dream work – Page 8 – One Woman's Quest

Scorned Woman’s Rage

Before I jump into another man’s bed,
(especially one who has already cheated),
whisper my deepest yearnings to his
lusting heart, arch my hips to meet his
less than satisfactory thrust, I will make
sure that his compassion meets mine,
that he has the balls to prioritize, and
does not soften at crucial junctures.

I can look back at past follies, blame
hormonal rages, or beat myself over
shameless acts, but I am not the one
whose cojones, like deflated balloons,
lacked the wherewithal to differentiate
between brain and penis, and chose
to corrupt rather than protect the
sanctity of our children’s future.

Call it emasculation! Call it female
wrath; accountability goes both ways,
and as long as we women are willing
to carry the burden of guilt, believe
messages shoved down our throats,
and submit to impossible ideation;
relationships will continue to crumble –
Stand up! Make a statement! Be a man!

Herd or Heard

Society moves en masse,
flowing with the tides,
propelled by a shared
consciousness.

Destination unknown;
purpose undetermined.

We take flight, cling
to wings of promise,
ignore the stench
of destruction.

Reaching for the sky;
barely hanging on.

We land, school together
tell tales of adventure
document progress
avoid reality

proponents of diversity;
shunning differences

All among us has a story
shies from speaking aloud
fears castigation
deflects

fearlessly outspoken:
scapegoating sins.

Daring to speak a truth,
I falter, watch as the
crowd retreats in
shunning silence.

Destination unknown,
purpose undetermined.

Hope, Like a Breeze

Big city goals, and a skeptical side,
parked my independence, tagged
along with logic, pretended to fit in,
told stories tinted with wildness,

distracted by the me I’d left behind,
tired of my own game, too self-
conscious to ever belong, regressed
to the past, aging psyche crumbling

walls- time they came down, anyway –
emotionally soaked footings, leaky
pipes, memories are soiled, unfixable;
overwhelming sense of doom presides.

Youth visits, eyes innocent and full
of Springlike optimism, opens doors,
demonstrates possibility, breathes
new hope into this despairing mind.

Lights, Cameras, Heartache

Dressed herself in sequins,
sparkled from head to toe,
courted celebrity, falling for
the spell – could not see the
lies presented, nor the trail
of endless tears behind him.

He was drawn by her passion,
a radiant exuberance buoying
his spirit, her love reminiscent
of the mother he’d lost long ago,
like the family he never knew,
he followed her lead; intrigued.

She set the scene for perfection,
fretted over each detail, prayed
that all would come together,
a relationship fated to be,
failed to see the patterns that
would surely sabotage her.

Love was never his intention,
preferred young women, was
already involved, thirsted only
for her charm, hungered for
the brilliance of her soul, it was
her mystery that he craved.

She immersed himself in his
cause, committed to finding
his truth, failed to heed
inner authority, broke her
own rules, lost balance after
his abandonment; ashamed.

He’d never wanted saving,
thought he’d been clear all
along, preferred being single
avoided tarnishing his star,
had merely liked his reflection
shimmering beneath her glow.

Out of Step

Perpetually looking inward,
pondering commitment,
considering risks, projecting
humiliation, shame; daring

to dream of a second chance,
room to grow, opportunities
to demonstrate value – well
guarded, precarious being.

I am floundering in a fishbowl,
crowded by co-conspirators
operating out of step, trying
to acclimatize, compulsively

examining decisions, under-
whelmed by undeniable
growth, compensating with
dark, emotional outpourings.

Need to prove self-worth is
unappealing, disregards
viable efforts, disallows
definitions of acceptance.

This inwards, backwards
outlook critiques harshly,
harbours shame, sees
fault in successes, I am

stuck in the past, static,
abandoned, anxiously
forgetting, hindered by
confinement, jumping

to conclusions; I need
objectivity, to redirect
stored misgivings and
eyes outward, perceive

kindness, communicate
misunderstandings, shake
off disbelief, consider merit
as reflected by old friends.

Need a Big Ass Truck

Shit needs to be managed,
so much stinking sewage
requiring a massive truck
with a fat-bellied-snake
hose blocking the road.

