Day 55.

At least she has her health, they all said. But she knew better. The inescapable, constant pain told her otherwise. Each breath, a stiletto-sharp pain slices across her back, lightening bolts shoot down her legs. Walking nearly impossible. But she just smiled her wide, beautiful smile that hid her daily torture. She'd known for years that something was wrong. Long before the pain became unending. It began with shimmers that were almost imaginary. Years passed and the almost imaginary shimmers became hints of something. Hints of something became a daily nuisance. A daily nuisance became a perpetual inner torture that only she knew.

Day 54.

Lava flowed into
the tumultuous water
solidifying.

Day 53.

An ocean
of tears were
cried. Each one
screaming in agony
as it boiled into existence.
Rolling down her cheek
joining millions of others,
they became fast moving lava
leaving mascara lined scars as reminders.

Day 52.

It stretches just far enough
for you to feel free.
It almost releases you entirely.
You walk, or even run,
for as long and as far as you can.
I made it!
Without sign or warning,
it snaps you back to where you started.
Stunned and confused,
you begin to realize where you are.
I lost it!

Day 51.

It's right there
in the minutia.
Between the
obtuse and the obscure,
the obvious breathes.
You can hear it
if you're still.

Day 50.

With pen in my hand,
I sit down to write.
Searching for words
night after night.
The words they may come
or stay hidden away.
If I only could tell
what I'm meaning to say.
The message gets muddled.
The emotion gets lost.
I must keep on writing
whatever the cost.

Day 49.

It's ugly.
The ugliest thing you've ever seen.
An ugly so intense
it latches onto your soul and shakes you to the core.
An ugly so vile
the mere idea of its stench evokes eternal nausea.
The ugliest part
is that it is always there.
Watching.

Day 48.

Memory.

What was that word

That name

That movie

That thing

That color

That smell

That sound

That feeling? 

Day 47.

In The Box.

Among other things,
you will find a chip
from our favorite nightclub,
a newspaper clipping
announcing my departure,
another one announcing yours.
There's a photo of us
in the high school hallway
and one in front of our old house,
the first one I ever knew.
There are awards,
once important,
now scratched & stacked between
souvenire mugs.
You'll find an access pass
to that convention you just had to go to.
Keep looking and you'll find
letters with claims of love.
You'll find an apologetic card
from when you overreacted
and got mad at me for no reason.
There's even a note
that I wrote but never sent.

What you won't find is you.
Or me.
Or the way we loved.
You'll only find that in here.

Day 46.

Words need to be said,
but you won't hear them.
You made certain of that.
Pictures need to be drawn,
but your eyes won't see them.
You made certain of that, too.
Adventures need to be shared,
but your heart won't feel them.
You guaranteed that won't happen.

Day 45.

Daylight blinding
    through the window.
Disrupting the peace
    and solitude.
A reminder there is
    more beyond the window.
Unwanted as it may be.

Day 44.

Void.

The void is there
staring at me.
Even when I don't look
in its direction,
I can still feel
its eyes pressing me,
beckoning for me to
turn its way.
But I won't turn.
I won't give in
to that emptiness.
I won't give it
any power over me.
It has no voice
yet I can hear it
calling to me.
I won't answer it.
It must learn to
exist in solitude.
That is the choice it has made.

Day 43.

Together.

They sit together
as one,
holding hands in
the sun.
They cherish every
moment,
not knowing where the
time went.
A short time ago,
they cried
for love they had yet
to find.
Today, they smile
inside,
filled with comfort, joy
and pride.
As they travel down
the road,
they share each other's
load.
No burden too much
to bear.
No happiness they
won't share.

They sit together as one,
holding hands in the sun.

Day 42.

Opposites.

From where you were,
it was perfect.
A love so strong,
so powerful
you would never
love another the same.
I brought your life
something that you never had before,
something you never dreamed
you could have or
deserved to have.
I brought you love.
I brought you understanding.
From the beginning,
you knew
I would be the one to save you.

From where I was,
it was passing.
You were interesting.
You were troubled.
I saw in you something better
than you saw in yourself.
I cared for you.
But I did not love you.
I never would.
I couldn't let myself.
You had too much baggage
that you carried with you everywhere, resenting it yet refusing to let it go.
I couldnt carry it for you.
So I walked away,
leaving you to carry it on your own.

Day 41.

Shattered.

My heart broke
shattered into
a million
tiny
shards.
I gathered them
gluing and taping
back together
one
by
one.
Many missing
even more
too small
to
grab.
I knew that
it would never
completely be
whole
again.

Day 40.

The Butcher's Daughter.

I watched him from behind the counter
Mortified. Disgusted. Riveted.
He was so at ease, at home with it all,
No matter how much blood
No matter how awful the smell.
I watched in awe as he
Cut and chopped, filleted and deboned.
A dance.
I watched slabs of meat sway on their hooks
when he walked past.
We were never hungry then.

