Trust Dance

I am learning that trust and me have a dance

Not smooth or all put together

Rather my dance with trust has broken patterns

Missing sections

No ending at this moment.

My trust lives, yet sometimes receives

Hard steps on my big toes

Making me gasp and pull away

Making me feel out of tune and off beat

Leaving me hard on myself

Leaving me with guilt for pulling away

Even though my big toes still hurt and feel the pain

I know I have the ability to trust within me

To dance gracefully and joyfully with trust

Yet, it's the child in me

Screaming

Confused about all the moves,

All the rhythms,

All the turns and twists.

It's the inner-child juggling its heart,

Secrets and disappointments

Through the trust dance

It's the child wanting

Her way.

For everything to just go her way.

Instead of his way,

Their way,

Your way.

The inner-child wants to move only in the direction we desire

We never wanted faulty touch

We wanted parental, safe touch.

Missed that step

Trust dance needs more practice

Never wanted to be alone,

Passed along.

Yet, wanted to be considered.

The moving from state to state

Challenged my hopes and ideas of friendships

Made me have too much longing

Too much sadness

And so, feet got stepped on again.

Damn, this trust dance hurts.

All along there has been a wanting to believe in herself,

The child,

The woman,

That I am beautiful

But echoes of far girl,

My little line backer,

Food deprived mother,

Body altering mother

Can still be heard and understood

Which all provided stepped on toes and two sprained ankles

My time with dancing had to take a rest,

So I could heal,

So I could learn how to move again.

Trust is a difficult choreography

It has difficult timing

Partners who have not been practicing their moves enough

Or my role in their life.

I want to hear compliments

I want to hear “love you” daily.

I want to be considered.

I want to be respected.

I want to be valued

I want apologizes,

Forgiveness,

Trust.

Wanting trust from my child-side and woman-side

Not just from others

I want it from myself

The most.

I want trust to come from me

I want my way because I want to trust myself

Everyday

To do this dance

To move quicker before the foot lands on the toe

Before the twisted ankle takes place

I want to trust myself

To guide me to my true self

True happiness

True peace

In the mirror I'll look

Making sure my moves improve

In this trust dance

Day after day until an ending

Is sequenced,

Performed,

And curtains fall.

Yet, for now I'm still learning

To dance

The dance of trust.

Entirety

Trickling, softly from the pipe
Are the words and moments
Which can be categorized as simple or intense
Yet, nonetheless all are experiences
Coming from the mountain spring.
All droplets have entered my core,
Gone into my cells,
and shaped my growth.
Some of those soft, trickling droplets
which entered my glass,
crossed past my tongue
and traveled down the dark deep path to my inner being
have left.
Gone out with sweat, tears, piss, or waste.
But each droplet offered me life.
Each drop offered me experience.
Each drop has left me wanting more,
needing more
because each trickling, softly falling droplet from the pipe
nourished me,
guided me,
soothed me,
and taught me to flow,
to ebb,
to brace for nothing.
To be a river and resume with each moment,
each experience in life,
for each droplet makes one complete
entirety.

written March 3, 2011

When the Mind Takes Over the Game

There is a love which consumes me.
It scratches the back corners of my mind,
And ignites at the most intense, unnecessary times.

This memory of love, feeling of love,
This attachment to love
Causes me deep pain and longing
For it is chastised in my mind,
In the back corners,
Scratching,
Waiting to ignite.

It is almost a poison.
It is a drug.
A craving.
An addiction.
An addiction to thought.
This love is long gone,
No longer tactile,
Yet it lingers in the back corners of my restless mind
Waiting to ignite
And sending my heart away
Full of fire and pain.


written March 3, 2011

The Beautiful B

My beauty is a bright and warm forest near the sea
With trees ancient and wise
With bumbling bumble bees
and radiant, orange monarch butterflies swirling around
while high amongst the trees tiny birds sing
a lullaby reminiscent of intuitively familiar dreams

My refreshing breeze comforts travelers
For my beauty is bright and warm with lovely smells of lilac and rose
My beauty is a bold, big fire
And at other times is a gentle and classic poinsettia:
Deep and velvety red
My beauty is bright and warm inviting herself in.

written in December 2010

Traces Through Me

Traces through me
Spit fire running over me and around me
Tormenting me through sleep
Deep into the night
Choking-
Grabbing onto my neck
And making lies of me

It all worries me
My body keeps telling me
Pulled down, grabbed down
By the thoughts, moves, and ideal beings of it
What is it?

What is that worry
Lying over me
Consuming me
All the anxiety within and about me

The identity of me:

Rushing through my dreams
Seizing me
Making me
Rush from my slumber
Only to be stuck in those thoughts
While awake-
In what can be-
On certain days-
A complete haze

Tormenting me in dreams
The farthest, deepest traces of me



written in April 2009

Snake

Each night when I lay down to another slumber of rest
I have twinges of worry cross my body,
like an electric blanket turned on too high.

I worry that I won't have enough money to survive,
To beat these rising oil prices.

I worry that I won't get the opportunity to make a difference,
or that I'm stuck and not growing.

I get caught right before I drift asleep thinking of past lovers,
Past embarrassing moments,
And I find both relief and sorrow
That I am encompassed by pillows and blankets alone.

I often worry if I'll always be alone because one lover's ghost still haunts me
When I'm awake and when I'm asleep.

My dreams are funny.
They come in colors,
They come with touch,
They come with animals biting and releasing me-
The spirit of the snake healing me.


written in April 2009

Time

My time
Under the feel of these finger tips
Taps eagerly upon the red paint
Of a Target check-out counter.

My fingers tap away the time-
The time, whose effort, has taken away time from me
As I deposit five more cents
Into the corporate hands I claim to know largely about.

I chose, yes me, to make all my decisions
And with them all my consequences
My fingers tap and I can feel the calluses
As I loose another penny in the midst of hasty decisions.