No Road To Recovery

redcloakwoman
Closed Eyes|Odilon Redon — circa 1894

An Experimental Audio Micro-Poem

We have been stripped
of the lives we knew
 — thrown into
the lives we hate by
keepers who do not know
what it means to be kept.


Originally published in Other Doors via Medium.


*Author’s Note: The Powerhouse introduced The Handmaid’s Tale to me and I have found myself binge-watching every episode, trying not to let myself become too angry with each new dive into the “fictional” lives of women who have been stripped of the lives that they once knew and forced into the lives of those who want nothing more of them than “miracle babies.” I cannot fathom what it must feel like to be raped on a consistent schedule with empty rhetoric and twisted biblical scriptures as reputable reasons for their drastic and inconceivable ways of life decided by those in power or considered the “Upper Echelon” of the U.S. of A.What’s even scarier? It feels like we could be headed in that direction.

The Incredible Need To Be Wanted

And, How It Slowly Subsides When You Know You Should Want More From The One You Want To Want You.

Javier Ramos|Unsplash

I let the morning pass, sip on my Vanilla Mint herbal tea, steeped to perfection and I think briefly to myself, “Should I check on her again?” I am fighting with the left-side of my brain, trying to understand the logic behind “No us.” I am losing terribly. This is always a no-win battle, and I have the scars to prove it, but something in me won’t let the thought of loving her go. I tell myself that I have been defeated many times before, that I fight well, that the scars that I have earned are healing, but I want badly to have the opportunity to have them heal further while being with her. I know… I know, radical decisions are not usually my forte’, but for some reason, I can see myself nose-diving straight into her life and landing perfectly on my feet.

How do we control what cannot be controlled?

Therapy is teaching me many things, but it is not teaching me this. How does one silent one’s heart? How does one make it be quiet when the mind has everything sorted out? I ask myself again, “Should I check on her?” She disappears from time to time just as I do when life is far too much to handle and taking breaks are the best things to do on the menu of working too hard, but it has been too long and my first email attempt has gone unresponsive.

Respect the boundaries. Respect the boundaries. Respect the…

Something could be wrong, but all could be right too. It is pertinent in life to respect boundaries. If they have been set, established, and agreed upon, respect them. It does not take a genius to know that doing this will more than likely, work out in your favor in the end. What do I mean? You will surely get over it. It will take time, but you will. And thinking of her safety, her heart, her willingness to create beautifully in the sober hours of the night will reconnect with you, but at arm’s length. You will succumb to healing and your days will get better. You will tap into the mystery of you and learn more about yourself because your focus will be on “Letting her/him go.” Your focus will be on learning to know what it is you need from someone else because you’ve truly established what it is that you lack.

It is natural to be wanted, to be loved.

But, it is important to recognize when you are on a one-way street down a highway to hell where you are the only one loving the other. Recognize that, move on, leave the place as quickly as possible, because if you linger, you’ll lose more and more of yourself every single day and collecting your meaningful parts will be harder to recover. Today, I am learning what she cannot give me, bolding every item in the forefront of my mind, and understanding that I have what I need for this time in my life.

I can give me what I need, even what I want, it’s just going to take a little bit more time.

The Fairy Godmother’s Last Spell

womenlove
Shamim Nakhaei|Unsplash


She never thought a woman
could break her heart…

It started off playful, little gifts of love presented in cards, letters, and candy. Before the light of a new day, Fairy Godmother Honore fell madly in love with the forest’s most popular warrior. She fixated on her smile, her voice, her laugh, and her words. She imagined the two of them coursing through the Land of Timeless Hope, hand-in-hand.

Camille…

Honore said her name and the flutters in her heart stirred without fail. Camille… the world stopped. Camille… everything that was meaningful faded into the background, was put on hold or canceled. Fairy Godmother Honore had found love. She found a reason to retire and give up casting spells that created a life of happiness for others. It was time to shine a light on her own. It was time for stepping into the center and being the focus. It was time for a welcomed peace.

