Join me as I muddle through the murky waters of recovery.
I was homesick.
But not for our home. Not for the couch or the bed or the mess of living that is unique to it.
I was homesick for you.
For the glimmer of your eyes on a laugh. The confident way you touch me. The stability of your presence.
I was homesick for you.
For the casual way you tear down my walls. The way you challenge me to be better. The easy way you love me. The way you make it seem easy to love me.
I was homesick for you.
How happy I am to be home again.
He asks me to stay,
but it sounds more like a command.
Doesn’t he know that wild ones
don’t take orders well?
Originally,
The word premium
Meant an award given for a specific act.
And I’m wondering what prize I could possibly offer
For loving someone so broken.
(Inspired by daily prompt)
get a good look now.
before you know it this dress will
hit your floor. and baby you know
i’m not wearing anything beneath.
rip this corset with your teeth cause
i can’t take it any longer.
make it dirty and rough around the edges,
a pile of tearful orgasms and lace.
[via daily prompt]
i look up and see the sun.
it caresses the lace and i know i am one
of the luckiest girls alive.
i look up and see the detail.
it curves in meticulous perfection and i fail
to see anything more beautiful.
i look up and see your face.
it exists in my memory and i trace
it until it floats away.
spread those wings baby,
you were always meant to fly.
you have the kind of smile that paints the sky
golden, who knew that was even possible?
go on and take the leap baby,
stop looking at the ground.
your brain plays tricks and I have found
the best solution is to trick it right back.
don’t worry about the trip baby,
i’ll never let you fall.
when times get tough, just call
on me, your parachute,
we’ll make it through it all.
“They called me a crybaby, mama,” the young girl wiped her eyes with a sniffle, a forlorn expression adorning her face.
“Oh baby,” said the woman, crouching down beside her darling daughter, “weak boys see tears and think they’ve won. Can I tell you a story?”
The daughter nodded and crawled into her mother’s lap.
Arms wrapped around her baby, the woman pressed a kiss to her fine hair. “Once upon a time there was a man who said horrible things to his partner. He said these horrible things and left her crying alone on the boardwalk by their house. The woman’s tears fell freely but she did not try to stop them. Instead she had a beautiful thought.”
“What was that, mama?” asked the young girl, her tears forgotten.
“She thought to herself, my tears are like this ocean I walk past every day. Salt water that can mean beauty and also pain. Soft enough to nurture and powerful enough to destroy. I am like this ocean I walk past every day. The woman realized how beautiful it is, to hold a balance of softness and power, and realized you cannot have one without the other. Do you know what that means about the man?” When her daughter shook her head, she continued, “this man believes he has power but shows no softness. He was a lost soul who hadn’t yet found balance. He thought she was just a–”
“Crybaby,” the daughter whispered, a slow smile on her face. “But she wasn’t just that mama, was she?”
Mama shook her head with a smile, “She learned to love her tears because they showed her softness. And in that moment she realized she held power, too. Just like you, baby. You are soft and you are powerful. You are like the ocean we go to every summer. And those boys have no idea the force that they reckoned with today.”