Repairs are underway,
requiring crews of men
with clipboards, and hard
hats, and big-assed pick-
ups blocking the road.

Such industry obstructs
my passage – none of it
relates to me, surely –
I travel this road with
singular focus – home.

Impatient, unwilling to
wait, I squeeze my pint-
sized ego past the block-
ades, risking disruption,
disrespecting caution.

I am, after all, entitled
to my own destination,
require rest and solace,
do not possess the energy
for other people’s agendas.

Am intimidated by brute
ability to roll up sleeves,
tackle any job no matter
how dirty, the balls it takes
to block the road at all.

I am polite society,
go with the flow, prefer
to remain anonymous,
blush at causing ripples,
shudder at inconsideration.

Relieved to arrive at my
humble abode, shed the
wheels, brush off road dust,
surrender to the harmony
of private sanctuary, startled

to find my pristine turf
littered with the leftovers
of past failures, a dumping
ground for undigested,
and rotting intentions.

My path is blocked by
the debris, obviously left
by some disgruntled ex-
wishing to violate my
perfection, an intruder.

Except I recognize the
pots, see my own hand
in cooking up the contents,
am forced to admit that
I am culpable, need to

own the shit that calls
for management, commit
to the repairs, roll up my
sleeves, and grow balls;
there is dirty work ahead.

Seasons of Love

Winter came early –
seeped into intimate
corners, froze hearts.

Walls papered white,
intending cheer, only
accented bitter cold.

Layers of submission,
hope, denial, ineffectual
in refueling the warmth.

She followed him down
the unavoidable slope
deep into the abyss.

Chilled, shaken she
braced for the arduous
trek ahead, injected

lightness into an
impossible situation,
committed, unaware

that he’d moved on,
abandoned her with his
customary indifference.

Years later, thawed
by the warmth of solitude
she reflected, wondered

how the blatancy of his
oddities has escaped her –
his fixation on antiquated

ideals, how he furnished
her mind with incoherencies,
collected things, not values.

She had merely been
an observer in his life,
yet it had escaped her

that it was the fiery
summer of her soul,
that had melted his ice

her scorching, all-
embracing passion
that had united them

and, as in all things
seasonally inevitable,
their love would die.

Dragon Attack

Long-bodied,
gelatinous
creatures cling
to the walls
of this hole
I’m buried in,
repulsive,
relentless,
fluorescent
tubes of
serpentine
slime
suctioning
space,
I am
breathless,
helpless.

More eel-like
than snake,
propelled by winged apertures –
underdeveloped versions of the full-
bodied inhabitants
swarming around
my head –
panic
will be
my
demise.

Movements,
I recognize
are juvenile,
impulsive,
floundering,
not menacing,
mid-air capture
will curtail
the onslaught,
minimize
damage –
tame
these
dragons.

Move Me to Understanding

Fear repositions viewpoints –
two stories become the divide
desperately seeking renewal.

Dwelling in the past – decrepit
shambles hidden behind drooping
facades – uncovers slimy residue.

The heart is vastly accommodating
replicating passages – retreating –
is personal abundance adequate?

Sighting ignorance, we are moved –
comprehend eternal restoration,
available in every up and down.

Extra-ordinary applications allow
glimpses of under-story – glean
undercurrents, like muses – reveal.

Lovers imbibe, cause concern,
deflect rather than confront,
opt for derision over appeasement.

Withdraw, glimpse vulnerability,
forgive differences in preference to
domestic bliss – marital dance.

Salvaged

Delegated to the back room,
I am marginalized, invisible,
employ-ability in question.

I am a peripheral observer,
self-conscious of my status,
disintegrating at the edges.

Watch as relationships form,
people engage, socialize, find
purpose, ignore my presence.

Desperate, I grasp at meanings,
decipher holes in conversations,
measure lacking in interactions.
Ennui drives introspection –
a terrifying abyss of endless
confrontations and shortfalls.

Unable to bear the tedium –
madness threatening – I push
forward, reconsider stock

determine redundancies,
discern detrimental agendas,
am inspired to make changes.

Experience bears fruit, I can
salvage the situation, trim
excess, purge the sedentary.

Ideas flood, passion igniting,
prospects are not lost – creativity
fuels a new sense of belonging.