Blinded by Her Definition of Me by Tremaine L. Loadholt

Special thanks to Gabriela, the lovely editor at MasticadoresUSA, for publishing my latest poem. Please do check it out when you have time. Peace and blessings.

MasticadoresUsa // Editora: Gabriela Marie Milton

Photo by Natalia Almeida via ReShot

Blinded by Her Definition of Me
by Tremaine L. Loadholt

author’s sites:
https://acorneredgurl.com
https://trEisthename.medium.com

I’ve died two deaths;
one in her eyes, and one
in her daughter’s eyes.
I’m not who she expected.
her image of me was
a porcelain doll damaged
and cracked, but willing
to be glued by love.

all confidence is lost
upon endless time.

the nimble
glory of lingering love
wanders amongst our
lying tongues. I deny
what we have, I denounce
what she wants.
blinded by her definition
of me, I retreat.

I am not the savior
she needs–my powers
are limited.
she suddenly loses hope.

my ears have been
home to her magnetic cries;
I house secrets–keep
them safe. I won’t
allow anyone to fetch
them without her permission.
she knows my word
is my bond.

I am in the background,
a shadowy image of
her faithful dreams.

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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 // Editora: Gabriela Marie Milton

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…

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The Underbelly of This Seam

Robert has such a way with words. I love reading what he has to offer the WordPress community. I cannot imagine anyone not following him, but if you are a fan of in-depth and insightful poetry, you truly should check him out.

The Underbelly of This Seam Slides beneath your gaze, unnoticed, but the joining satisfies that particular urge, combining two separates into one whole, creating this new piece. I thumb the string on every fourth beat, anchor the cloth, pull it taut, and stitch. What better material than air and silence? Yesterday’s tune, tomorrow’s silk? […]

The Underbelly of This Seam

Thanksgiving Eve: A Poem

my blood can’t handle any more apologies, insistence on the right to celebrate genocide…

Thanksgiving Eve: A Poem

A poem by the lovely Jennifer Patino. Let it sink in. Allow it to marinate for a moment in your bones. However you spend this day, I hope you do it safely and with more awareness than you should probably have.

Please go to the original poem to “like” and “comment.” Her words deserve that. Peace and blessings.

lady in white

Sometimes, a piece of poetry hits you ever so subtly right in the gut. Devika Mathur’s words do that often. Please visit the original poem to like and comment as well.

I know of a lady in whitewith a mouth full of promises,spreading a nocturnal path of flowers,like a longed kiss above the eye,a lady that slips in my chest,within the small rim of my fist,a sniff so wild, a mouth that dwells on mountains moist.a lady with a potato peel,with cardigans and wool on […]

lady in white