The Fantasy of You Still Haunts Me

I slept seven hours and one half
from Friday night into Saturday morning
and would’ve slept even longer
had I not awakened to the
feeling of you lying next to me

I thought I’d outgrown fantasies
of you exchanging your current life
for one I can provide–
that I’d been rid of seeing you
when I don’t need to

“The world doesn’t need another
love poem”
but I’m beginning to not give
a fuck about the world
It’s much too busy breaking
character or running wild because
being unmasked is a form of freedom
and I am far too consumed with
keeping my tongue tied and
staying away from props that
send me into the past

How are the children
is the first question I would ask you
I miss them more than anything
I realized the other day that
three different birthdays over
two separate years have passed
and I haven’t been able to
catch their smiles

I hope you tell them good things
about me, that I had a purpose
in drifting away
That I was trying to save my heart
If you’re wondering . . .
It isn’t working
I saw a woman on North
Peace Haven the other day . . .
jogging
I glanced only but I’d know
your doppelgänger when I see her
and she was it

I damn near crashed my car
I spent thirty minutes trying to
talk you out of my head
Two hours later, you were gone
Until today . . . Until this morning
and I wonder if it’s because
I’m going to do something today
we spent time doing in Baltimore
that digs every memory of you
up and sticks them to my
soul

I am tired of wondering where
I stand in your world
even after I found the strength
to leave, your magnetic pull
senses me
I just want to wake up
in the morning
Shit, shave, and shower,
and show you the door

The problem is, though, I
keep opening it and you . . .
well, you always walk
right in and take over
my heart

At 4 am, You Call Me Into Waking by Tremaine L. Loadholt

All thanks to Gabriela Marie Milton for publishing my poem, At 4 am, You Call Me Into Waking in MasticadoresUSA. I am honored and I appreciate her taking a liking to the poem enough to host it. Please hop on over to the site to read the poem in its entirety.

Peace and blessings.

MasticadoresUsa

The Dream (Le Rêve) by Pablo Picasso, 1932

At 4 am, You Call Me Into Waking
-Tremaine L. Loadholt

and it isn’t odd, this is
what you’ve done for years–
awaken me from deep sleep . . .
I allow it.
there’s something about your
raspy voice at this hour,
something about the breaths
you take that make me
be still and listen.
I love the world around
what we’ve built.
we have a common bond;
the depths in which we swim
can never drown us.
you say you want to
move in–say it’s finally time
and I find myself scrambling
for excuses to avoid
responding.
my space is mine,
invasion isn’t something
I envisioned, especially from
a lover.
we aren’t supposed to grow
past a certain point–we aren’t
supposed to linger . . .
you’ve always broken the rules.
and here I am, struggling
to pick up jagged pieces…

View original post 165 more words

I Got It

Musical Selection: The Internet|Under Control
An Experiment
Ary by pLoKi via Pinterest

I tell him things can’t
get any worse and we
agree to tell her — we agree
to let her know we’ve been
watching her, dreaming about
her, and waiting for her
to pick one of us.

Creepy, though it may sound,
she was into it.
He had his reasons.
I had mine. We told her
all of them.

“Fifteen minutes. Just give
me fifteen minutes. That’s
all I need to prove
I’m the better choice.”

I paced in front of her
awaiting her decision.
Surely, she’d see things
my way, but what happened
was just the opposite.

I stood there, still as clay,
afraid to shed the past
in front of a person
I claimed a future with and
nothing I said made
any sense.

She looked on, curious
to know where my antics
were headed; everything
drew itself free from
my grip and every word I
uttered turned into dust.

I watched this woman
we chased sprinkle
herself over the two
of us — potioned and portioned
perfectly and the only
thing I could think of
to say was, 
“I got it.”


This poem came to me while listening to the musical selection on repeat — I had the cover photo saved in my phone for later use; I felt as though it was the perfect image for this piece


Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium.

I’m Running Again

Another shot of my best friend’s plant therapy room. I’ve fallen in love with this room. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I don’t mean to–I didn’t
mean to but I know
when I’m not wanted
and I get my running shoes
put them on, tie them
up tight, and I start
running.

You’ve seen it before.
We’ve lived through this
phase of mine because you
have Casper in your blood.
Two ghosts does not a
live person make.

I love you too much to
let you see me crumbling
more because of you, so
what’s the best thing to do?
I can’t live on my feet
and die on my back at
the same time.

Pick one.
Which one do
you want?

You come in like
blooms on a plant
and disappear sooner
than later, taking more
pieces of me to
devour–to ravage.
I will never make
your sun shine.

This is what you
tell yourself without
knowing truly what I
can do.
I keep my running
shoes at the door,
ready and waiting.

Because when you come
around, old ways
stir up inside me and I . . .
set my eyes on
fleeing the scene
before you can
break my heart again.

Just Watch Me: NaPoWriMo#30

Watch me,” she says.
I do. She’s an amazing
human being; never
cringeworthy. I enjoy
darting my eyes from
one side of the
room to the next.

This beauty, gives balance
to my life.
Not once did I
assume it would
be her.

I’m glad
it is.


This poem was originally published via Twitter but shared here to be a part of NaPoWriMo.