Day 39.

Out Of Reach.

I long to caress you with my words.
Though I've tried forever
to draw you in,
you have eluded me.

I long for the comfort of your embrace.
Though I've reached desperately
for your touch,
you've never held me in your embrace.

I long to give you wings.
Though you know
how to fly,
you've always stayed grounded.

I long to feel you in my heart. 
Your eyes have never met mine.
Your kiss has never graced my lips.

Day 38.

Empty Rooms.

His father walked in the room,
and everything stopped.
Fear overtook him.
Even the most innocent actions caused paranoia.
He closed his history book and looked up,
ready to make eye contact because a real man always looks another square in the eyes, but not for too long so not to be accused of staring.
Alert & ready.
He waited.
But it was as if he wasn't there.
His father walked through the room,
grabbed a newspaper,
sat in his recliner and
turned on the news.
Never looking toward his only son.

Day 37.

Red Flag.

I was early.
I sat at the bar.
When you arrived, I knew immediately it was you.
You were a mountain of a man.
Tall. Very tall.
Big. All around.
You sat with your short sleeved bare arm on the bar.
Your psoriasis inflamed.
I was ashamed at my internal superficial reaction.
We talked. Laughed a little.
We moved outside.
We stood.
We talked.
You were oblivious to my needs as we continued to stand.
Me in heels.
The night grew cold.
We talked.
You talked.
Of your ex wife.
Of your hatred for her.
Of how she ruined your life.
Of how she betrayed you.
Of how you fought.
Of how you were not at fault.
Of your hatred for her.
Of your anger toward her.
Of your hatred for her.
Of your anger...
I called it a night.
You politely walked me to my car.
All the while, composing your email in your mind.
    I was inconsiderate, rude.
    I needed to be taught manners.
I was never so glad to have listened to my instincts.

Day 36.

The One Thing. 

The one thing she wanted most in the world was to be loved. To be truly loved for who she was with all her flaws, hiccups, bumps, warts, insecurities and arogancies. She wanted someone to see through all of that into her true self and extract the best of her, excising the worst.

The one thing she wanted most in the world was to be understood. To not have to explain every action, inaction, thought, word or moment of silence. She wanted someone who would know that she meant what she said and said what she meant and didn't waste energy on anything else. 

The one thing she wanted most in the world was to love and understand someone. To truly accept them for who they are and to know the meaning behind their actions, thoughts and words. To accept them fully warts, flaws, bumps and all. To see in them the best they could be and to draw it out. To recognize that the one thing they want most in the world is to be loved and understood. 

Day 35.

I don't have much to say to you.
You've left me no choice.
Our conversations have meant nothing.
Our exchanges have shared even less.

I don't know what you want from me.
You've taken everything I had.
My gifts have meant nothing.
My sacrifices even less.

I want to tell you everything.
I don't know how.
It's not like you'll understand any of it.

I want to give you everything.
I don't know how.
It's not like I haven't done so already.

Day 34.

The Return.

You came back
and it means more than you know.
You saw in me
something no one else has ever seen.
You didn't let me
go back to being perpetually let down.
You didn't give up
on the connection we had.
You somehow knew
that we met for a reason.
You didn't let fear
get in the way of something great.
You realized
our chance meeting would change our lives.
You came back
and my heart, mind & soul exploded with joy.
You came back
and it means more than you know.

Day 33.

Remember.

The time when you worked tirelessly on yourself.
The time when you went after your dreams.
The time when nothing could stop you.
The time when you actually cared.
The time when you finally had confidence that lasted more than a moment.
The time you loved yourself.
The time you felt you could do anything.
The time you did.

Day 32.

Time To Chat.

I haven't done much narration or explanation this year. I've wanted to let the poems speak for themselves. This seemed like a good time to chat.

This time around is different. In 2014, it was an experiment. I genuinely had no idea if I would be able to keep that daily promise. But I did. I learned a lot and feel like my writing grew by the end of the year. I was able to portray my thoughts and intentions more accurately as the project evolved. Throughout the process, I allowed myself to play, to be silly and to write about complete nonsense just for the sake of writing. There were many days when I had no inspiration, so I wrote about that.

This time is different. Since 2014, a lot has happened. 2015 brought me love. You'll see more poems from that time as the year goes on. 2016 brought a heart attack for my mother. She survived, but it was trying time. 2017 brought darker times. We lost 2 cats early on. Neal's mom passed away in the spring. A close friend took his own life in the summer.

So, this time is different. The poems have been heavier. I have not been able to find that place of light I had in 2014. Not yet. There are still too many shadows.

This time is different. My goal is not just to write every day. It is to continue developing my ability to convey the message or feeling I set out to express with each poem. Oftentimes, these poems have a mind of their own and become something very unlike my original intention. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes not.

The 2018 journey will be different. That's a good thing. It's all about growth, after all.

See you at the other end.