my depth
losing count of the days since you left
with my heart in your hand, my soul is bereft
all i have left is the memory of you
your voice, your words pulling me through
every line perfectly crafted, well thought out
filled with love and kindness, without a doubt
reminding me to be strong, because there’s no other way
to make it through each challenging day
and face the world with my head held high
wondering no more the reasons why
you had to leave the way you did
until the day you return to me, your dreams fulfilled
your hand on my heart again, feeling each heartbeat
let me close my eyes now, time to go back to sleep
Beauty, Undone
You are very beautiful to me,
even with the imperfections that you see.
The too-wide eyes, that loping smile,
the way you wear your hair, your very own style.
Don’t listen to what others tell you,
nor pay attention to what they say you should do,
that each line upon your skin a mark of future correction.
Don’t they know that underneath it all, you’re perfection?
A nip here, a tuck there –
beauty at a price, everywhere,
but beneath all that is just decay.
Is that really the game you want to play?
So smile that smile and be brave
Become that peaceful soul you crave.
For you’re perfect just the way you are,
beautiful beneath every wrinkle, every scar
Dry your eyes, stop wishing to become
like everyone else, empty as a deafening drum.
Stop changing yourself to fit into what you think is true,
strive to be at peace with your soul – just…just be you
And as you look at yourself – so beautiful, so free,
unencumbered by what the world defines as pretty,
though acceptance can be the most difficult thing, it can be done.
It’s a hard road, I know – it’s why I’m still undone.
content
i turned a year older yesterday
and for the first time I didn’t feel sad.
I felt happy and content,
as if something in my life
finally made sense,
from the relationships I made
to the ones I lost
even those that were never meant to stay.
is that why for the first time
in a very long time
i only have good things to say
In His Study: A Short Story (Audio)
I wrote In His Study six years ago in response to a writing prompt about a person’s character based on items in his desk drawer. While it didn’t really follow the prompt to the letter, I loved writing it and watching each character unfold on the page.
In His Study features one of my all-time favorite couples Luna and Devlin whose story I will go back to this year.
Until then, here’s a peek into their new life in London. I hope you like it!
“…as I do not believe in afterlife, I realize the gift artists make to the world is a selfless one ultimately, and that the knowledge that it may survive the self must be due to a belief in immortality. Or can one really work fo those one will never see? Do I ever think of those who will read me after my death?”
Anäis Nin
connection
it was never about the sex.
it was always about connection.
it was never about the way you moved
(well, maybe a little)
it was more than a simple distraction
and as long as you’re willing to keep on going
then i’m game, too
for as long as this connections holds, baby
it’ll always be with you
discarded notes: 14
is there a secret to falling in love
or is being in lust with you
so much easier on the heart
that i should refrain
from letting my mind tell me
to stop and just go for the ride
and fall and drown,
and like a magic trick,
appear unbruised,
like new?
muse
you are my muse
and that is the truth, at least for now,
pulling me from the depths of despair
i find myself in somehow
preferring the comfort of the darkness
when there is so much light out there
until your smile, your eyes, your voice
prove the perfect snare
so keep me under your spell
for as long as you truly can
dance with me to the tune of my wildness.
be my hero, be my man
and i’ll write you until my tears run out
and i’ll need to cut open a vein
and let my fears and dreams and love spill out,
and all that my heart cannot contain.
discarded notes: 13
she found herself
in opposition to her heart
who wanted only him
and no one else
even as her mind rebelled
and said, please take care,
for if all he wants
is sex now,
what else is next?
submission, surrender,
and so much more…
hush, she said,
for he is my cure.
Note from Liz: So ends the Poem-a-Day challenge I gave myself for March 2021. I hope you enjoyed them!
here and now
i don’t care what you look like for i know what’s deep inside your heart
you’re a man who gives me what i need even if tears you apart
for it takes more than knowing the right words to say, it’s knowing when and why
it’s being there for me the only way you know how, your voice is my nightly lullaby
as you tell me i’m a good person and that i did my best at the end of every day
letting me rest my head on your chest as you whisper my troubles away
and even when i say bad things in anger, lashing out at you the only way i know how
you stay when you could easily leave. you bring me back to the here and now
discarded notes: 12
know my name
though i go by many
know it anyway
for it’s the only way
i know you see me
and see that beyond
the masks i wear
to protect my heart,
only you know
what lies inside
wishing it’ll remain unhurt
until the game we play
finally runs its course
and i’ll be left with nothing
but bitter remorse
rush
i rushed in
too fast and too soon
completely forgetting
to check the room.
was i wanted?
could i stay?
do you think me weird
for the things i say?
awkward, that’s me
although that’s the way
i’ve always been
too quick to jump in
too fast to trust
when will i ever learn
that some things,
like love,
you simply
cannot rush.
Morrighan's Muse 