Steep (An Audio Poem)

hot, decaffeinated tea…

Steep (An Audio Poem)

2 months coffee free, sober to
your antics, my eyes
open, the light is here.

no longer am I blind to your
cloak of disapproval.

bold and transparent, you are revealed.
I got out before you could
pen me in.
before my heart could break again
before I fell deeper than
the waves could carry me.

I won’t lie, there’s no need for it.
you still fill me up,
your scent, steeping in my skin–
the more I smell you,
the harder it is

to get clean.

June Visual Verse Prompt: Milk & Honey

This month’s Visual Verse prompt is an interesting one. I thought it a great opportunity to do a bit of flash fiction for this image. It’s an intriguing image and the subject appears at peace–serene. The first thing that came to my mind is a cleansing, how something is purged or can be purged from our system, our hearts, and our minds. Below, you will find a snippet of my contribution for this month and then, a link to the piece in its entirety.

As always, thank you for reading.

Milk & Honey

The cool blend of milk and honey wrapped itself around her. This would be a cleansing, a release of the heartache that plagued her for weeks. She never thought she would have to say goodbye to a love that lasted longer than her dream of love. Three years… Three sacred years that she will never get back, gone — forever.

As she stood still, every pore of her body welcomed the cleanse and pulsed with sensation. She thought of his touch, his breath, his hands pressed onto her spine. He was all over her: in her bedroom and her walls. He had taken over everything she knew.


Many thanks to Visual Verse and to all of you for stopping by. The rest of the entry is here: Milk & Honey.

In Theory: “There Is No Spoon”

tvman
Taken at the Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, VA

I tap —
backspace seven times,
an email I said I
would not send
 and I am
here, in front of a computer
listening to music that
only reminds me of
you.

I flit —
I flow from one
word to the next.

there is no calming of
nerves
no antidote suitable
enough to render me
settled.

rice is bubbling,
broccoli roaring in the pot
turkey wings sizzling with
sweet potatoes
, still I
backspace… tap — flit — start

and stop all over again.
I am not here.

I watch each word appear,
letter by letter
every thought is centered around
a looming memory.
my “E” key is stuck,
I strike it back to life
.

I can’t have it dying
on me
.
not now.
not today.

I am amusing myself,

you see?
This is a great space,
in 
between theories and spoons
and matrixes and moons
.

And I convince myself
that 
these are not words
and there was no us
and 
this is not a letter
so it is not real
.

None of it.
But it was, wasn’t it?

The archives have more
than their share of drafts —
this one, though.
it’s finally finished.

but flag the
send button from sight

too afraid to commit
these words to a pair
of eyes that spent the
last nine months
forgetting what I look
like.


Originally published on September 10, 2017, via Medium.

 

Known Unknown

 

blackmanbeauty
Courtesy of Clem Onojeghuo/Unsplash

My crush doesn’t know there’s a word on my tongue for him. He sees past me, looks at my smile as a red plum, ready to steal its juices — sip the glow. He whips past cafes and brunch spots, knuckling a worn laptop, it’s where he stores his words.

I am the menacing sun, effervescent and demanding. I stand in his path, a weeping dialogue begins. I know he knows, but he doesn’t want to know and I don’t want to say anything that will lead to more questions of who we are.

Label purgatory.

If there’s such a thing — that’s where we’ve landed. The back and forth of indecisiveness eats us alive.

He is the blue moon on a dark Spring night, the silent harp. I, heart in hand, legs shaking and teary eyes welling up, break the ice; “You know, we cannot pretend forever.”

Thinking he would understand and soon… Soon… We would morph into a blessed abundance.

But he chuckles, wipes the scuff marks off his brand new Chucks and whispers, “but I am not pretending.”

He breaks my heart without trying.


©Tremaine L. Loadholt, 2018. All Rights Reserved Originally published in A Cornered Gurl on Medium.

Understand This

This heart
Aches when words
Of venom shoot through it.
Silence saunters in,
It makes half of me
Twist into a complex labyrinth.

You think, “but she’s usually
An angel. Mostly kind and polite.”
I am also human.
Daggers draw blood
And words
When used to cut
Into soft flesh
Can kill.
Instead of dying,
I fight back.

Armed with an arsenal
Of my own,
Each moment in regaining
My strength will cause
Me to empty a chamber.
I assure you…

You
Don’t
Want

That kind of death.