But, her fantasy was one-sided. The hope of embracing love at the reins never matured for Honore. Camille was a bolt of lightning, busy luring hearts but never falling for them. She was a madwoman, casting spells of her own. With eyes of thunder, a head full of fiery hair, lips that summoned the seas, and a body brickhoused to perfection, Camille used what she had to engage others in indescribable ways. She was her counterpart’s downfall.

Unbeknownst to her, Camille’s ways were invisible until Honore wanted to reveal her feelings to The Warrior. She wanted to tell her of the love that danced around in her heart for months. She built up the courage, gathered every ounce of pride, and swatted away every question the village threw at her.

“But, she’s a woman. Why, Honore?”

“Are you THAT desperate?

“Can your heart not find its true love in a man?”

Fairy Godmother Honore ignored their cries. Love was bigger. It catapulted her into a confident realm.

On a day when the sun sat highest in the sky, Honore wrote a love letter to Camille. She attached an old poem written in her honor and placed them both in a handmade basket where she added fresh fruits, a box of chocolate, and granola. Honore waved her wand over the basket, said the crafted love spell, and sent it on its way.

It arrived at Camille’s doorstep just before a break in the clouds. A knock cracked violently across the door. Camille was sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast when the knock shook her. “A visitor? At this hour?” She went to her door, pulled it open, and stared at the open forest with no one around. Her eyes shifted downward and there it was, Fairy Godmother Honore’s gift of love. Camille scooped up the basket and hurried inside. She tore into the contents and grabbed the letter.

As she read it, a boiling pit formed in her stomach. Her body ached. A headache tapped at her temples and caused her to blink quickly. She read the last words of the love poem wrapped in the letter. “If you will be so willing to let my love, love you, it would be an Honore.”

No signature. No other hint of the sender. But, Camille knew who her pursuer was… “an Honore.” She scribbled a few words onto the back of the letter. It was a declination of declinations. “You are a Fairy Godmother. Love… Love deserves more than spells or chants or being twisted into something it is not. I am not a project, Honore. I won’t be willed, least of all, by you.”

She summoned her errand boy and had him swiftly take the basket back to the Fairy Godmother. Honore met the boy just as soon as his hand began to tap the hardwood door. He stood there, eager to finish his task. Honore snatched the basket, gave the boy a shilling, and sent him on his way. In the silence of her home, she dug into the basket and pulled everything sent off back out.

The letter…It laid there, crumpled and out of place. She read the letter… But, what now?
Honore turned it over to read Camille’s words. A fitful sting struck her heart and dollops of tears poured from her eyes. “I am not a project, Honore. I won’t be willed, least of all, by you.” Fairy Godmother Honore sat with those words for hours. She washed her hair with them. She cried with them. She lolled throughout the house with them.

But what about the gifts, the cards, the hints? Everything that Camille had gifted her, was it all a dream? And then it hit her.

Honore had been lured by Camille specifically for this reason–to learn that there are no spells for true love. Two hearts must meet, be in sync, and work together as one.

She never thought a woman could break her heart.
But, she needed it.

This IS What Love Looks Like: Poetry by Women Smitten With Women

Hello, beautiful people… let’s give LOVE an encore, shall we? I will be compiling some work to submit. If you want your voice heard, follow the guidelines listed for the call for submissions and submit. Peace and blessings.

TheFeatheredSleep

SUBMISSIONS NOW OPEN; This IS What Love Looks Like: Poetry by Women Smitten With Women. Latest Indie Blu(e) Anthology is now accepting up to 5 poems/artwork per author.
 
Artwork must be B/W compatible on the subject of the unique love shared between women. Emphasis of Anthology is celebrating same-sex love of women, lesbian or similar deep attachments, in appreciation of this unique and beautiful connection through poetry and art (no prose).
 
All submissions please send to ‘editorial team’ at candicedaquin@gmail.com, likewise with queries. Share this in groups and with those you think may be interested. DEADLINE for all submissions JUNE 16, 2019.

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